#Blossom desires to be like Wonder Woman

[alice-jem]

At the moment...

When Blossom tries to ignore about Wonder Woman outfit and gave up what she wants to be.

[maximoff-pan]

(don't want to) fight this feeling | colin bridgerton

summary: this is what happens after a friend asks another friend to kiss them – or simply just the aftermath of two people realizing there might be more between them and being awkward fools on their journey to get there

pairing: colin bridgerton x fem!reader

word count: 3.6k

warning(s): idiots in love, absolute fools, absolute awkwardness, fluff, some kissing, a tad suggestive, rusty and heavily unedited writing (sue me, it's been a while)

a/n: hello you lovely peoples! it's been a while... this is my first time writing for colin so I apologize if the characterization feels a bit off. I'm still quite rusty in the writing department, but I hope you enjoy this regardless! as always, feedback and comments are much appreciated and I love you all!

• ж • ж • ж • ж • ж • ж •

‘Colin, please–’ Your voice is unwavering, and yet he can’t help but relish in the fact that you’re begging – pleading for him. In all the years he’d known you, you’ve never been one to grovel. 

‘Tell me.’ He breathes, eyes searching yours for any sign of regret. ‘Use your words.’

Your lips, swollen from kissing him, part enough for you to say: ‘I want you Colin. All of you.’

And in that moment, everything fades…

•••

Colin wakes abruptly, chest heaving and covered in sweat. It’s been happening more and more recently, these dreams. Dreams of desire, an incessant yearning for the feeling of your lips on his.

He doesn’t know what to call it. Infatuation perhaps – a pure and raw chemical reaction of attraction – however wrong it may be. You’re his dearest friend, and the kiss you’d shared was merely an innocent gesture, a favour for a person he cares about dearly. Your first kiss – hardly his first, yet he’d never understood the true meaning of voracity before it. 

Saying it meant nothing doesn’t feel right. And chalking up this sensation to a merely physical response feels even more wrong. It’s simply not enough to describe the way his heart races when he thinks of you, how his breath catches in his throat and words become obsolete. He dares to wonder if your friendship could blossom into something more, if you even feel the same. Is this what love feels like? 

• ж • ж • ж • ж • ж • ж •

He’s kissing you again, this time like he may never get the chance to again. However frantic, it’s sweet. It’s like him – feels like Colin.

‘You’re so beautiful.’ He says in a whisper.

You chuckle a content laugh, running a hand through his soft and perfectly styled hair. ‘Not near as beautiful as you, Mr. Bridgerton.’

The moment feels so real, feels like it should be. But you know it’s a figment of your mind working against you as your eyes open to the unfortunate sight of your ceiling. 

•••

Your chest rises and falls rhythmically, awoken by the sunlight drifting through your bedroom window, along with thoughts of him. Last week you had been simply a girl – one who had never felt the kiss of a man, one who thought she may never be so lucky. But today, you are a woman who has, no matter the circumstances. 

You’d asked Colin to kiss you, not out of desperation, but out of curiosity and loneliness perhaps. You wanted to know what you were missing out on, what such intimacy could mean for a person. And there is no man you would trust with your reputation more than him. 

The pit in your stomach however, grows with each passing moment. You wonder, have you made a mistake? Are these things you’re feeling for Colin a mere fantasy – a result of a heat of the moment. You can’t help but feel like there has always been something there for you, something just beneath the surface of your friendship.

It’s silly to believe Colin could feel that way about you. But kissing him, feeling the touch of his lips to your own has left you with a want for him – a need for him that you have been taught is unacceptable for a woman to voice. And suddenly, there’s shame. These desires are not natural, not realistic, not feminine. 

But how are you supposed to go on as if it meant nothing to you? How are you supposed to talk to him again, look him in the eye and have everything be as it once was? Colin Bridgerton is not someone who you’ve had to hide your feelings from. It’s always been a lost cause – he has you memorized like a book he’s read thousands of times. Maybe even one that he’d written himself.

And you’re certain he’ll be able to sense the shift in your behaviour, and likely the reason why. You only hope he’ll let you down gently because at the end of every day, your friendship is what matters most to you. 

• ж • ж • ж • ж • ж • ж •

Side by side with Eloise, you smile as she prattles on about the latest novel she’s been reading. Usually her conversation holds your full attention; often she doesn’t give you a choice otherwise. But today, you can’t help but find your mind drifting somewhere else. 

Your gaze meets Colin’s for a brief moment from across the grassy field in Hyde Park. Where you once found comfort in the blue of his eyes, now your stomach turns with unease. He’s surrounded by a gaggle of young ladies, surely desperate to get his attention. Colin would make a suitable husband for any one of them, you think. 

You look away from him just as quickly as you’d caught his stare, the dirt below your feet suddenly becoming intriguingly interesting. Eloise takes note of the interaction, her lips pulling into a thin frown. 

“Is everything alright?” Eloise asks, an eyebrow raised in query before clarifying, “Between you and my brother.” 

Your gaze refuses to meet hers. You’re afraid that she'll be able to see right through you. “Is there something that indicates otherwise?”

You recognize the defensive nature of your response is likely to garner more suspicion, but it’s difficult to think of an appropriate answer when the question regards Colin Bridgerton. Somehow, thoughts of him make everything more complicated.  

“It’s just,” she treads lightly, walking swiftly alongside you, “this is the fourth time in a week you two have been in each other’s presence, and you’ve barely spoken. You typically seek Colin out, and him you. And now I get the sense you are avoiding him.”

You glance back over to him, watching as he continues to entertain the same group of young ladies, however his audience seems to have grown.

“He looks rather busy, does he not?”

You don’t mean for your voice to sound so apathetic, so uncaring as it does. But Eloise recognizes that you care a great deal. You’re jealous. 

“I suppose he is.” She smiles, knowing just how much Colin must hate the predicament he’s found himself in. “How about we rescue him?”

You mean to protest, but Eloise doesn’t give you a chance to respond before she’s dragging you by the arm towards the one person you do not wish to speak to at the moment. It’s been terribly awkward since you’d asked Colin to kiss you, and you can’t help but knowing that it’s your fault.

You were the one who promised it would mean nothing, and you suppose it had meant nothing to him – but you should have known the ramifications would be disastrous for you. Who asks their best friend (whomst they are in love with) to kiss them and then expects their feelings not to grow tenfold? 

“Brother!” Eloise pushes into the group with your arm wrapped around hers. 

Colin’s face lights at the sound of her voice, relief flooding his features. “Eloise,” he responds, “to what do I owe the pleasure?”

The young women around him sigh at his words. Had they never heard a man be polite with his sister before? Surely that couldn’t be anything special. 

You roll your eyes as one of them decides to cling herself onto Colin’s side. The rumblings of jealousy aside (which you really shouldn’t be feeling), this behaviour is utterly pathetic to you. 

Eloise notes your distaste with an amused chuckle. “We’ve come to take you back to Bridgerton House for Kate and Anthony’s luncheon. Mama’s orders.”

“Oh…oh!” Colin recognizes her attempt at a rescue. “My god, it must have slipped my mind. If you will forgive me ladies,” he sends them a charmingly teasing wink, “it has been wonderful getting to know you all.”

Taking his leave with you and his sister, Colin tips his hat politely, departing from the group. Eloise marches slightly ahead of the two of you, eyes set on the carriages you are to ride back to your respective households in. 

The silence feels suffocating and unfamiliar. It’s uncomfortable and exactly what you’d hoped it wouldn’t be.  Eloise turns to you suddenly as you reach your separate transports. “Are you sure you won’t ride back with us? Surely we can take you home.” She says.

You force a smile. “Positive.” You affirm. “My driver is already here. It would be rude of me to have brought him here only to leave without me.” 

“Alright then.” She hugs you as she takes a step into her carriage. She leaves the door open for her brother as his gaze catches yours for a moment. This might be the longest you’ve gone in his presence in total silence. 

You break away from his piercing stare, taking a breath in apprehension. “Goodbye Mr. Bridgerton.” You say, finally. 

“Goodbye Miss (L/n).” He returns with a nod. 

Turning away, you step into your carriage as a driver closes the door for you. That interaction felt wrong, awkward, and difficult. Nothing like the ease of conversation you are used to.

Colin feels much the same as he sits in the Bridgerton carriage, eyes glossed over in thought. 

Eloise wants to smack him but decides against it in better judgment. She simply watches him for a few moments – sees his discomfort and wonders what could have possibly gone wrong between you and her brother. 

“It’s rude to stare, you know.” Colin’s eyes meet hers. He means it as a joke, but his tone does not convey it that way. 

“What is rude, brother,” she tuts, her position on this very firm, “is treating your best friend as if she is a stranger.”

“Eloise.” Colin warns.

“No.” She holds her palm up, objecting to his dissuasion. “What happened between you?”

He scoffs. “Does privacy mean nothing to you?”

He’s being evasive and defensive – much like your previous response to her questioning. Usually Colin only gets like this when feelings are involved. The last time Eloise had seen him behave this way, Marina had been at the center of it. 

He’d become distant and dejected from the ordeal. The overall rejection, knowing she hadn’t really loved him had caused him to turtle in on himself. And the only person who’d been able to pull him out of it, had been you. Now he seems to be going back in. 

Colin had always been sensitive, more in touch with his emotions than any of her other brothers, but that often left him more open to heartbreak. 

“You love her.” Eloise finally decides to say. 

Colin doesn’t react the way she thinks he will. “Of course.” He replies like it’s obvious. “(Y/n) is my dearest and oldest friend.”

“Allow me to rephrase.” She clarifies, “You are in love with her.”

At that, his reaction is much different. Eyebrows raised and blinking nearly too rapidly for Eloise to perceive – this is what she expected. He’s been caught.

He stutters on his words. “You – you cannot be serious! I’m not – I am not in love…”

Colin feels like he’s breaking. Because as perceptive as Eloise is, so are you; and if Eloise can read him this clearly, he fears you can too.

Her voice is gentle when she speaks, not for a second believing this display of refusal to admit his feelings. “Have you told her how you feel?”

Colin gives up, retreating in on himself. His posture slumps in defeat. “No.” He says. “And I cannot for the life of me, get her out of my mind. It’s like every time I close my eyes, I feel—”

Eloise edges closer to him when Colin stops himself with a sharp inhale. “Feel what?”

I feel her lips on mine, he thinks. 

He frowns, gaze falling downward. “Nothing.”

“Colin…”

“Eloise for Christ’s sake,” he barks, “I said it is nothing.”

His voice is cold and unforgiving, like a switch has been flicked and Eloise cannot begin to understand why. Colin is clearly leaving something out — something important. And it’s a sore topic for him. 

“Whatever it is,” she eyes him cautiously. “You need to tell her.”

• ж • ж • ж • ж • ж • ж •

The afternoon carries on uncomfortably, your mind still on overdrive from your unsettling encounter with Colin. The ride home had given you too much time to think. Too much time to worry, and it had only further worsened the pit in your stomach. 

Your mother had questioned why you’d arrived back so early, having previously planned to spend an afternoon at the Bridgertons. Telling her you felt unwell, you made your way to your room, collapsing on the mattress of your bed with a sigh.

Before long, you’re being informed you have a visitor who’s waiting for you in the drawing room. You’re fairly certain who it is. Eloise has always been a caring friend, if not a little motivated to meddle. Who you were not expecting to see, is her brother Benedict. What interest does he have in this?

“You know you needn’t come see me.” You say flippantly as you enter the room where she’s sitting on the couch with a book on her lap, her second oldest sibling sitting beside her. “Benedict.” You nod at him politely. He returns the gesture as an acknowledgement of his presence. 

“I must say,” she disagrees, “I felt a little obligated to check on you.”

“And why is that?” Benedict jumps in with a smirk.

She sends him a look of disapproval. He knows exactly why.

“Colin was not himself today.” Eloise settles on. Equally pointed, she asserts, “Nor were you.”

“I suppose there is no hiding it from you.” You admit, taking a seat across from them. “Our lack of conversation was abnormal.”

She chuckles at that. “It is usually so difficult to get a word in edgewise when you two are together. But today, it was like you could not even look each other in the eye.”

“I do apologize.” You say dejectedly. “I feel that has much to do with me.”

Eloise frowns at your admission. “I cannot say that I have the context needed to understand what is going on between you, but I do know that Colin does not blame you.”

You release a breath you hadn’t known you were holding, air escaping your lungs. “He didn’t tell you?”

“No.” She responds, looking to Benedict to see if he knows anything more. He shakes his head. “And I – we respect your privacy not to push you into telling us something you’re not ready to.”

You smile softly. “That sounds nothing like the Eloise I know.”

“I am trying to be supportive.” She huffs a laugh, tone light and joking. 

“Well, since you did not ask,” you begin, wringing your hands and fingers together, a nervous energy Eloise is not used to from you, “I asked Colin to kiss me.”

Her brow furrows in confusion, no indication of shock on her features. Colin is in love with you, she thinks. How could things have possibly ended this way? She doesn’t stop you, allowing you to take a pause before you continue.

“I was feeling down. Function after function, I leave with no prospects, and my chances of finding a husband feel as if they are less than nothing.” Your eyes lock with hers, knowing she does not share the same sentiment of finding a life partner. “I did not want to die not knowing what it felt like to kiss someone.”

Benedict’s eyes search yours. He feels your heart yearning, feels the curiosity and desperation in your voice. He sympathizes with you, wholly. 

“You must know (Y/n),” He speaks, eyes twinkling with knowledge neither you nor his sister are privy to. “The only reason you have not been called upon is because of Colin.”

Eloise turns to him in disbelief. “Brother…” She trails.  

Simultaneously, you blurt, “excuse me?”

“Explanation Benedict.” Eloise chimes, impatiently.  “Now.”  

Benedict eyes you carefully before he begins his account of the situation. And as he’s speaking, your world fades away. His voice becomes distorted, like static – you find yourself unable to hear what he’s saying. 

What you do manage to pick up is that Colin had labelled you off limits. No gentleman of the ton stood a chance against his protective eye…because as Benedict finishes he says, “No one could be right for you, except him.”

• ж • ж • ж • ж • ж • ж •

Stepping into Bridgerton House, you feel like your blood is boiling. 

“Miss (L/n).” Violet greets you pleasantly. She’s always been kind, warm, and welcoming. 

“Afternoon, Lady Bridgerton.” You force a smile, nodding gently in her direction. “Is Colin home?”

“Yes, I believe so.” Her voice is gentle but knowing. She’s well aware of the feelings you and her son share. “In the study.”

“Thank you.” You’re grateful; she recognizes that.

Pushing up the stairs and through the hallway, past the door to the study, you forget to knock. Inside you find Colin sitting at the desk, pen in hand. But he’s not writing. He’s simply staring into space. 

“You had no right.” You announce yourself. 

His eyes shoot to yours. “(Y/n).” Is all he can manage to say. With one look, he knows exactly what this is about. 

“You knew – you knew how helpless I felt.” There’s pain written in your expression, a betrayal of trust. “I thought the reason I could not find a husband was because I was so unlikeable – that I was not worthy of another’s love.” Tears threaten to fall.

Colin tries to interject, but all that comes out is a strangled whisper, please, none of that is true. 

“I told you how I was feeling! You — you let me think it was my fault.” Tears lace your waterline like one of the fabrics on your dresses. “And God,” pinching the bridge of your nose, you sigh in exasperation, “I asked you to kiss me because I thought no man could ever think of me that way…”

“You have to let me explain.” Colin pleads, voice just as desperate as yours. 

“What is there to explain Mr. Bridgerton?”

“I love you.” He shouts, tears in his own eyes. 

You’re taken aback. Of course you knew he loved you, as a dear friend. He’d told you that countless times, as you had him. But the way his gaze is piercing yours, the way his voice trembles – this doesn’t feel like something just a friend is saying. 

He relents. “I could not watch you with another, especially when I know these men well…I know their intentions, their thoughts that run wild with impurities.” He fiddles with the sleeve of his dress shirt, unease creeping up on him. “And I fear I have been having these thoughts myself.”

“Colin.” You murmur, taking a step toward him. Your anger is slowly dissipating, although still bubbling under the surface. 

“I have not been able to sleep without dreaming of you. I close my eyes and all that appears is the moment I felt your lips on mine.” He pauses, taking a shuddered breath. “And I, I – I try to stop myself because I know you wanted it to mean nothing. But it meant everything to me.”

You feel your heart lurch in your chest. He’d been having these same worries, the same thoughts, dissuading him from believing you could be anything more than friends. That it wasn’t right any other way. But it is; you know it could be.

“I was scared.” You inch your way closer to him, voice softer now. “I did not want to face my feelings. I cannot tell you when they changed, when you became the only man I could ever dream of loving. But they did. And I thought if you knew, you would never look at me the same again.”

“You are not wrong.” He admits, palm reaching to cup the side of your face. “I cannot look at you as I once did, but as the woman I wish to spend the rest of my life with. As the woman who I shall love until my very last breath.”

Your eyes meet his, a sea of blue simply pouring with emotion. His eyes had always been so expressive, a window to his beautifully crafted soul. “Colin, I love you.” You whisper. 

His other hand comes to cup the untouched side of your face, leaning down to kiss you. It’s less sweet than your first – more passionate, more experienced than the last. You can feel the inner turmoil dissipate from your body and his as you embrace each other. 

Colin kisses you like you’re oxygen and he’s struggling to breathe. As if he needs you to keep him alive. He supposes that’s true: a life without you would not be a life worth living. 

Pulling away from him, your smile is unmatched. It’s like nothing Colin has ever seen before, and there’s a hint of something in it that he cannot read.

“What are you thinking?” He taps the side of your head jokingly, right where your temple rests.

You giggle lightly. “Benedict told me that no one could be right for me, except you.”

“Did he now?” Colin chuckles with you, his thumb tracing lazy circles on your hand. “And?”

Taking a moment to soak it all in before you respond, you grin: wide and proud.

“He was right.”

[oweninadaydream]

𝐈 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 (𝐢𝐭'𝐬 𝐫𝐮𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐲 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞) || 𝐀.𝐁𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐭𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

summary : Can anybody blame a young lady for indulging in her deepest desires despite suspecting that the end is imminent?

song inspo: Fortnight by Taylor Swift (ft. Post Malone)

pairing : Anthony Bridgerton x fem!reader

word count : 1564 words

contains : rake!Anthony, unrequited? love, mentions of alcohol and I think that's it!

a/n : I am not the owner of the gif or the dividers ( I don't possess such talents jakjhakjshda). This will have a second part (already working on it). The next chapter of the Feel the rush series will be posted after my exams, sorry :((( Anyway, enjoy !!!

The maid finished working on (Y/N)’s makeup and she turned to look at the final product in the mirror. Her  hair was perfectly held at the back of her neck with a chignon. Her grandmother’s diadem added that sophisticated touch the young woman craved. After taking in the breathtaking shade of her dress in the mirror, she started twirling and giggling around her chamber in a fairy manner. Someone could wonder, what on earth was going on inside the girl’s head? The answer was easy, yet so complicated. Lady (Y/L/N) was simply smitten with someone she knew very well, a lifelong friend that seemed interested in her as well. The problem? That man was no other than Viscount Anthony Bridgerton, the most infamous rake of the Ton. 

“Your carriage is ready, miss (Y/L/N)” the butler informed the young lady.

At almost the same time, another voice echoed around the house.

“(Y/N) dear, we must go now. Lady Danbury will not let me hear the end of it if we show up late yet again. I’d also like to chat a bit with Violet, I haven’t seen her since the Featherington ball.” her mother urged her from the hall.

“I’m ready, mother” she answered loud enough for the woman to hear.

On her way to the barouch that would transport them, she realized that the burgundy dahlias that had been planted at the beginning of the summer were finally blooming with the arrival of autumn, contributing to the embellishment of the front garden. She stared at them for a second; her mind was searching for something in them but she couldn’t explain what exactly. She shook her head and she got inside the carriage.

Pacing around the ethereal gardens of Aubrey Hall, her mind couldn’t help the quick escapades to the first time they kissed. Sitting under the blossoming tree, Anthony and her were watching the sunset taking with itself the traces of winter, welcoming the first of many spring nights. The two of them were abnormally quiet, as if the sight of the moon had bewitched them both. (Y/N)'s spine could still feel violent shivers traveling down her spine when recalling the way the Viscount had lightly brushed his nose against hers before capturing her lips into a slow deep kiss. His chapped and demanding mouth stole a couple more pecks before laughing airly, rising from their hidden spot and offering his hand to help her on her feet. 

That glorious evening marked the beginning of … Well, she couldn’t quite state what it was. The rest of the summer was filled with fleeting glances, embraces away from prying eyes and laughing, lots of laughing. (Y/N) had never been happier; after all, the Viscount was by her side every other night. Still, a series of dark thoughts anxiously floated around her head whenever he walked away to attend the gentlemen’s club, or whenever he tried to avoid her gaze after implying anything that had to do with love or compromise outside his mattress.  Shaking her head and changing the subject usually did the trick, but for the last few days, Anthony had been acting ever so strange. 

(Y/N) was absent in deep thoughts when she felt a familiar touch on her back. 

“Anthony” It was not a  question, but the most confident of statements.

“How did you know it was me so surely?” he said while flashing her with one of his infamous smiles.

She raised her head so her eyes stared at him directly. “I could recognize you by smell, by the prints you leave when you step on the ground on a rainy day or simply by tracing your features with only one finger, eyes completely closed. You are no mystery to me” her answer was sweet and sincere, with a touch of flirting attitude.

He went quiet, very quiet. Every bit of the playful attitude  he had shown earlier had disappeared, now replaced by a hard expression. “You ignore plenty of things about me, so stop acting like my-”

“What has come over you? Your usually particular temperament has worsened these past two weeks. I do not appreciate that you talk to me in such a way” she abruptly interrupted in hopes of obtaining any kind of answer that would help her understand.

“I cannot bear with this any longer. I just feel like we have gone astray from the path we had established for us. I wish for us to be on the same page, and that implies remembering the casual nature of our… deal. Please tell me you understand” his pleading eyes accompanied the request perfectly.

“Forgive me, Anthony but I can’t wrap my head around what you are saying. I thought we were evolving, like our relationship. I know you are not the most kin on marrying or doing this as everyone else does, but after all we’ve been through, don’t you dare tell me that I have been delusionally imagining all these romantic gestures and moments”

“Mademoiselle Parisot is upstairs waiting for me. I would love to continue to discuss this in another time, unless there’s anything that must be told in this exact moment” Was his voice meant to sound confident? (Y/N) could almost feel some sorrow slipping through the cracks of his quick confession. 

The astounded expression on (Y/N)’s face showed that she did in fact not comprehend any of what Anthony was rambling about. A quick sight that denoted shock and upset preceded the lady’s monologue.

“I love you, Anthony, and it’s ruining my life. I can’t keep sighing like a damsel trapped in the highest tower, as I yearn for a future that my eyes will not behold. I can’t keep masquerading my true desires, in hopes that you will choose to stay. I will not continue to morph into whatever kind of woman you fantasize about at the moment, making all those efforts for a man who could never spare a glance at me in such a way, and losing myself in the process. I always thought my worst misery would originate in a forced, loveless marriage with some old earl at best , that would little by little drain every spark of joy within me. But oh, what fool I have been. This senseless affair we have going on has come to distress me more than the worst of husbands ever could. So, go on, run straight into her arms. I do not care, not one bit, my lord. You have shattered my heart a million times throughout the years, I cannot feel it tearing apart anymore.”

His stupidly handsome face showed an evident feeling of distraughtness ; she had never raised her voice like that, nor had she ever used similar words around (or against) him. He quickly shook  his head to wash away the initial shock, substituting it with his typical stoic mask.

“I have never intended to inflict any kind of pain upon yourself, my lady. But, as my dearest friend, you should have known what you were getting yourself into, (y/n).”

His casual condescending  tone made her sick to the stomach and the loudest of silences entered the scene. After a minute or two, a gentle breeze interrupted (y/n)’s pondering. She then raised her head up in a defying manner. After making sure her voice wouldn't give up on her (even though her lower lip was trembling), she decided to voice her thoughts. 

“That's the thing that bothers me so much about infatuation. It makes humans stupid, it makes them believe it can fix anything, even lost causes such as yourself, Viscount Bridgerton. I do not desire to disturb my lord any longer, so excuse me.” And just like that, she was heading back inside the ballroom.

The sound of her heels furiously hitting the floor with every step matched perfectly with the accelerated heartbeat of the man left stranded in the gardens. Without much thought he decided to return to the chambers where his seemingly perfect mistress awaited for him.

Not very far from the action, a slightly inebriated Benedict was laughing obnoxiously loud with Eloise and Colin. The sight of  (Y/N) crossing the doors so rapidly while trying to contain her sobs and tears made the three Bridgerton siblings turn their heads to follow their friend’s trajectory. 

“Should we-” Benedict was eager to console (Y/N) despite his clouded reasoning.

“I would say that she needs a moment to collect herself, Benedict. Our presence could do more harm to her already poor state.” Colin spoke.

“I will try to approach her later. I wonder what has happened… Wasn’t she talking with Anthony?” Eloise recalled perfectly how Anthony had started to converse with Miss (Y/N) earlier that night, right in front of the thriving gardenias. Everything seemed perfectly normal when she was passing by, but it was obvious that something had happened after she had gone back inside.

Eloise moved rapidly to peek around the corner, followed by the two males whose curiosity was unbearable as well. On the other side of the garden, an obviously tense Anthony was making his way to his chamber with a light emanating from the inside of the room.

Without a second thought, Benedict voiced what the three of them were thinking in that moment.

“I think that is exactly the problem, my dear sister…”

[councilofcastamere]

ADORNMENTS | AEMOND TARGARYEN X DAERON’S TWIN!READER

a b r i d g e m e n t : your older brother Aemond loves to shower you with gifts. one day, you’ll pay him back.

TW: smut, targcest, oral (f receiving) penetration, riding, missionary, childhood love,

A/N: reblogs but most of all comments are immensely appreciated!

Aemond couldn’t remember the day when you drew your first breath alongside your twin brother, Daeron. All he knows is that the Gods had shined light upon him that day.

He had gotten blessed with the only one that could have ever drawn his attention like it did.

Like you did.

4-year-old Aemond witnessed the sunlight shining upon your face as Queen Alicent flaunted you in her arms, Daeron held in the King’s arms.

Your laughs could only be translated into melodies as they entered the prince’s ears. Your skin was almost porcelain and your eyes were peacefully closed. You were wrapped around the purple blanket as if you were a present.

His thoughts felt overpowered by a desire to hold you. He climbed up next to his Queen Mother and tugged on your blanket, signalling to hold the new blessing that came into his life.

“Aemond wishes to hold his new sister,” Alicent remarked, smiling as she looked down upon him. She very carefully positioned you into his small arms, staying close as to keep an eye.

“A family man, he will be.” the king laughed, very carefully swinging Daeron in his arms.

Aemond, ignoring the speaking of his parents, wrapped his small arms around your small body, regarding you as if you were a gem to keep in his palm. He held you closer to his chest, and brought his lips to your forehead, before hesitantly returning you to your mother.

And as you turned older, you grew only closer to him. It was as if he were your shadow, and you were his. You would do everything together.

He was infatuated with you, always opting to bring you your favourite pieces of jewelry, your favourite silk dresses and your favourite flowers.

Eventually, you shared your first kiss with him.

It was the hour of the owl, and you were holding a candle to your chest, waiting for the prince to sneak into your chambers. Your hair was tied up into braids, which made for a beautiful updo.

“Sister.” you heard a voice. it was Aemond’s.

But it didn’t sound all too delighted.

“Aemond?” you ask softly, observing him sitting on the edge of your bed. “What happened?”

He didn’t wish to tell you, but your angelic voice compelled him as if he was answering the gods.

“…they gave me a pig.” he murmured, passionately angry. his fists clenched at his side and he didn’t dare look you in the eye.

You knew what he meant. You always pitied having him watch you ride starfyre. You only prayed he could get one of his own.

You crawled over to him, his back facing you. You delicately rested your chin on his shoulder, placing a kiss on his cheek.

“If a dragon doesn’t like you, I don’t like a dragon,” you murmured, whispering into his ear. “You over any dragon, big brother.”

Just then, his head turned to you. His eyes flickered from your eyes to your lips. You felt your throat go dry, and you liked the feeling. You liked having him look at you like that.

You closed your eyes, and the second you did, you felt his slightly chapped lips on yours. You savoured the feelings for a couple of seconds, before attempting to brush your hair out of your face. His hand eventually came up to your rosy cheeks, cupping at your jaw, while your hands settled themselves on top of his unoccupied hand.

You very gently pulled away, smiling at his lips.

From that day on, it was sealed.

He was infatuated with you, always opting to bring you your favourite jewelries, your favourite silk dresses and your favourite flowers.

You loved it, and as you blossomed into a woman of age, you remained appreciative of his efforts.

But you wanted more. You wondered if he loved you so much, why hasn’t he bedded you yet? It made you insecure. What if the kisses mean nothing, and he only sees you as a sister, not good enough to bed?

You didn’t wish to come to conclusions, or accuse him of anything, but you only prayed you were able to ask him without feeling humiliated.

After all, what if he felt pressured after you asked him, and it won’t be as good?

You wrote all of your concerns down on a small paper, your quill clumsily spilling over some of the characters. You carefully folded it into a heart and left it under your pillow.

Which was a mistake.

Imagine Aemond’s shock when he came into your chambers to place your newest present under your pillow, only to find the paper.

Imagine his guilt as he reads how his little dragon has been feeling neglected.

And imagine his lust at your words, having everything you wished he’d do to you written down on the little paper.

You were inexperienced and some of the things made no sense, sure, but he got the idea of what you wished for.

So he did the only thing he knew how to do. Wait for a better time. He carefully stuffed the paper back under your pillow, and the present back in his hand.

With a swift turn, he departed your chambers, his golden locks cascading behind him. He’d have to make you see his love, sooner or later.

And that evening, you did not notice anything amiss when you strolled inside, your handmaidens at your side.

You opted for a pretty green dress, your hair beautifully done into a loose braid. You wore your green earrings to match your gown. Your nails were washed and clipped thoroughly, and you insisted on a clean bath before all of it.

“I’ll speak to you later!” you called out to your handmaiden as she left you in privacy. you always knew where Aemond would be waiting for you. you loved times like these, where you could dress that gorgeously only to be with your pretty big brother in your chambers.

You quickly settled on your bed, reading a small book Aemond got you from the Vale about different mountains. Aemond always knew what you liked, to your delight. You’d even wondered if he had any hidden presents here.

Time felt like an eternity as you waited for Aemond, and you began to doubt his arrival. Your eyelids began to close but you were insistent on waiting some more moments.

You tried to, but your slumber overtook you, and you ultimately lost yourself to the night.

Only then had he come in.

You had drifted up to slumber, your beautiful gown lifted past your hips. Silly girl, he thought, watching your glistening cunt spread out into the cold air. Your beautiful eyes were closed, hair sprawled all through your silken pillows, and soft sighs leaving your lips.

You looked so beautiful, the true image of Valyrian beauty.

His footsteps just forced him to close the proximity. It was out of his control.

And as you lost yourself in slumber, you missed the way his hands slid up and down your beautiful legs, lifting one as he pressed a kiss to the heel of your foot.

No, that wasn't enough. A kiss on the ankle will do.

Perhaps a kiss on the calf.

And he couldn't make any excuses any more, his lips hastily trailing up to your upper thighs, his hands hastily thrown over his shoulders. His mouth pressed an open kiss to your cunt, losing himself in the heavenly taste of your confined flesh.

You shifted slightly, your beautiful back arching as you let out a sleepy moan. Poor girl, you probably thought it was a dream. A mere reflection of the desire that occupied your mind.

Aemond was well aware of your feelings. Your beautiful gaze always drifted onto him, sitting on his lap as he read you a book about Valyrian gods, his clothed cock rubbing against your pretty clothed cunt every time you tried to read for yourself.

So, who was he to not reward you for your patience? His tongue gently penetrated your hole, licking all around the throbbing beauty. Your beautiful lips made the sweet melodic noises he'd soon become addicted to, his tongue poking your hole faster, causing you to squirm and your hips to buck into his face.

"Ae-amond?" you groggily whispered, gasping at the sight of him between your legs, his lips glistening with your juices.

"Hush, sweet sister," he replied, kissing all around your thighs and the lips of your cunt. "It feels... pleasurable, does it not?"

All you could do was nod, too tired and too riled up to fight your common sense. You cracked a smile, your feet gently pulling him closer as he kept ravishing your swollen hole.

"Aemy.." you whisper, bucking your hips. "What if mother comes to bid me goodnight?"

He hummed, his tongue working on devouring your pink delight. His hands squeeze both of your thighs.

"How much I do not care," he uttered, a hand rising to grope your soft breast. "I could die a happy death in between these legs."

"But then you wouldn't see me again." you chuckled, bucking your hips into his face. his smirk widened as his one eye trained on yours as if it was a hypnosis.

you cried out as his tongue lapped at your folds, quickly flipping the two of you so you could do it at a pace of your own. your hands gripped the headboard, and you brought yourself to move your hips as if it were a swing.

his eye was still on yours, and under your folds, you could still feel his smirk.

"ae-aemy." you pant, moving your hips in a circular motion. "I-I..."

"I know, sweet sister," he replied, gently lifting you off him. you whined at the loss of proximity and felt the cold air on your bare skin. "The best thing hasn't happened yet, however."

you could only manage whines and moans as he guided you backwards, your cunt moving from his mouth to his cock. your hands held on to his shoulder, your thumbs slightly pressing into the sides of his neck. you felt the warmth of his hands on your hip.

"Careful..." he warned, slowly easing you down on his cock. you felt the thick length slowly opening up your virgin hole, your face red with unease.

his eye flickered up to you, and he let out a smirk as you attempted to sink to his cock, his tip kissing your cervix.

his hands slid up from your thighs to your round ass, firmly massaging the skin. you looked at him, and pressed your lips to his as you let the feeling sink in.

“Do I start to move?” you murmured against his lips, face uneasy with pain. “It hurts, Aemy.”

“I know, my sweet.” he whispered against your lips, lips trailing across your jaw. “It hurts for a maiden’s first time.”

You nodded, and could only bite your lip as you slowly moved up, with his hands shifting to your hips, massaging circles into them.

Aemond only wished he could take it faster, to finally feel himself marking your womb as his. He had loved you for years and absolutely hated the fact you did not feel loved. At the end of the night, he decided, you would feel loved.

You slowly moved yourself back down, and you winced in pain. You locked eyes with Aemond, only to find his eyes closed. He pulled your body down to press your lips against him, your moans of pain muffled.

Your agony slowly began to dissipate into pleasure, and you could feel the prince’s soft moans as he thrusts his hips up, filling you up. You moaned in pleasure as you bounced, your hands on his chest.

His veiny hands reached up to your hair, undoing the hair your handmaidens had spent an eternity on. It allowed for your beautiful locks to cascade down, covering your pink nipples.

“Aemy…” you moaned, breathless gasps leaving your mouth as his skin slapped against yours, your round breasts bouncing a sight for sore eyes. “I-I love you. Too much. Only y-you.”

His eye snapped open at that, and he quickly flipped you two over, towering over you. His lips marked your neck as you writhed and arched. His hands groped your breasts, moving your hair out of the way.

“Shh, sweetness,” he whispered, his nose brushing against yours. “I know. I know.”

His large girth split you in half and had you gripping the sheets, your legs widening even more open.

He could only let out moans and groans, concentrating on filling you and making you feel pleasure.

“One day, we will do this to bear children,” he tells you, kissing along the side of your face. “You will become my wife, and always stay at my side.”

You could only smile, rolling your hips up.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” he asked with a slight grin, kissing your chest and collarbone. “Waiting on me each day, each night. Wrapped in my sheets and eager to welcome me.”

You nodded eagerly, his hands pushing your knees to your chest. Your face was red, with tears streaming down your beautiful eyes.

You panted and kept panting as you felt a knot tighten up in your stomach. You breathed heavily, your walls clenching around his length.

“Aemy!” you cried out, thrown between the sheets as you wildly threw your head back, hips bucking ferociously against him.

You bit your lip, face red and teary as you came close, holding him closer to you.

“Let it out,” he murmured, nose rubbing against your neck. “Listen to me.”

You obliged, and as the knot in your stomach snapped, sticky white juices came sprawling out, clenching around and milking his meat.

His eye rolled back at the feeling, and he let out some more thrusts, before slowing down immensely and pulling out, frowning at the loss of proximity.

“Sit still,” he ordered, and you did as he asked, while you felt your chest being painted with his creamy juices.

“Now…” he panted, pulling you to lie against his chest. “Do you still doubt my love? Do you still wish for me to prove my love?”

“Hm?” you shot up, heart jolting at his question. did he read the paper under your bed? gods, you could have died right there.

“Hm?” Aemond mimicked you, placing a finger under your chin and lifting it to make you look at him. “I don’t wish for you to ever doubt my love. Ever.”

You only nodded, kissing down his chest causing his heart to soften.

Aemond had finally bedded you, and you couldn’t wait to repeat it all.

[gnocchibabie]

Desire and Blood (Chapter 2)

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Targaryen/Strong OC (Jaenara Velaryon)

Tags: AU - canon divergence, enemies to lovers, arranged marriage, Targcest (uncle/niece)

Wordcount: 5.2k

Summary:

Against all odds, the love between childhood friends prevails and the Dance of Dragons is avoided.

However, peace comes at a cost. With the unexpected proposal of marriage between Alicent Hightower's son and Rhaenyra Targaryen's only daughter, can love truly blossom between sworn enemies? Or will Jaenara Velaryon be reduced to a mere pawn?

Love may yet arise where enmity once thrived, but Aemond's relentless pursuit of power threatens to shatter everything they hold dear, including each other.

Notes: Part one is linked here!

If you are liking this series, please consider showing some love on my AO3 posting of this fic :) thank you x

The doors to the council room chamber finally shut, leaving only Alicent and her two sons by themselves. A tense air looms overhead, and Aemond Targaryen sits stiff in his chair, considering all that has just happened. 

I am to marry Jaenara Velaryon.

A funny feeling settled at the bottom of Aemond’s heart. Truth be told, marrying his niece was far from the worst possible marriage partner he could imagine. Aemond would never speak it aloud, but he had always found Jaenara strikingly beautiful. While she did not bear the signature Targaryen white hair, she shared their bewitching lavender eyes. Hers had always been an interesting shade, he had thought. And Jaenara had a remarkably Valyrian face. Many people amongst the court — even his mother Alicent — had stated that Jaenara was a spitting image of Rhaenyra in her younger years.

Aemond also admired his niece’s curious personality, which was an understatement. One second, she could be as cold as the winters of the north. A moment later, she would exhibit a kindness and warmth only read about in stories. She was a welcome challenge, Aemond thought. 

Jaenara, he remembered, is also a skilled dragonrider. She had a strong bond with her dragon, and had quickly honed many skills and tactics that many within their family — including her brothers, had struggled with. 

Perhaps there was more to admire about this match than he initially believed. 

Aemond finally raises his gaze to his mother and brother.

“I never thought you’d be one to play matchmaker, mother.” Aemond tells his mother, the slightest hint of amusement in his tone. Amusement to mask his uncertainty. Alicent looks at him incredulously, wondering how her son could joke amidst such circumstances. 

“Oh you didn’t know?” Aegon scoffs, “Mother has already done this before. Can’t you see how happy Helaena and I are together? Surely you and your beloved bastard will also be a sight to behold.” 

Aemond opens his mouth to retort his brother's jabs but his mother beats him to it.

“Enough!” Alicent slams an open palm onto the table. Aegon scoffs once more and rolls his eyes. Their mother’s eyes hold sorrow. Guilt. She has nothing to say in rebuttal. What could be said in face of the cold truth?

Aemond is about to leave when his mother finally speaks: “You will speak to Jaenara with more respect from now on if you are expected to sit at her mother’s council…” she trails off, as if unsure of her own words.

“I seem to remember you spoke of her the same way not too long ago - what was it you called her? Plain-featured?,” Aegon says, “Though your criticism of Rhaenyra and her litter of bastards has lessened over these last few months. Has the Queen snuffed out your senses too?” 

“Aegon,” Alicent’s voice is heavy, “Aemond. Rhaenyra only has everyone’s best interest in mind. She is following her father’s dying wishes - your father’s dying wish. We were both with him in his last moments…” The woman before them clad in green closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. 

“I know what has happened in the past. But this is our opportunity to put it at rest…”

Put it at rest? Aemond feels disgust at his mother’s sympathies. They took my eye. They made my childhood the nightmare it was. They chipped away at me bit by bit.  

“You say this about the same people who robbed me of an eye, mother,” Aemond responds coolly, “The same people who faced no consequences for this. I have seen how this has tormented you, even years later. As you have with me.”

The prince can see the conflict that bubbles below his mother’s surface. Alicent turns to her son and does something unexpected. She takes her hand in his. 

Aemond’s eye softens for the smallest moment.

“My son. There is no mending what has been left in the past. But there is still time to mend the future. I only wish to see you happy.”

He shakes out of his mother’s grasp. “She will do no such thing.”

Aemond stands and makes a brisk exit for the door. Leaving his mother and brother behind, and himself to his thoughts.

Someone will pay the price. And I will make him pay for it in blood.

The prince does not find sleep so easily that night. He challenges himself to imagine the look that would grace his niece’s face when her mother would have to break the news of their arrangement to her. He wondered if her lavender eyes would narrow in disgust, her lip curling in a snarl, anger palpable. Or perhaps she had looked to her mother with quiet surrender, making no reaction and solemnly accepting his hand. He decided she had done the former. Jaenara had always been a rather animated young woman - and that was putting it lightly. Even in their youth she had been this way.

In the quiet of his chambers, Aemond finds his mind enraptured by the princess. 

He is reminded of a time she had scolded him when she was a girl no older than six, and himself only seven, for pushing her twin to the ground and giving him a scraped elbow. The only person who managed to stop her tirade had been Rhaenyra. Aemond recalls the young mother scooping her twins into her arms, one flailing around still shouting at him whilst the other had tears streaming down his face. The prince smiles almost fondly from the memory, surprising himself.

The next memory that came to him happened a few years later. Aemond had more often found himself at the center of ridicule, frequently dealt by Jace and Luke. Oftentimes by Aegon too, though he chose to ignore that detail. The young prince had always felt distant to the rest of his family, as though he were different - lesser than the rest of them. And how could he not, as a dragon-less Targaryen. He was a dragon without wings. And his nephews had made sure he was aware of this. Aemond recalled how his blood boiled at the thought that bastards such as his nephews - such as Jaenara - had dragons. And yet, he did not. Was there something wrong with him? Had there been a reason his egg had not hatched alongside him in his cradle? Was he unworthy?

The taunting had reached a new level when Jaenara’s brothers had gifted Aemond a pig. Something he was much more worthy of rather than a dragon - they had said. He remembers when his nephews had revealed the creature to him in the training yard. Even Aegon laughed at him, so loudly it had caught the attention of Jaenara, who had been on the far end of the square speaking with Helaena. Aemond remembered how her gaze had turned to him - how he waited for her to join in on the teasing and laughing. 

No such thing happened.

Jaenara bounded over to the group of boys, a quiet storm forming behind her lavender eyes. Helaena had opted to hang back from the debacle, watching the impending uproar with rapt attention. 

“Think that’s funny, do you?” Jaenara had asked aloud when she finally reached their group. 

Silence. 

Jaenara continued, “I seem to remember that you yourself Jacaerys - you have made very little progress in even mounting Vermax.” The young boy averted his attention to the ground, suddenly very interested in a mound of dirt near his feet. The reprimanding had not stopped there.

“And you-” She turned to Lucerys, “You on the other hand may be able to mount your dragon, though you find yourself on the ground within seconds.” She looks between her brothers, and then to Aemond. Each holds their gaze with the other for a few moments.

“Neither of you have any room to be acting as though you are real dragon riders yourselves.” She seems to have finished, turning on her heels and running back to Helaena.

“AND TAKE THAT PIG BACK!” She yells over her shoulder. Aemond watched as his sister and niece strode away, arm in arm. He returns his attention to Jace and Luke, whose faces are the same shade as their house colors. Aegon’s laughter fills the yard again.

This incident had shown Aemond a different side of his niece. For an instant, he was filled with an immense regret for all the times he had ever been cold to her. The times he had called her a bastard. The times he had joined in on Aegon’s belittling of her and her family. She had taken all of that - for years on end - and still defended him. He couldn’t really understand why.

He can do little to prevent his least favorite memory from entering his mind. Aemond takes in a breath and closes his eyes. He remembers the night at Driftmark. The night he had claimed Vhagar. The night he lost his eye. 

That time had been different. Jaenara had not been present when the fighting had broken out - not until Rhaena had frantically found her and told her of what was transpiring, unsure of what to do herself. When his niece entered the room, Aemond had been on top of her brother. The sight had sent the young girl into a frenzy and, without fully understanding the context of the situation, she had flung herself onto Aemond and wrenched the boy off of Lucerys. 

“Get off of him!” She had screeched. With her arm wrapped around Aemond’s neck, Jaenara threw herself back and they soon found themselves on the cold floor. “What do you think you-” Her question remained unanswered at this moment - this singular distraction turning Aemond’s attention towards his niece. He remembered the bewildered look on her face, her black hair coming loose from her braid. Her white night dress and the light purple robe that clung to her. A bead of blood on her bottom lip. She had always had a bad habit of biting it, Aemond had noticed. Hard enough to draw blood. The blood began to trickle down her chin.

It was the last thing his good eye had ever seen before Luke split open Aemond’s face, from his cheek to his forehead. His own blood splattered onto Jaenara’s powder white gown, staining the cloth forever.

Darkness. A scream.

Aemond sat up in bed, blinking away the rest of the memory. He opened and closed a fist. Yes, he was sure of her response now. Jaenara was not happy about the prospect of this union, and had surely let her mother - and the entirety of Dragonstone - know this. Where she lacked Velaryon parentage, Jaenara’s Targaryen fierceness made up for this tenfold. 

She will meet her match.

Aemond would swallow his pride - swallow his grudges against his niece, and become her husband. Though, he decided, she should not expect much from him. He held no love in his heart for her. Surely no romantic love. He would use her as he needed, to obtain what he wanted - power. That, and retribution for the slight that his family had suffered in having Rhaenyra as their Queen. Though some of the weaker members of his family would not see it his way.

He circles back to the dark thoughts that had crossed his mind earlier. He would be doing his soon-to-be wife a favor in getting rid of her twin. She would be made heir to the Seven Kingdoms. It was probably the closest act akin to love Aemond would find himself capable of accomplishing during their relationship. And he would help her to rule. He was nothing if not helpful.

He could make it look like an accident. He had previously considered poisoning Jacaerys. Aemond would not act until a comfortable time into his marriage, so as not to raise suspicion. Though he decided, suspicion would be raised regardless if the heir were to suddenly drop dead in the middle of dinner. He hardly thought that hands clenched around the throat, skin purple, and eyes bulging out of his head would seem inconspicuous.

Poison was out of the question.

Aemond Targaryen feels a sudden sense of dread in plotting his own nephew’s demise. The dread only grows when he truly pictures carrying the act out himself. If he were ever to be discovered, The Realm would christen him with the title of Kinslayer. 

To be a Kinslayer is to be despised by The Gods. To be damned to the Seven Hells. 

Aemond is unsure if he harbors enough hatred in him to carry out the act, though he certainly is no stranger to being on the receiving end of such hatred. 

He considers if he possesses enough complacency to suffer the consequences, should they be dealt. He wonders if his heart is as hard as everyone else believes it to be.

And yet…

Unable to find sleep, Aemond climbs out of bed once more. He dresses and finishes the outfit off with his long black cloak, throwing the hood over his head. 

The One Eyed Prince slips out of the Red Keep and ventures into the Streets of Silk, hoping to find some semblance of comfort. 

— — —

Candlelight illuminates the face of the young princess as her eyes scan the pages of a rather large, rather dusty book. In the days before their inevitable departure, Dragonstone had become a whirlwind of busy servants and flustered royals. All of Jaenara’s possessions had been packed away and taken to King’s Landing ahead of time with the family’s servants, save for the text seated in her lap. In such a tumultuous time, the young woman found solace in its pages. 

Jaenara had read the story of Rhaenys Targaryen, one of Aegon the Conqueror's sister-wives, so many times she felt she could recite the text backwards. Visenya had been a sister more remembered and revered by history for her valor and fierceness as a warrior; though Jaenara found herself drawn to the gentler sister. Rhaenys was more of a revered politician than a feared warrior. To Jaenara, she was just as formidable. She wanted to be like the Queen. Loved and feared. 

A knock upon the door turns her attention away from her histories. Jacaerys enters her chambers and lingers at the door for a moment, before resigning himself to sit next to her on the plush bed. 

“Jace,” Jaenara breathes, closing the text. 

Jacaerys looks over the book. 

“Again?” He attempts a small smile. 

Jaenara gets up from her place on the bed to create some distance between her and her brother. She places the book on her writing desk, taking mental note not to leave the book behind when she leaves tomorrow. “I find comfort through her in times such as these.” she responds shortly. 

Jace sighs, “You have been avoiding me.”

“You have made it easy.”

“Nara,” Jacaerys begins to sound annoyed, “You are not the only person who has had to…adapt to this change.”

Jaenara turns swiftly towards her brother, loose raven tresses swaying behind her wildly, “No, but I am the only person amongst us who had had their hand sold to a snake. You cannot understand my grief, Jace! You are betrothed to Baela - sweet Baela. You two actually like each other. But I am condemned to be the conciliatory sacrifice of this family.“

You are being unfair. Jaenara says to herself — she knows it to be true. You are being difficult. But she cannot help it. Her twin was afforded the luxury of being born a man. A man who did not have to face the same realities she currently found herself in.

Jace shifts on her bed, frame creaking under him. He seems to struggle finding his words, “I…you are right Jaenara,” He sighs, “I do not know what it is like. Just as you do not know what it is like to now be heir of the Seven Kingdoms.”

She glances at him and her twin continues.

“We both have the burdens of our parents to bear. We wear crowns too heavy for us.” Jace is solemn.

Jaenara bites her lip hard and lets out a shaky breath. A sickly sheen of guilt settled in her stomach. It was true that she had not considered what the rest of her family had been feeling of late. She seats herself beside Jacaerys and the bed groans under their weight once more. 

“I am sorry Jace.” Is all she can muster up.

Jace places a reassuring hand over her own. “You may yet make some use out of your upcoming marriage.”

Confused, Jaenara looks to her brother.

“Aemond is a fierce fighter. He is well versed in the histories and philosophies. I hear he has become a knowledgeable strategist. He rides the largest and oldest dragon, who is no stranger to battle.” Copper eyes meet lilac eyes. “And with you as his wife, he will be in our pocket.”

“He would be a formidable ally to have. But Aegon holds a seat on mother’s council - not Aemond.” Jaenara asserts.

“I as heir and you as his wife could sway this decision.”

“Mother has not even been crowned and you are already scheming.” Jaenara’s words are not so chiding as they are playful.

“Not scheming. I only hold our best interests in mind.” Jace tells his sister.

She looks him over once more. When had they become so…grown-up?

“You tell me you are fearful of wearing the crown one day…I think you will come to wear it well.” Jaenara softly smiles as Jacaerys scoffs and rises to his feet. 

“Just think it over, Nara,” He turns to the door, “You must rest. We rise early in the morning and depart for King’s Landing.” 

Before he leaves, he throws a glance at his sister over his shoulder. “I won’t let any harm come to you…from him.”

Jaenara does not let on how much the words mean to her. She has always disguised her true feelings under a cover of dripping sarcasm. “You need not worry about me, brother. Perhaps you should protect him from me.”

Jacaerys laughs and leaves again.

As Jaenara climbs into bed, she considers her brother's words.

Where he may prove to fail as a husband, he could make up for as an advisor. A weapon.

The princess blows out the candle and dreams.

In her slumber, Jaenara is face to face with Aemond Targaryen. He stands opposite to her, in front of a throng of people. She looks down and sees herself clad in an ornate dress of scarlet, white, and gold. Her black hair is pinned up in several twisting braids. The One Eyed Prince looks to his beautiful bride, eye full of admiration. For a moment, she thinks he might love her.

She thinks she may like that.

Suddenly, gasps are heard around the crowd. The gasps morph into shouts, scattered all over the Great Hall. A sharp pain. Jaenara feels a sticky warmth envelop her cheek, and feels something dribble onto her wedding gown. She reaches a trembling hand up to her face, pulls it back, and watches blood soak her palm, dripping below her wrist and all the way down the length of her arm. The wails echoing throughout the hall only grow around her. It is maddening. A sickening pop makes her blood run cold and she watches as one of her eyes rolls onto the floor below. 

Her husband’s mouth moves yet his voice comes out delayed, a haunting chorus.

An eye for an eye.

Jaenara wakes to another knock at her door. 

“My lady, may I help you dress?”

The princess wills her breath steady and wipes the sweat from her brow.

“Come…come in!” She calls out to her handmaiden. 

There was no time to dwell on the meaning of dreams.

— — — 

Prince Aemond sits across from Helaena as her children busy themselves with their toys. A handmaiden hands Jahaerys a toy dragon, which the boy launches at his brother. 

“I think I will be glad to see them today,” Helaena says suddenly, looking up from her embroidery, “In truth, I have missed Jaenara.”

Aemond continues to watch his niece and nephews play as he answers his sister, “You may be the only one amongst us who feels that way,” He mutters, “Though I do remember how close you and Jaenara were as children.”

Helaena had been an even lonelier child than she was now, as a lonely young woman. Always murmuring words that his family could not understand, and did little in trying to understand. Aemond had always felt sorry for her. But Jaenara did not seem to mind her aunt’s off putting nature. He recalls them as young girls, running throughout the castle gardens together, trying to catch butterflies. He remembers as they grew older, a few young ladies in court had taken to calling his sister, Helaena The Hysterical.

Before Aemond could put an end to the name calling, Jaenara had done it herself. The girls in court would not so much as look at either of them wrong.

And most of all, Jaenara listened to Helaena. Something nobody in his family seemed to do. Not even him, in truth. 

“I would hope you two can become close as well,” She gives her brother a wistful look, “You are to be married.”

“I think us siblings are doomed to hold strained relationships - at best - with their marriage partners.” Aemond replies. 

Helaena looks down at her sewing. Maelor and Jaehaerys fight over a wooden horse. Aemond’s sister remains in front of him, though she looks as though she is worlds away.

“Those child led astray finds solace in the embrace of the sea.” she whispers.

Aemond’s attention is redirected from children to mother. A silence passes over him and his sister’s handmaids.

More innocuous ramblings, he thinks.

A servant enters the door to inform the sibling’s of The-Queen-To-Be’s arrival.

“Come, sister,” Aemond begins, “Alicent will be waiting for us. She wishes to receive our family in the Great Hall.”

Helaena sets down her embroidery and looks up at her brother, “A dragon’s ambition foretells his own undoing.” 

Aemond chooses not to hear her words.

— — —

Jaenara and her family’s reception in the Great Hall could not have felt more strained. Guarded expressions and tight lipped smiles adorned Alicent and her children - though Aemond and Aegon had not smiled at all. Helaena seemed blissfully unaware of the anxious energy surrounding her. Jaenara had sent a secret smile her way - a genuine one. And though she felt her uncle’s eyes boring into her, she refused to meet his gaze. 

Rhaenyra had been displeased by the whole ordeal, hoping to ease tensions at dinner. Jaenara found herself remembering the last dinner she had shared with her entire family and thought it to be an impossible task.

Jaenara had spent the time before dinner settling into her new chambers, though all her belongings had already been settled into place before her arrival. The room felt more inviting than her chamber’s in Dragonstone, which were drab and dreary. Though, this was the only silver lining she could find about her circumstances thus far.

When the time had come to prepare for the evening, the princess disrobed from her riding leathers, the smell of dragon peeling off along with them. Her handmaidens help her to dress in a gown that Rhaenyra had picked out for her.

I do not even have the agency to dress myself now?

Jaenara stepped into a dress of crushed velvet, a dark teal in color. The neckline was embroidered with pearls, illuminating her collarbones. The sleeves of the gown hang loosely and open at her wrists, revealing a pale cream color which lines the teal. A belt of silver bangles mixed with pearls hangs around her waist, crested above the teal, cream, and aquamarine shades of fabric that pool to the floor. The attire bore the unmistakable air of Velaryon fashion. The wearer, not so much.

Portions of Jaenara’s dark silky hair were re-braided into a ring, as if it were a crown sitting atop her head, while the rest of her hair remained loose. Black waves ran down her back like a waterfall. 

Her ladies had been told to do this, to help her into a fine gown. To adorn her ears and wrists with bangles. To fix her hair in a way that flattered her face.

To impress him.

She almost laughs out loud at the thought. Jaenara figured that Aemond would find her as charming as he had found that pig he’d been gifted all those years ago.

She decides to regard him similarly, despite her thoughts drifting to long platinum hair that she envied so much. 

Her maids had finally finished with their work. 

Jaenara is sitting around a great wooden table in the dining hall, with the entirety of her family. Servants have begun to deposit plates filled with meats and vegetables and pies and cakes all around. The clanking of plates and silverware fills an otherwise quiet room. Jaenara is begrudgingly sitting next to her uncle, and Jace and Luke shoot her looks of pity from across the table. She picks up her glass and takes a swig.

Suddenly, Rhaenyra Targaryen speaks, “I wish to clear the air,” She begins and everyone looks up from their plates. Alicent Hightower seems especially stiff. 

“I do not wish for this to be a time of tension and formalities - though I do thank you,” She looks at Alicent directly, “for your welcoming reception earlier today. I want us to speak freely amongst each other. I want only what our father, Viserys, wanted.” She makes a gesture towards her siblings at the end of her sentence. Aegon clears his throat.

“There is much to discuss in the coming days, but I want this to be a night of camaraderie and celebration.” Her mother stands, drink in hand, “Let us raise our glasses-”

Jaenara feels herself melting into her chair.

“-To the union between my cherished daughter, Jaenara Velaryon, and the prince Aemond Targaryen. May their union bring strength and prosperity to our noble houses, and may it be blessed by the gods." Her voice held a hint of cautious optimism, echoing the hopes and dreams of a realm poised on the brink of new alliances.

Jaenara lifts her glass, as well as her attention to the man next to her. Aemond is already looking at his niece, a smirk on his face. 

To everyone’s surprise, Alicent Hightower rises from her seat. She looks less burdened from the words of Rhaenyra.

“Thank you, Your Grace…for your unflinching understanding.” The two women share a look, “And to Jaenara and Aemond. A lovely match indeed.”

Helaena begins to clap, though no one else around the table shares her sentiments.

Aegon lets out an audible laugh at the toastings, “Apologies,” he adds quickly, “I am just so - overjoyed by this…marriage.” His voice drips with sarcasm. 

Jaenara forces a smile, though her eyes shine with a different expression, “I am happy this match pleases you, uncle.” 

However, Aemond does not let the jab pass unanswered. "I hope your joy does not swell too greatly, brother," he retorts, "for dragons have been known to breathe fire when overshadowed." 

Jaenara sits up straighter when she sees Aegon roll his eyes and throw back his cup. She regards Aemond with a quizzical gaze. The princess regarded Aemond’s retort as nothing more than a brotherly spat. Before any more slights can be passed around, the servants finish bringing out the rest of the food. The family begins their dinner and small conversations break out amongst those resigned to sit next to each other.

The princess watches her brothers laugh with Baela and Rhaena. Sees her mother and step-father speak with one another. She pushes her food around her plate.

The sudden sound of Aemond’s voice makes her jump, “The cooking of the castle staff does not please you?” he asks, amused.

Jaenara stops playing with her food and her eyes cut away to her uncle.

“The first conversation you wish to have with me - in years - is whether or not I like our meal?” her voice drips with condescending skepticism, “As if the fate of the realm hinges on my opinion of pigeon pie?”

He tsks at her, “Always so difficult niece. I am only attempting to make conversation. An endeavor that seems beneath you - a pursuit you avoid at all costs if it is with me.”

“You are just…quite bad at it.” Jaenara remarks.

It is Aemond’s turn to take a sip of his drink to hide his annoyance.

“I do enjoy that…costume you’re wearing. But you are more a Targaryen than a Velaryon - don’t you agree?” Aemond says lowly.

Jaenara knows his remarks are meant to be demeaning, though she tries to take it in stride. She was a Targaryen after all. And she was pleased that she acted so much like one that people took notice, even if it was Aemond. But an insult was an insult all the same. 

Exasperated, Jaenara turns to the prince fully, “Is this what I can expect when married to you? Insults thrown at me for all my days to come? You should know I can deal them out as well, twice as hard.”

Aemond chuckles, “You are too easy and quick to provoke, Jaenara. You are too tense.” She sees something flicker beneath his eye.

Aemond took pleasure in goading his niece, reveling in the predictability of her fiery responses. More silence passes between them. The prince watches Jaenara force a few bites of food into her mouth and continues to eavesdrop on conversations around her. Daemon whispers something to Rhaenyra, and her mother takes a glance at her daughter and half-brother. Jaenara winces. 

“You asked what you can expect being my…wife,” Aemond’s surprisingly soft gaze is already fixed upon her, “You can expect a union that does not harbor any illusions of love. But one founded on mutual…respect. Understanding. We shall navigate this pact with the grace and duty befitting of our situation if you would only allow it.” His words somehow put her at ease.

Jaenara is perplexed. Maybe her mother had been right in saying that Aemond had changed. Though she was skeptical of his remarks. It was yet uncertain whether they could truly let go of all that had transpired in the past. 

Although, the princess felt ever the faintest tinge of disappointment at his words.

“Well…” She begins, though her words do not come out as strong as she would like them to under her uncle’s intense stare, “I am…pleased to hear that. We do not have to feign ignorance then. I expected nothing more from us.”

To Jaenara’s dismay, Aemond seems amused. It is not so often she stumbles over her words. His gaze lingers over her. He takes notice of the pearl that sits prettily below her collarbones. He watches her eyes fall to her hands, which she wrings in her lap. Jaenara finds that she does not like how being at a loss for words makes her feel, and decides to throw back her drink, trying to find comfort in the bottom of the chalice.

[d-targaryenshoe]

Love Takes Time - Anthony Bridgerton

Word Count: 1636

Summary: To love for years and not having the chance to show, is a difficult thing to do, do you not think so?

It was the height of the new season and the Bridgerton ball was the talk of the ton. The finest lords and ladies of society had gathered to see and be seen, and for one young woman, it was a night she would never forget.

All eyes were on you, better known as, Miss Y/n Y/l/n as you danced with one of the most sought-after bachelors of the season, the dashing Lord Russell. Your beauty and grace were unmatched, and every gentleman in the room was vying for your attention.

But there was one man who couldn't take his eyes off you, and that was Anthony Bridgerton. He stood at the side of the ballroom, watching as his sister Daphne danced with Lord Russell's brother.

 Anthony couldn't help but feel a twinge of jealousy every time he saw you in the arms of another man.

He had known you for years, ever since your families had been neighbors. But it wasn't until this season that he had truly seen you in a different light. 

You had blossomed into a stunning young woman, and Anthony couldn't deny the feelings that had started to grow for you.

But as much as Anthony tried to hide his feelings, his sister Daphne had caught on. 

She knew her brother too well and could see the way he would stare at you whenever the both of you were in the same room. She would often tease him about it, much to his embarrassment.

"Anthony, do you plan on dancing with anyone tonight?" Daphne asked, raising an eyebrow at her brother's brooding expression.

Anthony rolled his eyes, "I have no desire to dance with any of the ladies here tonight."

"Oh, I see," Daphne smirked. 'Is that why you've been staring at y/n all evening?"

Anthony's face turned a bright shade of red, and he glared at his sister. "I have no idea what you are talking about."

Daphne just laughed, knowing full well that her brother was smitten with you. She couldn't wait to see what would happen between the both of you, but she also knew that it was up to Anthony to make the first move.

As the night went on, you danced with several different lords, each one more charming than the last.

 Anthony couldn't help but feel a pang of jealousy every time he saw you in another man's arms. He knew that you were the diamond of the season, and he couldn't bear the thought of you falling for someone else.

Meanwhile, you were having the time of your life. You had never been the center of attention like this before, and you were relishing in every moment. 

But deep down, you couldn't help but wish that Anthony would ask you to dance. 

You had always admired him from a distance, but now that you were here in London, you couldn't deny the feelings that had started to develop for him.

As the night wore on, Anthony found himself growing more and more restless. He couldn't stand the thought of another man holding you in his arms. 

He knew he had to do something, or he would regret it forever.

Finally, when you were in the middle of a dance with Lord Ubberton, Anthony couldn't take it anymore. 

He stood up abruptly, startling his mother and sister who were standing next to him.

"Anthony, what on earth are you doing?" his mother, Lady Violet, asked with concern.

"I have to speak to y/n," he blurted out before rushing out of the ballroom.

Daphne couldn't contain her excitement as she watched her brother leave the ballroom. 

She knew he was finally going to make a move on you, and she couldn't wait to see how it would all play out.

Outside, Anthony waited anxiously for you to finish your dance. He could barely contain his nerves, unsure of how you would react to his sudden appearance.

As soon as the music stopped, you excused yourself from Lord Ubberton and you made your way outside, wondering what had caused Anthony to leave the ball in such a rush.

"Miss y/n," Anthony said breathlessly as you approached him.

"Lord Bridgerton, is everything alright?" You asked with a worried expression.

"Yes, everything is fine indeed" Anthony reassured you. "I just couldn't stand the thought of you dancing with another man while I sit idly by."

Your cheeks turned pink as you realized just how much Anthony cared for you. "I-I had no idea you felt that way."

"I can't act like I don't love you," Anthony admitted, taking your hand in his. 'But I was too foolish to see it until now.'

You couldn't believe what you were hearing. You had always admired Anthony from afar, never thinking that he could possibly have feelings for You.

 But as you looked into his eyes, you knew that you were wrong.

"I have always admired you, Lord Bridgerton," You said softly.

"Please, call me Anthony," he replied, his heart racing with excitement.

The two of you stood outside, talking for what felt like hours. Both of you were finally able to express your feelings for each other, and it was a magical moment. 

But as the night wore on, you both realized you couldn't stay outside forever.

As you made your way back to the ball, hand in hand, you were met with an unexpected sight. 

Anthony's other sister, Eloise, was causing a scene, much to their mother's dismay.

"Anthony, there you are!" Eloise exclaimed, causing a few heads to turn. "I was wondering where you had disappeared to."

Anthony rolled his eyes, used to his sister's dramatics. "Eloise, please. This is hardly the time or place."

"Oh, but it is!" Eloise insisted. "You have been mooning over Miss Y/n for years, and now you are finally taking her for a walk outside."

Your face turned beet red as you looked at Anthony, unsure of how to respond to Eloise's teasing.

"Would you please keep your voice down, Eloise?" Daphne scolded her sister, who had now attracted the attention of almost everyone in the ballroom.

But Eloise wasn't finished yet. "And to think, I always thought it would be Daphne sneaking away at nighttime."

Anthony could feel his face turning red with embarrassment as he tried to hush his sister. "Eloise, that's enough!"

But before he could do anything else, Eloise had already caused quite a spectacle. 

You could see the anger building on Anthony's face, and you knew both had to get out of there before things got out of hand.

"Anthony, perhaps we should take a walk outside." You suggested, trying to diffuse the situation.

Anthony glared at his sister before turning to you and nodding in agreement. 

You both quickly made your way out of the ballroom, leaving behind a shocked and confused group of onlookers.

Outside, Anthony let out a sigh of relief, glad to be away from the chaos of the ball. You couldn't help but giggle at the situation, finding it all too amusing.

"I am so sorry about Eloise," Anthony apologized, still red-faced with embarrassment.

"It's quite alright," You reassured him. "I have to say, I didn't know what to expect when I came to London, but this certainly wasn't it."

Anthony chuckled, feeling more at ease now that you were alone. "I must apologize for my family's behavior. They can be quite unconventional at times."

"I think I quite like it," You said with a smile. "It's refreshing to see a family that is so close and comfortable with each other."

Anthony couldn't help but feel a sense of pride at your words. He knew his family could be a handful, but he loved them all dearly.

As you both walked around the gardens, talking and laughing, you couldn't help but feel like you were walking on air.

 You had never felt this way before, and you knew that Anthony was the reason for it.

Before you knew it, it was well past midnight, and you both knew you should be heading back to the ball. 

But neither of you wanted the night to end.

"Would you like to take a turn around the gardens with me?" Anthony asked, hoping to prolong your time together.

"I would love to," You replied, feeling a flutter in her stomach at the thought of being alone with Anthony.

As you walked hand in hand through the moonlit gardens, Anthony couldn't hold back any longer. 

He stopped in the middle of a rose garden and turned to face you, taking your hands in his.

"Miss y/n, I know this may seem sudden, but I cannot hold back any longer,' he declared, looking into your eyes with all the sincerity in his heart. "I have been in love with you for years, but I was too foolish to realize it until now. I cannot imagine my life without you, and I want you to be my wife."

Your breath caught in your throat, completely taken aback by Anthony's sudden declaration of love. 

But as you looked into his eyes, you knew that you couldn't deny your own feelings any longer.

"Anthony, I-"

But before you could finish your sentence, Anthony had closed the distance between you both and pressed his lips to yours in a tender and passionate kiss. 

You stood there, lost in each other's embrace, finally giving in to the feelings that had been growing between them for so long.

As you both pulled away, both of you knew that your lives would never be the same. 

You had found your way to each other, and you knew that your love would only continue to grow stronger.

The rest of the night was a blur for both of you as a newly declared couple as you made your way back to the ball, hand in hand.

[punkitt-is-here]

Is there some kind of in-show detail (or comics I guess? Don’t know too much about MLP lore) that makes everyone think Big Mac / Orchard Blossom is trans or is this just a widely accepted fanon thing? Love it either way just wondering if there’s an origin

okay, quick and dirty and by no means comprehensive, but my reasoning comes from two Season 5 episodes, Brotherhooves Social and Do Princesses Dream of Magic Sheep?

In Brotherhooves, Mac desires the same kind of admiration that AJ gets from Applebloom and through a series of mental gymnastics decides his best option for this is dressing up as Orchard Blossom, a Dolly-Parton-lookin' horse gal who is exceedingly confident and talkative, extremely energetic, and also like kind of flirty from what I remember? Mac basically transforms into a completely different person. In the end its revealed he didn't even have to do that because people who aren't someones actual sister have always been allowed in the competition.

In DPDoMS, the entire town is trapped in a shared dream and they're told they can imagine anything, and the first thing Mac does is transform into an alicorn princess, an exclusively female (from what we've seen) type of pony. There's also some misc. stuff here and there, like how seems to enjoy cute or effeminate things like Smartypants as long as no one sees him doing it, and how little he talks (which I've seen folks HC as him not enjoying his own voice).

Was this all a secret plan by the writers to showcase a closeted trans character? Nah, almost assuredly not. It's all mostly jokes around a big manly character having interests in and doing things that are stereotypically very non-masculine. But! I think that's the fun of it. As a rural trans woman, I saw those little dots and thought that connecting them let to a genuinely very compelling idea of a trans character, and I'm glad other folks have had the same idea to take the canon and see where it takes us. :)

[mossy-green-aka-ferrythem]

I can't get over how I was just casually watching a Tulok and Mango video, because you know, I love Elden Ring, and I love seeing how these people go about playing Elden Ring (probably some of the absolute best youtubers out there in that regard), and they just, god their analysis of Miquella. (Also, this post will casually bring up the DLC final boss, so watch out for that.)

I remember I just felt so stumped when it came to Miquella as a character. However, they just pick up and put the pieces together so clearly, that it makes me wonder how I haven't picked up on it sooner.

Like. Literally everything about Miquella comes together when you realize that one of the themes he is centered around is "Naivety". His eternal childhood represents how he is eternally naive, as he is but a child. His decision to marry his own brother not only shows how far he's lost himself in his own naivety. His "Age of Compassion" has no compassion at all, by making everyone servile to him he takes away other's free will, and a lord of a kingdom with no thinking subjects, is no lord at all. Miquella would just end up repeating the genocides that Marika committed before him I bet. He just really didn't know any better because like. He is a child. Children make bad decisions. He really did have good intentions at heart, especially in regards to his sister.

However, he lost the plot. His quest to ascend to godhood and make Radahn his consort really would only lead to further sacrifice and further ruin. Mohg was charmed and left without purpose, only there to execute a ritual to send Miquella to the Realm of Shadow, Malenia, in order to kill Radahn, had to stop resisting the influence of the rot god, and bloom for the first time in her life. These are just large, sweeping examples, but I really do think it shows Miquella's sheer descent when he chose to succeed the power structure.

Also. We cannot ignore the St. Trina-shaped Elephant in the room. Yes. I really do think it's best to look at her as a trans allegory. Like just. She is literally described multiple times as "Miquella's love" and "Miquella's fate", and she is most definitely meant to represent who Miquella's ideal self would end up being. Miquella finally growing out of that eternal childhood and blossoming into a woman. I really do think St. Trina is meant to represent Miquella's adult self. I mean, look at how even after being ruined, she still blossoms. She has the will to grow and endure, to take root somewhere. While Miquella, in his desire to succeed the power structure, had to remain a man. Throwing away that part of himself, that compassion, that love, leaving only a being that can grow like a weed. The way he looks in the promised consort fight is more like Kudzu, growing and choking all around him, rather than St. Trina, who blooms so beautifully...

Really there is a lot to think about here and this post isn't the best in terms of organization but like, you know?

[violettduchess]

A/N: I was a wee bit annoyed yesterday at the anon that seemed to be lamenting writers "suddenly" having OCs. So I wrote a short fic with mine because a) IT'S FUN and b) I felt like it. OCs are awesome and we should celebrate the creativity they represent!

My OC Leyla Quinn x Silvio, established relationship

One shot: Silvio and his fiancée on a rainy night in Rhodolite

WC: 1k

The ornate door to one of the royal suites inside the elegant Rhodolite palace swings open, bringing with it the scent of orange blossoms that always precedes Silvio’s fiancée. Leyla herself follows a moment later, shaking the rainwater out of her hair and kicking the door shut behind her. She had already removed her muddy boots before setting foot back inside the grand palace, walking barefoot through the palace and back to the suite, much to the servants' astonishment. Most people would not have been that thoughtful.

“God damn, who knew you’d get rain like this so far away from the sea?” Water drops fall from her like tiny pearls, littering the rich carpet with little dark spots.

The newspaper Silvio has been attempting to read is thrown aside as he shoots to his feet, annoyance written in every line of his face.

“Where the hell have you been?” His tone is sharp with displeasure, loud with irritation. It would have sent many others a step backwards in surprise, flinching with unease.

Leyla doesn’t even look away from wringing out her long, dark hair.

“Down, boy. Watch who you’re barking at.” She straightens up, but doesn’t stop moving, unbuttoning the front of her damp navy blue overcoat with quick, practiced fingers.

“Woman, you said you would be back before dark and that was an hour ago.” He’s watching her with narrowed eyes as she peels off her coat, then turns, walking into the bathroom, but not before revealing a quick glimpse of a white blouse now covered in tantalizing, transparent patches.

He breathes out, collecting his thoughts. Don't get distracted, Silvio. She had him fucking worried. He's pissed. She's gotta know that he was sitting here, watching the storm through the windows, wondering if she was ok. So yeah, stay focused. Focused.

When she returns, she’s hung all of her wet clothing over the rim of the large porcelain bathtub and is now wrapped in a fluffy white oversized bathrobe with a charming red Rhodolitian rose embroidered above her heart. Her hair is still damp with rainwater, a curtain of dark waves that smells like springtime and daydreams, spilling over her shoulders and down her back. 

His breath catches in his chest. She's so damn beautiful.

“I lost track of the hour as I was visiting Oliver in his lab and he was telling me about his latest-”

Fuck staying focused.

“Don’t care.”

Silvio crosses the room in just two long strides, wrapping an arm around Leyla’s waist and pulls her to him, overcome with the desperate need to feel her against him. He ducks his head, closing his eyes as he breathes in deeply, orange blossoms and rainwater, desire and love.

Feeling the way his strong hands hold her close brings a smile to her face. With Silvio, it never feels like he’s trapped her. It’s possessiveness, yes, but never a cage. It’s protection and want. It’s security and comfort. It’s a promise to never let go.

His mouth eagerly travels the line of her neck, brushing aside her hair for better access. Hunger spreads like wildfire through her veins but his kisses also carry something else, something more delicate, something vulnerable and silken within their heated depths.

Leyla grins slowly. “Missed me that much, did you?” 

His “Shuddup” is muffled as he kisses his way up towards her mouth and she starts to laugh. Even now, after all they have been through together, he still gets flustered, reluctant to reveal that tender part of him that she knows is there, the one that belongs to her and only her. 

“Aw, pup, were you pining for me? Counting down the minutes until I returned, each one an eternity as you ached with–Ahh!”

Her teasing is cut off as he swiftly hoists her up and over his shoulder, turning and stalking towards the canopied bed with its red and gold bed covers and gold satin pillows.

“That’s enough out of you, wench,” he grunts as he tosses her down, the sound of her delighted laugh filling the room and warming him more than any fire ever could.

He wraps his long fingers around her wrists, pinning them up by her head. She looks up at him, sky-blue eyes flashing with something just as bright and brilliant as the lightning outside, the echo of her laughter lingering as a smile.

“Hey Silvio?”

He doesn’t know where to settle his gaze. Her hair is a pool of ebony waves around her, her luxurious robe has slipped off of one shoulder to reveal an enticing amount of skin, and there’s still that smile on those lips….

“Yeah?” The word is a rasp from the back of his throat.

“Guess who loves you.”

His cheeks flush and he looks away, his chest rising and falling with every quick breath he takes.

“Goddamnit, sea witch, why–”

“No really, can you guess anyone? Cause I certainly can’t. For a prince, you’re rather annoying and loud and–”

She’s cut off as he lowers his mouth to hers with a growl, stopping her teasing words. More laughter bubbles within her chest as she hooks one leg around his and kisses him back with all her might. She can get away with teasing him like this because they both know the truth: they were two souls adrift in an endless sea of doubt who, despite the odds, have found safe harbor in each other’s arms. The journey may have been long, but now that they have conquered the darkness and the hidden perils of a dark ocean of uncertainty, she knows their hearts are so entwined, there is no untangling them.

He releases her wrists, intending to make quick work of her robe when she catches his face in her hands, holding him still. Her thumbs lighty stroke over his cheekbone as she searches his gaze.

“Hey.” One little word, soft and sincere, perhaps odd to any outsider but to them, it carries a weight far beyond its three letters. It’s the softest part of her heart reaching out to him, saying hello love of my life. Hello.

And he’s lost in the light of her eyes, the dulcet sound of her voice, the velvet of her touch. 

“Hey,” he murmurs quietly in return. I hear you, the word answers. And I love you too.

She smiles and closes her eyes as he leans down, pressing his lips to hers. An unspoken promise renewed on this rainy, Rhodolite night.

Tagging: @alexxavicry @queengiuliettafirstlady @bellerose-arcana @thewitchofbooks @aria-chikage

@redheadkittys @tele86 @dear-mrs-otome @olivermorningstar @writingwhimsey

@mxrmaid-poet @silver-dahlia @wendolrea @nightfoxqueen @myonlyjknight

@ikesimpleton @ikemenlibrary @namine-somebodies-nobody @cellophanediamond @whatever-fanfics

@justpeachyteastea @chirp-a-chirp @got7igot7family @kookie-my-little-sunshine @mastering-procrastinating

@portrait-ninja @starlitmanor-network @sh0jun @queen-dahlia @themysticalbeing

@nightghoul381 @whitelittlebunny @chi-the-idiot @bubblexly @ozalysss

@keithsandwich @ikeprinces-stuff @bestbryn

[beautification-tales]

The Author

A meta caption story

The cool air of the evening creeps in through the open window, gently rustling the curtains and sending a shiver down Ophelia's spine. She sighs, leaning back against the pillows as she stares at the ceiling, lost in thought. It's been a long day; a day filled with routine, frustration, and a whole lot of nothing in between. The silence of the house is almost deafening, save for the occasional creak from the old floorboards and the soft murmur of her husband's voice...

But it's not the sound of his voice that catches her attention. It's the rhythmic slapping noise coming from his home office, just a few steps away. At first, she's not quite sure what it is, but then it hits her: he's masturbating. The realization sends a wave of conflicting emotions crashing through her. Part of her feels violated, like an intruder has violated their sacred space; another part of her feels a pang of jealousy, wondering why he can't find release with her. Yet another part of her feels a strange sense of arousal, her body responding to the sounds even as her mind protests.

She creeps up to the office a little, not wanting to make too much noise, her heart pounding in her chest. Through the crack under the door, she sees her husband's naked form hunched over his desk, his hand moving furiously. He can’t take his eyes off his laptop as if hypnotized he increases his speed. “Ungh fuck! I want her.” He groans as his face contorts. “Who does he want?” Ophelia thinks to herself. She feels a mixture of anger and arousal course through her veins.

Ludwig grunts again “Ungh, it feels… so good!” He shakes violently as he orgasms. Ophelia watches him wipe down his computer and the stain he shot upon his desk. Ludwig coughed as he slid out the back door to his private bathroom. Ophelia could hear the quiet hum of his shower head turning on. Ophelia quickly rushed into the room to look at what kind of porn her husband was enjoying.

Ophelia was shocked to only find a few windows of blogs open as well as an email from “The Mistress”. Ophelia took note of the names of the blogs and the email address of the “The Mistress”. Ophelia ran back to her bed and started looking up these items on her cell phone. Ludwig had stopped having sex with her very early in the marriage. At first Ophelia did not mind as she wasn’t a very sexual person. However, when it became more obvious that Ludwig had sought after other avenues to feed his desires, her jealousy was sparked.

“What kind of stories are on these blogs that could make Ludwig feel pleasure like that?” She thought to herself as she read a story from one blog. The story was short and was about a flat chested woman who got plastic surgery and became a porn star. She checked on another blog and it had a similar story of nerdy girl drinking a serum and becoming a femme fatale. The story had a graphic sex scene as the girl fucked her former crush. Ophelia felt herself become wet at the tale. She went to another blog.

Ophelia felt a cold sweat as the story had a plain, mousy wife. She was not confident and was terrible in bed. She became afraid she would lose her husband and found a succubus that bestowed her with supernatural power and beauty as well. The story sounded eerily familiar especially as the wife’s name was… Ophelia. She kept reading stories on this blog as they had a familiar and predictable formula. Yet, the ending was so graphic and passionate that every word became addictive. Ophelia felt herself become wetter after every tale. It was then Ludwig creeped into their bed. “You’re still up sweetie?” Ludwig asked. “Couldn’t sleep.” Ophelia said softly.

She turned off her smart phone and went to sleep. Yet the stories haunted her dreams. She dreamed of drinking a serum, taking a steroid or making a deal and transforming. Her nerdy demeanor would vanish as her breasts would blossom and she would find Ludwig. They would fuck like animals as passion would overwhelm them.

Ophelia jolted up from bed as the alarm clock rang. Ludwig was already downstairs as she heard his footsteps making coffee and breakfast. She lifted her covers and gasped. She was soaked. She realized that the stories… awoken something in her.

She quickly cleaned up and went downstairs to talk to her husband. “Hey baby! Looking good today!” She said as she gave him a tight hug. Ludwig lifted an eyebrow and looked at her puzzled. “Ok! what appliance do I need to buy this time?” He joked. She smiled and giggled as she sat down at the table.

“Can’t I flirt with my husband? I rarely do it and maybe you need more of it.” Ophelia grabbed at her husband’s thigh rubbing it. “Maybe we can do something fun before you go to work today.” She leaned in closer. Ludwig felt a chill run down his spine as he looked into her eyes. Her pupils were dilated. He could see the lust in them. It was a side of her he hadn't seen in years.

Ludwig stood up unaffected by his wife’s advances. “Sorry, sweetie but I have an important meeting so I have to be early today. Maybe next time.” He gave her a kiss on the cheek and left for work.

During the day Ophelia couldn’t focus at work as she thought about Ludwig masturbating to emails from “The Mistress”. Later that night Ophelia once again made some obvious advances to Ludwig as he made excuses of having more emails to get to. Ophelia felt a rage in her build as she was rejected once again.

It was exacerbated as Ophelia heard her husband moan from his office again. Ophelia rushed and watched through the crack again as Ludwig grunted as he stroked his cock. “Yes my Mistress… I’m … I’m… worthy!” Ludwig erupted violently as his body shook as if every one of his muscles contracted. Ophelia felt herself become wet as her jealousy and arousal reached new heights.

“Why would he rather fuck his hand over blogs and emails than with his horny wife?” She thought to herself. Ludwig performed the same ritual of cleaning his mess and taking a shower. Ophelia ran into the office to read the personal email. The latest one said. “Ludwig your stories are exquisite. I think you may be worthy after all. Come meet me and I’ll make your dreams come true.”

Ophelia ran back to bed as she learned two things. The blog with her favorite stories were authored by her husband. Ludwig was aroused by the praise from this mysterious “Mistress” that he planned on meeting to probably be intimate with.

Ophelia felt the tears fall down her face. Ludwig entered the bed as she pretended to be asleep. It was in that moment she resolved to fight for what was hers. The mistress may be some amazing vixen with beauty that far surpasses her own but Ophelia was going to go down swinging.

The next morning she stayed in bed as her husband left for work. She then jumped out of bed and went to Ludwig’s office. She found the address of the mistress and drove there. The retail store was large and had a nail salon attached to it. “Welcome to the emporium” a gorgeous employee said to Ophelia as she entered. “If you need anything do not hesitate to ask.” Ophelia slowly walked up to the employee. “Umm yes….I’m here to talk to the Mistress.” The woman’s smile vanished as she had a serious look. The woman then looked down at Ophelia’s long brown skirt and brown flats. She then smiled at Ophelia. “Of course you are! This way please!”

The woman lead Ophelia past the store into the nail salon. The technicians and clients were all gorgeous with makeup upon their faces. All were wearing tight dresses with bright colorful high heels. Ophelia tried not to stare but could hear what sounded like moans from the clients as nails were put on their fingers. “Mmmm I’m a bad bitch yes!” One of them said as Ophelia looked back the employee brought her back to focus. “This Way Miss?”

The woman pushed a door open to reveal a lavishly decorated hallway. “Mrs! Ophelia Bloom.” Ophelia told the employee. On the wall was an intercom as the employee pressed it she said. “Mistress. A Mrs Ophelia Bloom is here to see you.” There was a pause before a mechanical feminine voice answered.

"Very well. Send her in." The employee pushed another door at the end of the hall revealing a large opulent office. Inside sat a beautiful blonde-haired woman in her early thirties. She was wearing a tight black dress that hugged her curves in all the right places. Her makeup was flawless, and her hair was styled perfectly. She had a commanding presence that filled the room. Ophelia felt a mixture of intimidation and attraction as she walked towards her.

“Ah Ophelia… I heard so much about you. Ludwig really does describe you well. So he sent you? For the package I prepared?” The Mistress smiled warmly as she motioned for Ophelia to take a seat on the plush couch. Ophelia sat down, feeling a mixture of nervousness and anger course through her veins.

Ophelia thought that Ludwig was planning to fuck this woman but it seemed she had something prepared for him. Something he wanted desperately. “Yes Mistress! He wanted me to get it for him. He didn’t want to wait and he is busy in meetings today.” Ophelia looked at the Mistress with a mixture of anger and determination. The Mistress smiled and stood up, walking over to a large desk and opening a drawer. She pulled out a small box and handed it to Ophelia.

“Now it can only be used once so make sure you’re both sure about this.” The mistress put her hands on her hips with a serious stare said. “ Absolutely no refunds and there are no reversals. Everything is permanent.” Ophelia opened the box and saw a vial with a cork stopper on top. “What is in this?” she asked.

The mistress raised an eyebrow and looked at Ophelia. “It is a potent mixture of “mauvaise femme” it has about a 5 minute delay though before taking hold. Ludwig asked for fast acting but this stronger batch…needs patience but it’s worth it. I’m sure you both will be happy with results. Now if you’ll excuse me Ophelia. I have quite a few scheduled appointments today. I just had to squeeze you in because I’m a big fan of your husband’s stories. I can’t wait to see them improve.” She smiled with a sly grin.

Ophelia rushed home. She left the box on the dining room table as she paced her home. She wondered why her husband wanted that gift from the Mistress. Ludwig’s stories played in her mind as she stayed deep in thought. “Is it real? Did Ludwig want her to transform into a bad bitch? To know how to dress sexy and be sexy?” Ophelia was still in disbelief but it all pointed to the same thing. Ludwig wanted her to transform. Ophelia felt that same excitement she felt reading her husband’s stories and she knew she could “make it a reality” for him.

It felt like an eternity but Ludwig finally came home. “Oh hey sweetie. I had a long day.” He said as he took off his suit jacket. Ophelia couldn't help but feel nervous. She was sitting at the dining table with the box in front of her. “We need to talk Ludwig…right now.” She said, her voice shaking slightly. Ludwig looked at her with a confused expression, not quite understanding what she meant. “Umm ok… what’s wrong?” He asked as he sat down.

“I met the Mistress today. I know all about your blog and your fantasies.” Ludwig’s face went completely white at his wife’s admission. “I mean it all makes sense now. You have a certain kink that you wanted to live out and now you can baby.” Ophelia put the box on the table. “I got it from the mistress today.” She paused, waiting for his reaction. Ludwig was frozen in disbelief. His heart raced as he tried to process what was happening.

Ludwig grabbed the box and opened it. “Where is it Ophelia! Where is the fucking serum???” He yelled, his eyes wild with desperation. Ophelia looked at him. “I drank it when you opened the door. I thought this is what you wanted.” Ludwig slammed his hand on the table. “You stupid bitch! The power! The beauty, it was mine! I earned it! It was my stories that got her attention. It was supposed to be mine. I was going to be free from this mundane life, living in luxury and you drank it? You have no passion… no imagination. Your frigid plain body must have killed the serum’s potency. It was supposed to be an instant transformation.”

“It has a 5 minute delay.” Ophelia whispered to Ludwig. Her heart was pounding in her chest as the serum pumped into her bloodstream. “Wait… what?Ludwig asked confused. “She said… it has a fff..five minute delay.” Ophelia felt strange as she placed both arms on the table. Ludwig looked in horror as Ophelia’s plain fingernails grew into red pointed nails. “No…” Ludwig nearly cried as he collapsed back into his chair.

“Mmm you’re right. I was a frigid plain girl.” The sounds of bones cracking and shifting filled the room as Ophelia’s body began to change. “Oooh but from now on I’m going to be a bad bitch.” The thin arms and legs of Ophelia gained muscle tone as she began to moan. Ludwig’s cock hardened in his pants as his stories were coming alive before his eyes.

“Ungh, I’m going to make you stroke to me daily as I fuck alpha males in front of you. I’m going to seduce company CEO’s and drain their bank accounts and their balls! How’s that for imagination!? I’m going to make you watch every fucking second as I have lunch dates with the Mistress. Ungh fuck !” The sounds of cracking stopped as Ophelia’s hair brightened turning from boring brown into golden blonde.

Ludwig hypnotized as the transformation progressed grabbed his cock. “You couldn’t help yourself huh? Mmm you see my hair change color? It’s just like one of your stories! I feel so fucking wet. My arms and legs. So strong and powerful!” Ophelia ripped her shirts sleeves off and tore open her long skirt.

Ludwig unzipped his pants as he panted like an animal. Ophelia’s breasts were next as they doubled in size. Ophelia’s skin become tan and flawless. “The fucking power, Ludwig! I feel it. I can get anything I want. Fuck anyone I want!” Her cheekbones raised up as her lips got fuller and covered in red lipstick. Ophelia stood up and turned around. “I can feel it my ass is growing!”

Her back muscles strengthened and filled out as her butt lifted up making a perfect peach. Her abdomen toned and became flat as her hips got wider and her waist slimmer.

Ludwig grunted as he came watching his plain, frigid wife become a truly powerful vixen.

“Hmmm you enjoyed that didn’t you? Didn’t you my pet?”

“Yes … I … never came so hard…ever.”

“Hmmm I guess you have a new story to write.”

[merbear25]

eeeee congrats!! your writing is beautiful and you are very dear to me!!

requesting fem!reader w/zoro + 7 for the event 👉👈

Eeeeee thank you for sending in a request, lovely! Your words are so very kind and you are so dear to me, too 💜💜 I hope you like what I've written for you!

Holding on

CW: SFW, fem!reader, fluff

With the stars scattered across the nighttime sky, such beauty was meant to be relished in with someone close to you―near and dear to your heart. You counted your blessings that such a person existed for you. Although your feelings were reciprocated, they were still newfound. Being in the early stages meant they required delicate tending to so as to ensure the budding romance could flourish into an ever-lasting love.

Staring up at the wonders which the universe had in store, the warm breeze from the sea wafted over the both of you. Casting a sense of tranquility over you, while you laid shoulder to shoulder with Zoro. You closed your delicate lashes to allow yourself to bask in the hushed quiet you were often in search for.

However, those intruding thoughts of reality impeded on your time together. Knowing you'd have to leave his side whenever the Sunny eventually docked, not wanting to think about what lay ahead on those shores, the encompassing fear of 'what if': such intrusion opened the floodgates and carried you out to the raging seas.

There weren't as many moments as you would've liked to just be able to breathe and appreciate each other's company―fragments that you had to be quick to grab or else they'd fade into the nullity of whatever else had been lost.

Turning to him, your shallow breaths spoke volumes. "What's on your mind?" He asked without meeting your gaze.

With your eyes falling from his face, you thoughtfully crafted one of your deepest desires, "Can we just stay like this?" Wincing at your own display of raw emotion, you couldn't shake the gnawing feeling that it was a silly thing for a grown woman to say.

As the breeze picked up and carried more of a bite to it, your body shivered at the chilled teeth being sunk into it. The sudden shift in temperature alluded to a brewing storm, its whirling dark clouds itching to cast harsh force on your promising love.

Zoro still hadn't responded, which left your words suspended and further let doubt as to whether it was childish for you to say them blanket over you.

In spite of taking his time to respond to you, such worries as to why he was hesitatng were mute. Hearing you express such a simple, yet vulnerable want struck him to his core. He yearned for the same, though he felt as if whatever he said wouldn't do his innermost thoughts justice.

Instead, he reached for your hand, lacing his fingers with yours, and held on firmly. Showing you that he shared in your want to cling to this moment for as long as you could―grasping at this petal of elation fluttering past―was the most competent way for him to bear his heart.

The blanket that'd been thrown on you was now tossed aside, allowing you to breathe easily. A smile repelled the troubling thoughts that were creeping in, its warmth consuming the darkness that trailed alongside them. Such an inviting radiance was contagious; even without having to look at you, your tenderness made itself known to Zoro. His own satisfaction was shown on his expression.

The petals of your blossoming love bathed in the moonlight and shine of the stars, soaking up their softened rays. Despite the storm drawing nearer, threatening the foundations of it, your adoration for each other was securely planted. Such forces wouldn't dare be given the chance to uproot what the both of you were nurturing.

You could rest assured that whatever came your way, you both would be there to trek through it together. Even though the quality time that did manage to find you was short-lived, leaving your heart aching for more, you tried not to dwell on it. The present was worth giving your full attention to, holding on to that fragment for as long as you could.

[wordsformizu]

Your Father's Daughter Mizu x Reader

Word count: 3.1k

Chapter 2.

There were no words left to say for this assignment. You were to be in and out, and if anyone were to interrupt or attempt to stop you you kill them too. A quick disposal of garbage your father did not find fit for his future. 

The Kamiizumi’s are a family of wealthy merchants that began offering their financial help to support your fathers cause. They believed in his greatness and wanted to be on the right side of history, which you translated to being “On the safe side”. They were on whichever side that would keep them as one of the richest in the country and currently that was your fathers. They held no true morals and only believed in currency as time and time again it has proven to keep their hinds safe, stomachs gluttonously full, and even the darkest of their desires satisfied. As slimy as slugs on a wet leaf after it rains and with the same backbone as one, the Kamiizumi family were truly distasteful to you. It was an honor that your father sent you to cut off the head of the snake. 

Your father taught you that gossiping was a horrible hobby to uphold. A  hobby that should be left to women to carry as wasting time is not a task a man should be performing. And the head of the Kamiizumi family was a horrible gossip. Letting slip your fathers plans and his true allegiance to the young girls that frequented his home. And girls, they speak even if you aren’t listening. After a few sips of warm sake, and some comforting strokes on his pimpled back, he would begin spouting information along with his blank seeds. Red in the face for both stimulating actions.

 Yes, your father taught you a lot about this society and the responsibilities of women and men when you would have time for your talks. The importance of a man, and the subservient duty of a woman and what happens if order is not in place. 

“Everyone and everything should be in its rightful place, and it is the responsibility of Man to uphold this system.” he would explain. “If God were generous we would live happily, but we have hands and will and hunger. With these tools Man becomes king under the heavens.” he would speak the last part to himself in a low tone before going onto the next topic. “For on this earth, there is no God.” 

It isn't like you had forgotten you were a woman, the soft features were present on your face and though you were built petite, you could see the perk of your breasts in certain angles. You would catch yourself in the mirror at times when your mind would curiously wander on the topics of beauty; though these moments were rare. Other young women your age were a bit more developed, more womanly and full. You sometimes wondered what kind of woman you would have grown to become if you weren't so malnourished and underfed as a child. Would you have grown taller, with more slender legs instead of the thin ones you possess? Would you have more curves to your figure for your kimono to hold onto as you wrapped it around your body? Would your lips display as blossom petals on your face when you applied lip paint to bring out more color to your features? All these thoughts you let yourself explore for a brief moment as you prepared yourself for this assignment. 

Slipping on the okobo’s you had found, you headed into the night to begin. This wasnt your usual attire, but you were able to slip onto the Kamiizumi property on time without drawing any attention to yourself. In the late nights at the end of certain weeks, the Kamiizumi head of house would throw a small party just for himself and a few friends who shared his tastes. Young women. No not women, girls would be gathered like flowers in a vase to decorate his halls with their youth and essence. Him and his lowly friends would pick their favorites and pluck from them their petals of innocence and virtue. They would do this until they became too old for the weekly visits, or their bellies swole with budding life. Sometimes that wouldn't stop them. Through the halls you could hear the cries of children, and the moans of men. Two sounds that should never cross, you thought to yourself. Men like him were beastly. Barbaric. It was an honor that your father left the final say in your hand. You were glad to be the period to his sentence.

You took to wandering the halls, wondering which room would inhabit your target. You hated listening, but it was important for you to hear if you could recognize his voice through the acts or possibly someone whispering his name to lead you into the right direction. Finally you came across a room with its door shut. You thought to yourself what was the point of a closed door if you could still smell and hear everything going on within its walls.

“And he has eyes that are blue-” you heard one of the men inside the room grunt and then collapse onto the floor. 

“Like an Onryo.” You heard him finish in a pant. The thought of this man speaking on your father set a spark of fire that traveled through your skin. The only blue eyed man you knew was your father, his boss, and he dare spoke of him while relieving himself as if he were common gossip at a brothel. 

You moved to a far corner so that you could slip deeper into the shadows, but stay hidden from anyone who left the other rooms. 

“Its said that he disgraced the once honorable student now Samurai of the Shindo Dojo .” You heard another man speak. “Cut off the top of his chonmage.” The men ooo’d and and spoke amongst eachother. Some laughed, arguing if the samurai deserved it or not.

“I heard he opened the mouth of the beast and tore out the Four Fangs.” 

You caught on to what they were speaking about. The Four fangs were an elite group of assassins known across Japan for carrying some of the most lethal exterminations. Whoever it is that they were discussing was not your father as your father and that group have never crossed paths according to his stories. They were speaking of someone else. Someone more dangerous than the Four Fangs. You leaned in to listen.

“I would have paid good money to see that.”

“You fools would believe any lie. Any fool can say they defeated anyone, it doesn't mean they did. Look here, this small rabbit defeated the Four Fangs. Didnt you, sweetheart?” You heard a quick smack of a hand on flesh followed by a child's yelp and a gaggle of laughter. You winced. 

“Who is this nameless samurai anyway? Or can we call him a samurai?”

“A crazed murderer is more like it.”

“They say-”

“Who says?”

“Those who get the chance to witness him and live to speak-”

“Oh, God.”

“Anyway, they say he’s on some sort of mission. A friend of a friend-”

“A friend of a friend, he says”

“A friend of a friend has told me that he is hunting down specific people. People that arent of our own. Foreigners.” Silence as the men slowly began to understand what this meant.

“It is said he has already taken down one of them.” There was more silence before someone finally spoke.

“It was about time someone handled this problem.” This was the voice of the Kamiizumi’s family head. You recognized it by the wheeze of his lungs that followed behind every sentence he spoke. This was caused by his years of smoking, it has weakened him as a man. 

“I’m simply saying what we all are thinking. We all knew eventually we would have to rid our land of these white men. I will speak my mind, because I am the bravest.” and the dumbest, you thought to yourself.

“If anyone finds this “White man” killer, let me know. I will pay a hefty price to speak to him. Maybe we can be rid of our own..problem.” 

A few cleared throats and muffled “Im tired”s “I must rest” “Good nights” later and the men, and girls, came pouring out of the room, headed in the direction of their guest spaces. Everyone came out, but the Kamiizumi head was the last to poke out. He was just as ugly as you remembered him. His stomach left the door before he did, gray hair trailing from his navel to his exposed pubic region. His face was not a sight for sore eyes as it was heavily aged beyond its years and held craters and moles in different areas. His teeth were yellowed, and you couldn't tell if his hair was shining from grease or hair oil. When you have money, you don’t have to consider others. You can be as ugly as you want, inside and out.

He looked down the left side of the hall, watching his friends slip into their guest rooms. You watched from the right, deep within the corner. He would eventually shift and return back to the room and in doing so he will spot you here. After watching him for weeks, one thing you knew of him was that he couldn't help touching something shiny and brand new. For all he knew, you were a new girl brought to him that he had never experienced before. He would approach you, and beckon you into the room to comfort him into the night. And spot you he did.

“Would you look at that. Were you hiding behind all the other lovely dolls brought in, or saving yourself for last?” He approached you, lowering his stance which made the stench of alcohol and unkempt dental hygiene stronger. You backed away from the scent, but was sure to put on a face of fear. One of the benefits of appearing so young was being able to use it to your advantage. It wasn't the first time you’ve used this tactic. You would feign weak and feeble, younger than your true age. You weren't hideous, and once again if your mother had spent her money on feeding all of you more and giving you the proper nutritional value as a young child you were sure you would have grown into a full and beautiful woman; but now that you're stuck in this slightly smaller than average malnourished body you could take advantage of the people who viewed you as weak and vulnerable. This allowed you at times to exploit them and target their soft spots. Appearing weak and feeble allowed certain people to pull you in. Close enough for you to strike where it hurts. Men like Kamiizumi enjoyed torturing the weak and feeble. Even better, he liked naive. Untainted. Clean. 

He was eating the reactions you were feeding him out of the palm of your hands, his hunger striking again. You were sure to lower your face incase he noticed the hatred you held for him through your eyes. This also wouldn't be a good time to be recognized as he was now leading you into the room. 

“Lucky you I have energy for one more,” his laugh sounded like mud trying to push its way out of a small hole. “I’ll be sure to be slow with you so we can cuddle all night. The other girls your age like that.” 

The minute the door shut, the stench surrounded you, forcing itself down your throat. It was so strong you could taste the room, and looking around you didn't need much of an imagination to know the absurdities that happened in here. It was rancid. Repulsive. Revolting.

  You didn't realize he had begun speaking, rambling about whatever nonsense.

“There's something familiar about you, I can't pin it, but I like it..” Your senses were becoming overstimulated, and you needed to focus. 

“- and I can show you how a real man breaks in dolls like you. Don’t you worry though.” he began reaching towards you, and all you could see was his grimy sweaty palms and fingers as large as sausages threatening your personal space.

 “ I’ll be gentle…”. The buildup of skin under his fingernails. The scent. The sweat.

“...so you can come back.”

His blood was warm before it cooled and dried on your skin, spraying everywhere. This was erotic in its own way, except you got to choose what was being ejected. He reached for his neck quickly, trying to clog the deep slice you left in the deep layers of his skin when he was crawling closer. His usual gurgles were louder now, but he couldn't scream as you were sure to strike his vocal cords as well. The right price for someone who gossips as much as he does, you thought. 

“You-..” the realization hit him as he began to recognize who you were far too late. In the corners of the room, behind your fathers coat. He had seen you but as always too late.

He tried to let out some sort of noise to alert the others, but instead let out noises of a dying fish. Skillfully switching the dagger from one position in your hand to the next, you lifted your arms to deliver your fathers final say.

Approaching the entrance of your fathers study, senses of relief began to wash over your being. Home again, after another successfully completed assignment. You were drenched in blood from your hair, to the hems of your kimono. You overheard a conversation taking place behind the doors.

“Sir, I apologize. We didn’t know-”

“I knew.” You recognized your fathers voice, but it didn't sound like your father. There was no warmth, no peace.

“I knew, didn't I?”

“Yes, Sir..” The man sounded petrified, like he was pleading for his life. You approached the door to peek inside. 

“And you didn't listen.”

“Yes, Sir-”

“Say it.” 

“We didn’t listen..”

“Right.” You heard the hit before you saw it with your eye. The man let out a blood curdling scream before your father hushed him. You might've heard a bone crush beneath the grip your father had on the man, but you weren't sure. 

“You're going to fix this.”

“We’re going to fix this..” The man spoke through the pain, blood seeping out between his gritted teeth.

“And next time you’ll listen to me when I say to-”

“And next time we’ll listen to you-”

“Do not interrupt me.” Your father spoke, followed by more crunches and whimpering from the man. 

You watched now, this man who you called father, violently lashing out on one of his followers. You had never seen this side of him before. A colder, violent side to him. His usually groomed hair, now letting out a few strands as he overpowered this man. His top coat now removed. Everyone could get angry, but never your father. He was never angry. Never bothered. Never disturbed. He was prepared for everything, anything. It’s one of the things that made him above man, above all.

A few moments passed before he let out a sigh, releasing the man to drop onto the floor hard. He combed his fingers through his blonde hair, fixing it and then adjusting his vest. 

“I expect immediate results. Do inform me if anything changes in our favor, friend.” His voice was beginning to sound familiar, lighter, at ease again but not quite there yet. His strides are long, so he leaves the man on the floor to pick himself up and walks towards his desk, reaching  the other side of the room in no time.

The man throws opens the slide door and limps past you so fast  he didn't even see you. You stood there at the entrance of the door, but close to the shadows. If it was your father, he’d know you were there sooner or later. He would feel you. Your father would know. He’d know-

“Come,” the warmth in his voice returned and a wave of emotion washed over you, threatening to overtake you. All of a sudden you were five again, running into the safety of his arms. Approaching the side of his desk quietly, you made sure to ignore the blood on the floor. One of the house maidens would clean it spotless as if it never existed. Until then if your father has decided to not address it, so would you. 

One look at you and he clicked his tongue in disappointment. You had forgotten the mess you were in, and even worse you had brought yourself in the presence of your father looking this way. Shame shaded your cheeks before it was met with a damp towel, and the other with the padding of his palms. He held your head still as he wiped away the blood. He knew. 

If you were snow, you would melt in the palm of his hands, and if you were a himawari flower you would bloom in his direction. Though you weren't a child any longer, it was moments like this that made every mission, every completed assignment, worth it. Your eyes fluttered in comfort, before finally closing. Yes, this was your father, and that was just a moment that that man definitely deserved. The same way you have earned your fathers softness, and comfort, he has earned his harshness and was punished for whatever mistake he shouldn't have let happen. Simple enough. At the end of the day, it was this man who knew your strengths and weaknesses, it was this man who built you into who you are. It was this man who knew how to soothe your nerves. It was this man who made you great. 

“There, now I can see your face.” Your eyelids felt heavy in this moment, but you opened them still to meet his. A door opened in your mind, reminding you of the oceanside he took you to as a child. How he rolled the legs of his pants up so that you both could enjoy the water, your sudden shock of the coldness touching your skin followed by giggles and laughter, how you thought to yourself that his eyes reminded you so much of the sky’s horizon, how they were the same color as-

“The ocean.” The words slipped from your lips in an accidental whisper. 

“The ocean?” He repeated smoothly, pausing for the moment.

It was then that you were reminded that his eyes weren't the only ocean blues in Japan, and that these ones were possibly looking for him. 

“There is a man looking to kill you.”

Your father smiled and began wiping at your face again, tilting your head with delicacy. 

“There are a lot of men looking to kill me.” he said plainly.

“No,” lifting your arm, you rested your hand gently over his and met his eyes with a desperate urgency behind them.

“This one is different.”

[bihanarms]

Chapter one : Unmasking love

let me warn you, as usual, that I'm just a basic french girl who can make mistakes in her english and spanish :( i apologize in advance, and please don't hesitate to correct me if needed~

After collaborating for several weeks, Luis and (y/n) had become familiar with each other, and a robust professional relationship had blossomed between them. However, he desired something more intimate with this "senorita," as he fondly called her, yet the head of the security team had never shown any interest in his advances. Nevertheless, our handsome searcher remained true to himself and did not give up on trying to charm her.

Fortunately for him, (y/n) was assigned to guard duty every time his search team had an important trip planned, which allowed them to meet frequently. Despite this, after weeks of working together, Luis had yet to catch a glimpse of (y/n)'s face without her helmet, which intrigued him immensely. He had imagined her in countless ways, from a cute blonde with pretty hazel eyes to a charming curly-haired brunette, and he had never seen her skin to guess its color... this mystery was driving him crazier every day.

One day, like any other day, while (y/n) was on guard duty in front of Luis's laboratory, he approached her and asked her once again to show him her face. Using his charming smile and voice as usual, he started « So, querida, I was wondering, as you know, once again... what do you look like under all this gear?" Although (y/n) had heard this many times before, she still replied calmly, "Sorry, Luis, but this information is classified as top secret, and besides, you're in the middle of work. Please stay focused." Despite this negative answer, the young man persisted, he approached her face even closer and started to whisper close to her ear, "Come on, cariña... just take it off for like.. 10 seconds, just for me? Not more."

Shivers ran through her entire body.

(y/n) took a deep breath, trying to hide whatever she was starting to feel at that moment, shook her head, and put a hand on his torso to move him back away from her. "Ask as much as you want, the answer will never change," she said.

Luis pouted. "Por favor? You're not very funny, you know that." (y/n) laughed under her mask and responded, "Oh, I'm very funny, but we're at work, and it seems like you have plenty of work to do, so get to it please, ah-hum sorry, por favor?"

Most of their workdays were spent like this, with Luis flirting with (y/n), showering her with compliments and Spanish nicknames. Although (y/n) appeared indifferent, his persistence made her smile inwardly. She had noticed that the man loved women, perhaps a little too much for her; She sometimes caught him in corridors talking flirtatiously to other female researchers, and (y/n) knew that she needed to stay cautious, besides the fact that she was at work and needed to stay professional.

girl, she was very far from knowing that that boy liked her in a way that was different from any other woman he had met before.

See, on his days off, Luis was always trying to find out more about the military girl but could not find anything interesting. However, he was not just curious about her appearance; he was also attracted to her personality. (y/n) was incredibly strong both physically and emotionally, from what he had seen, and that was something he admired very much. But the thing he liked the most was when she let her guard down, Luis could sometimes see glimpses of humor and sarcasm in their conversations, which surprised him in a good way. It was very rare for her, but it was still good to take, you know.

So despite all his curiosity about her appearance, Luis knew that the real attraction was the whole woman herself. He admired her strength, wit, and intelligence, and he was determined to win over her.

end of the chapter hope you LIKED IT. the rest will be out very soon. feel free to let me know if there’s anything wrong with the storyline or more. have a great day ~

[cornerfortherats]

Note: These aren’t all my headcanons for Bruno’s mom and her family, but because a lot of them are spoiler heavy for something I’m writing, I’m keeping them to myself until I finally write everything out. And I’m sorry to @moody-bloos for the wait. I had to dig through months of drafts to find these and some of these I had to rewrite from memory.

I like to think Bruno’s mother has a color-themed name like him (Bruno means brown/dark/dusky or armor/protection), so I decided to refer to her as Viola (since if you mesh together the concepts of Paolo passing on the o aspect of his name, and Viola passing on the color aspect of hers, you’d get Bruno’s name).

Viola is the more outgoing and self-assured of Bruno’s parents. Like her son, she’s good with her words and has a way with connecting to others similar to her. Thankfully, that also extended towards Paolo, who grew up closely acquainted with Viola.

While Paolo’s father ran the Bucciarati family fishery, Viola’s parents would market his catches to the surrounding populace. This naturally cultivated a bond between the two.

Their relationship throughout their childhood was more platonic than anything. Much like Bruno, Paolo was more focused on helping his father with the family business than anything else and Viola was a sort of comfort for him mentally (due to being this sort of carefree yet empathetic person — she could understand his struggles at home while also encouraging him to let loose more). Meanwhile, Viola found someone attentive and patient in Paolo — someone who would remember the little things about her and remained staunchly at her side.

Expectedly, this blossomed into the romance everyone vaguely knows about from that glimpse of Bruno’s past — however, I’ll do what Bruno can’t and give you a reason for their divorce, based off my interpretations (and lore) of their characters.

First off, Paolo suffers from the same problems Bruno does — he struggles with being more physically affectionate, vocalizing how much he truly cares for someone and cannot for the life of him open up to people. This is primarily due to Paolo growing up in a more questionable household while he was younger where he was encouraged from a young age to keep his issues to himself, and wasn’t really given the affection he needed. This is a problem for someone like Viola, who can understand others when they actively seek her comfort, and wants someone who’s more outwardly affectionate and loving.

Now on Viola’s side, Viola is the type of woman who’s very…headstrong, so to speak. Similarly to Bruno (whenever he feels very strongly about something), Viola will be very firm on whatever she believes to be right because she thinks she’s acting in someone else’s best interest. Additionally, Viola is very impassioned when defending her views, so many of their arguments ended getting very heated. (For those of you wondering how they kept that aspect of their marriage hidden, Viola is good at lying and keeping up appearances, and Paolo doesn’t really give much away about his inner turmoil anyways.)

Lastly, Viola (in contrast to her ex husband) had lots of desires for her future that she couldn’t possibly achieve without leaving their hometown. Even if she adored her son, she didn’t want to live the rest of her life feeling unfulfilled, and end up resenting them for that. So that was really the final nail in their marriage’s coffin.

Part of the reason (in my mind) that Viola didn’t visit Bruno nearly as often as she was supposed to was because she really was caught up in her own life. Once she met her new husband, they just clicked. The prior issues prevalent in her past marriage weren’t an issue because Viola had the affectionate, warm partner she wanted Paolo to be, he was vocal about his problems, and he could explain his views in a way that Viola could understand much easier than she could with Paolo. Plus, her husband encouraged her to be less defensive and more understanding of other people.

Therefore, being so focused on the idyllic life she’s been wanting for so long, Bruno really did fade to the back of her mind — well, as much he can when you’re an absent mother who needs to pay child support and your ex husband needs a shit ton of assistance.

With how much Bruno inadvertently bled Viola dry, her husband was less than thrilled about Bruno’s existence and became even more irked by him when they wanted to start their own family. Supporting one child while wanting to have another would’ve been implausible for them, so around the point where Bruno joined Passione, Viola stopped sending them money (which was elicited by her son not coming to see her one Christmas — not out of any passive aggression, but because it didn’t seem to her like Bruno needed her anymore).

[gnocchibabie]

Desire and Blood (Chapter 4)

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Targaryen/Strong OC (Jaenara Velaryon)

Tags: AU - canon divergence, enemies to lovers, arranged marriage, Targcest (uncle/niece)

Wordcount: 5.3k

Summary:

Against all odds, the love between childhood friends prevails and the Dance of Dragons is avoided.

However, peace comes at a cost. With the unexpected proposal of marriage between Alicent Hightower's son and Rhaenyra Targaryen's only daughter, can love truly blossom between sworn enemies? Or will Jaenara Velaryon be reduced to a mere pawn?

Love may yet arise where enmity once thrived, but Aemond's relentless pursuit of power threatens to shatter everything they hold dear, including each other.

A/N: You can find the previous chapters on my masterlist!

If you are liking this series, please consider showing some love on my AO3 posting of this fic :) thank you x

The day had finally come for Rhaenyra Targaryen to officially ascend the Iron Throne. Jaenara had scarcely slept the night before, anxiety gripping her tight and threatening to plague her sleep with nightmares of all that could go wrong. A last minute attempt at usurpation. An outspoken Lord or Lady laying doubt to her claim during the ceremony. The possibility of her mother’s flesh slicing upon upon taking her seat on the throne.

 Jaenara sat by the window in her bedchamber, watching as the sun began to rise in the horizon, vibrant hues of orange, pink, and yellow coating the rooftops of King’s Landing. The young princess already felt exhausted thinking of all the lords and lady’s that would soon descend upon the Red Keep to behold her mother’s crowning. All the smiling and curtseying and pleasantries she would have to afford the visitors. But this was surely a historic and unprecedented occasion for them - a woman sitting the Iron Throne. A woman, they would bend the knee to. 

She took delight in the thought. Better her mother than her drunken, spineless uncle, who had never taken any kind of interest in matters of politics. She dared to guess that Aegon would take little delight in sitting in on her mother’s council in the coming days, despite the Queen extending this kindness to him. The most happiness he would find from the crowning of his half-sister was all the wine he’d be able to drink come the coronation feast that evening.

As Jaenara watched the citizens of King’s Landing trickle out of their houses and flood the streets below, readying to begin their days, she recentered her thoughts. Rhaenyra Targaryen would soon mount the most powerful seat in Westeros. And Jacaerys would one day follow suit. 

And I will take over Dragonstone. The princess was unsure of what to feel at the thought. It was a position she felt honored to hold, knowing that her mother had entrusted her with maintaining the ancestral seat of House Targaryen. Jace had even graciously given up his claim to it, so that Jaenara and Aemond — though mostly Aemond — would not feel as though they had been slighted during the negotiations that were held when debating the succession. 

And Jaenara would make a fine princess of Dragonstone — she had thought at least. For as long as Jaenara could remember, Rhaenyra had made a great effort to raise her children amidst politics and histories of the realm, preparing them to one day hold positions of power themselves. Her mother had always felt bitter about the fact that Viserys had never extended the same teaching to her when she was a young heir. She would not let her children suffer the same disadvantage.

The princess pictures herself sitting on the Dragonstone throne, a seat she had passed by many times, never imagining she would ever actually sit upon it. Jaenara wonders what the cold Valyrian stone which the throne was cut from will feel like under her touch. She imagines Aemond Targaryen, as her husband — the prince of Dragonstone, standing at her side. Her uncle had been taught just as she had, prepared to hold great status. Prepared to rule. Though she dares to guess it had played out much differently than he had ever imagined. But Jaenara understood the intelligence Aemond held and the skill he wielded. 

She can almost feel his hand on her shoulder, his warmth at her side, cold steel adorning his hip.

As much as she hated to admit it, Jaenara thought Aemond would fit in quite well at Dragonstone. The castle was quite grim and dreary, though it was rich with Valyrian history and architecture. Something she was sure her uncle would appreciate. That and well — he was quite grim and dreary himself. 

The sun had risen even higher in the sky when Jaenara’s handmaidens came knocking at her door, eager to dress the princess for this momentous day. 

“Come in.” She answers, without turning from the window, both apprehensive to begin the whirlwind of a day and simply captivated by the morning sky. 

Alora tiptoes through the doors of the princess’ chambers, followed by a few other companions. “Goodmorning, Jaenara!” She addresses her rather chirpily. Jaenara thinks she is much more excited for the festivities than she herself.

Jaenara finally rises from her seat by the window and walks over to meet her company, “Good morning, ladies,” she regards them politely, attempting to quell the anxiety bubbling within her, “I suppose we should begin.”

The maids set off to work, running the princess a warm bath. Jaenara lowers herself into the tub, relishing in the warmth that envelopes her. She sinks into the recesses of the bathtub, holding her breath and allowing the water to soak into her hair. When she finally resurfaces, the women start to scrub her head to toe. Her hair is then thoroughly washed, with oils and perfumes being sprinkled onto the black curls. Jaenara steps out of the bath, drying herself and letting Alora brush out the hair. As the young girl brushes out the tangles, Jaenara hopes that the water has rinsed away the unease that is surely evident on her features.

The princess is then covered in a flowing dress adorning the colors of House Targaryen. Scarlet cloth decorated with black embroidery resembling dragon scales adorns her figure. A golden belt bearing the sigil of Jaenara’s house is fastened around her waist. She shakes her hips and hears the belt quietly jingle, a giggle leaving her. She regards herself in the mirror a moment.

“Beautiful, my princess,” Alora’s smiling gaze meeting her own in the reflection. Jaenara offers a small smile back. 

I wonder if Aemond will think the same.

It takes Jaenara a moment to truly realize the thought that had crossed her mind. The princess shakes her head, as if to physically shake the question from her thoughts. What had gotten into her? She asserted that it mattered not what he thought.

Her attention turns back to the matter at hand when her handmaidens begin to brush through her hair once more. Long, winding sections of her dark hair are weaved together and made to form a bun atop her head, with some sections of braided hair left to fall below.

Finally, a golden headpiece embellished with gems is placed atop her head, mingling with her curls. “Oh?” Jaenara voices, “What’s this?” She turns once more to face her reflection in the mirror.

“The Queen has picked this out herself, Jaenara.” Alora answers, taking a step back from the princess to admire her work. “She tells us this is the headpiece she wore when she was near your own age — during the ceremony in which the late king named her heir.”

Jaenara can feel her heart swell from the admission. Tears threaten to well up into her eyes, though she forces them back down. She looks herself over, and sees her mother staring back at her. 

Letting out a shaky breath, Jaenara turns to her attendants, “I must thank you ladies, you have somehow managed to make me look presentable.” The women begin to laugh together when a knock is heard upon the princess’ door. 

“Yes?” The princess answers.

When the door opens and Jaenara sees her mother, she is quick to dismiss her handmaidens. “Thank you all — that will be all for now.”

The maids give a quick curtsy to the queen, with a few muttering a polite “Your Grace” as they filed out of the chamber.

Rhaenyra Targaryen stares at her daughter breathlessly, and wonders how eighteen years had slipped past her so quickly. She sees herself staring back at her, looking like a true Targaryen princess. She sees the ghost of her past lover, Ser Harwin Strong, his features etched onto her face — his spirit intertwined within their daughter’s. And though she shares no blood with Laenor Velaryon, she finds herself wishing the girl’s “father” could see the fine young woman he had helped her to become. 

“Mother,” Jaenara’s voice quivers.

Amidst the privacy of her chambers, Rhaenyra Targaryen embraces her daughter. “My Nara, my girl.”

Jaenara’s emotions soar once more and she lets a single tear escape. She pulls back from her mother after a moment, looking the Queen up and down. Her attire and beauty paled in comparison to her mother’s. The epitome of Targaryen elegance stood before her — the only thing that could possibly complete the look would be the crown soon to grace Rhaenyra’s head.

“You look beautiful — like a Queen.” Jaenara expressed. Rhaenyra smiles, though it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. Jaenara quickly picks up on the mounting anxiety her own mother is feeling at the moment. She could not begin to fathom what it must feel like holding the entire realm on your shoulders. Jaenara takes a hold of her mother’s hands, and tries to be her strength. 

“You are ready for this, mother. It is your birthright. And when you are officially crowned, the realm will be the better for it.” Lavender eyes meet violet, as Jaenara finishes with, “I am proud to call myself your daughter.” 

Rhaenyra lets out a shaky breath, bogged down by emotion. She fiercely looks her daughter in the eyes, “I know I am soon to sit the Iron Throne but…but being your mother — being all of you children’s mother…is my proudest accomplishment.”

She puts a hand on the back of her daughter’s hand, careful not to ruin the braid her servants had diligently crafted, and pulls her forehead to her lips.

“We’d better get going, my sweet daughter.” She smiles down at her.

And so they do.

— — —

Aemond Targaryen stands at the head of the Great Hall, next to his siblings and mother, awaiting the entrance of his half-sister. His half-sister, the Queen. Prince Aemond could scarcely believe the day had finally come, though he knew it was inevitable given their father’s true intentions regarding who should succeed him. There was no denying it — much to the dismay of some people within his court, and even within Aemond’s own family. 

Otto Hightower, knowing that Rhaenyra had no place for him on the small council — or rather, knowing he could not puppeteer Rhaenyra as he had her father — had since returned to Oldtown. Aemond found that he felt relieved from the absence of his grandsire, and swore his mother shared a similar sentiment. 

Daylight from a cloudless sky now flooded into the Great Hall, illuminating tapestries depicting the histories of House Targaryen. Aemond’s ancestors stared down upon him, and he felt the weight of their unyielding gaze. 

He looked out into the crowd, the hall filled to the brim with noblemen and ladies who had all traveled far to attend the occasion. All to see the first Queen of the Seven Kingdoms be crowned. 

In truth, Aemond did not know how to feel at seeing Rhaenyra be crowned. He was nothing if not realistic, and he realistically understood that seating Aegon upon the Iron Throne would throw the realm into disarray and plunge House Targaryen into a war — one that would surely have been bloody. But when he saw his half-sister, he saw someone unworthy of sitting the throne — unfit to rule. 

If Aemond had been born before Aegon, he would not have yielded his birthright so easily. But there was still time yet to fight for some semblance of power, even if it was less than what he thought he deserved. The sapphire under his eyepatch feels hot. Just thinking about it all, made his scar itch and burn.

“What are you thinking about, brother?” Helaena’s soft voice calls Aemond away from his troubled thoughts. The burning dissipates to a dull throb. His sister stands next to him and regards him with a curious look.

“I am just eager for this ceremony to conclude…I suppose.” He answers Helaena, and it is not entirely a lie. 

“You and I both,” she says, adding, “Jaenara said she would stand next to me during the ceremony, so that we may ease each other’s nerves. I think I would quite like her company.”

Aemond hums thoughtfully. It is not so often that Helaena enjoyed the presence of others. Now it is Aegon’s turn to pipe up from the other side of Aemond, “Where are they? Does she really mean to keep us waiting up here so long?.” He whispers bitterly to anyone in his family who cared to listen.

“The Queen and her family will be here in a moment. They wanted to allow enough time for guests to trickle in. I did not think simply standing would be so taxing for you, Aegon.” Alicent tries to defend her friend. 

Aegon makes a face and rolls his eyes. “She is not Queen yet.” Aegon’s attempt to demean his half-sister falls upon deaf ears as the doors to the Great Hall are swung open, all eyes in the room following the commotion.

The air crackled with anticipation as low whispers broke out amongst the crowd. 

Through the parted doors, a procession of men carrying the banners of House Targaryen walked the length of the Great Hall, parting at each side once they reached the base of the Iron Throne. Behind them, Rhaenyra’s family began to trickle in. Daemon led the procession, looking composed and smug as ever, Dark Sister hung at his side. He takes his place next to the throne, where his wife will soon sit. Aemond looks at the man with great interest, considering how he too will soon stand beside his own wife as she sits upon a throne.

Daemon is then followed closely by Rhaenyra’s bastard children and their betrothed. Jacaerys and Baela walk side by side, as Lucerys and Rhaena march behind them. They take their places on the opposite side of the aisle where Aemond and his siblings stand. 

Finally, Aemond sees Jaenara, who trailed behind her brothers. She holds hands with little Joffrey, guiding him through the long stretch of the Great Hall. As his niece draws nearer, Aemond finds it difficult to tear his eye away from her. She looked….

Aemond found it impossible to settle on a word that encapsulated his niece’s beauty.

Bewitching. 

That felt as right a word as any — it was the only explanation as to why she had enraptured him so. Looking at his niece filled Aemond with a bittersweet ache. 

Amidst her beauty, Aemond watches Jaenara bite her lip — a nervous habit she had exhibited even in their youth. Surely, it would bleed or bruise in time. 

He wishes she would not ruin such beautiful lips. 

After what feels like an eternity of watching his niece, Jaenara finally reaches the summit of the Iron Throne, and stands next to Helaena, bridging the gap between the Targaryen-Velaryons and Targaryen-Hightowers. Jaenara and her aunt share thoughtful expressions, clearly pleased to be in each other’s company. 

Standing with her family at the head of the crowd, Jaenara could practically feel the weight of history in the air, the echoes of generations past and the hopes of those yet to come.

Aemond is still looking at Jaenara, who is clearly still caught up in the moment of the ceremony, when the procession turns his attention to the doors once more. 

Rhaenyra Targaryen, a picture of resplendent Targaryen nobility, begins her descent to the Iron Throne. Jaenara feels breathless watching her mother, squeezing Joffrey’s shoulders perhaps a touch too hard. The entire Great Hall has fallen into dead silence, contrasting the tumult the princess feels echoing in her head. As Rhaenyra ascended the steps to the dais, her movements were graceful and deliberate, a testament to the years of preparation and the weight of responsibility she bore. 

All heads are turned to Rhaenyra when she finally takes her seat. The High Septon, clad in his flowing robes of office, stepped forward to greet her, holding aloft the ancient crown of Aegon the Conqueror, symbol of the authority she was about to claim. His voice, resonant and filled with solemnity, carried through the hall as he spoke the words of blessing and investiture, reaffirming her right to rule as Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. The crown was lowered onto Rhaenyra's brow, its golden spires gleaming in the torchlight, casting shadows across her features. 

Jaenara's gaze was fixed unwaveringly upon her mother. The crown seemed to ignite with a radiant light, casting a halo around her mother's head. In that moment, Jaenara felt a surge of pride so strong it brought tears to her eyes. Her mother, who had guided her with unwavering strength, would now lead the Seven Kingdoms with this same strength. Her mother, who had taught her of duty and honor, would now rule the Realm with such values. It was a moment Jaenara had dreamed of, yet seeing it unfold before her eyes filled her with a quiet reverence she couldn't quite put into words.

A murmur of reverence and respect rippled through the gathered nobles, their voices blending into a chorus of acclaim as they acknowledged her ascension.

The High Septon’s voice echoes throughout The Great Hall: “All hail Rhaenyra Targaryen — Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men. Lady of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm.” 

With the crown in place, Rhaenyra turned to face her subjects, her expression a mix of determination and humility. She raised her hands in acknowledgement, and the hall erupted into applause and cheers, the sound echoing off the high vaulted ceilings.

The Realm’s Delight had officially been crowned Queen. 

“Long live the Queen!” someone at the back of the hall shouts. Soon, the entire room booms together in uproarious unity: “Long live the Queen! Long live the Queen! Long live the Queen!”

Amidst the celebration, Aemond Targaryen watched from his place among the assembled nobility, his thoughts a swirl of uncertainty and cautious optimism. Beside him, his siblings exchanged meaningful glances, their expressions reflecting the weight of the moment.

Jaenara shared glances with her party, and soon met Aemond’s eyes. The prince could practically feel the palpable pride and joy spilling out from his niece. He gives her a small nod and returns his attention to the thunderous crowd before them.

Shouts of praise for Westeros’ new Queen continue to swell around them, threatening to blow the ceiling off of the Red Keep.

— — —

Servants of the Red Keep had swiftly reorganized the Great Hall to accommodate approximately a thousand lords and ladies for Rhaenyra’s enthronement reception. Jaenara Velaryon now sat at one of the expansive wooden tables, absentmindedly sipping her wine and wincing when it stung her bitten lip. Beside her was her twin, Jacaerys, and on the other side, Aemond Targaryen. Warm candlelight bathed the chamber, casting dancing shadows across the faces of all the attendees. Jaenara stole a few glances at her uncle, observing how the interplay of shadow and light accentuated his sharp features.

Aemond’s silver-white hair cascaded loosely as usual — the princess once again finding herself envious of the hallmark Targaryen attribute. Her eyes drifted down to his figure. Since the truce had been brokered, Aemond had taken to wearing black instead of his usual green. His cloak, adorned with subtle red stitching, draped elegantly, and a leather belt hung at his waist. Jaenara decided she should redirect her thoughts elsewhere.

The guests — as well as Jaenara and her family have mostly finished with the meal that was set before them. Still feeling high from the excitement of the day, Jaenara turns to Aemond, “You have been awfully quiet, uncle.”

The prince smiles wryly, “It is a…surreal time. I am simply absorbing the day’s events.” In truth, Aemond had been mentally revisiting his plans for what felt like the hundredth time. With his half-sister now officially Queen, his marriage to Jaenara would soon follow. Once they were wed, their fates would be intertwined. And then, he mused to himself, he could deal with Jacaerys...

Aemond imagines the light leaving his nephews copper brown eyes. He blinks and they are replaced with the cool lavender ones beside him. 

He grimaces and takes a swig of wine. 

Music has begun to trickle throughout the hall, no doubt in an effort to continue the festivities of the day. A surprise to everyone at the table, Rhaenyra and Daemon Targaryen rise to their feet, making their way to the clearing in the middle of the chamber.

“Mother?” Lucerys scoffs incredulously.

The Queen shoots her children a look, but it is difficult to hide the smile spreading across her face. “Come on, all of you. We should inspire a bit of merriment.”

Balea and Rhaena break out into a fit of giggles, rising to their feet. Jace and Luke share a glance, looking bashful. Lords and ladies seem delighted at the sight of the royal family taking to the floor. Throughout the hall, guests begin to follow suit, flooding the chamber floor. 

The music swells as couples dance arm in arm. Jaenara has to take another sip of her wine to hide her shock from seeing even Aegon and Helaena descend upon the floor — her aunt thankfully looking mildly content. The princess winces once more as the wine mingles with the fresh gash on her lips. 

“You should put an end to that habit of yours.” a low voice mumbles to her.

Jaenara looks to her right and sees Aemond on his feet, offering her a hand. 

The princess lets out a little chuckle and waves her uncle off. Aemond seems to deflate ever so slightly at his niece’s dismissal, though his hand remains extended.

Jaenara’s laughter ceases, “Truly?” she asks.

“Well if you would prefer to remain at this empty table,” he looks around, “we may do that.”

Jaenara feels a surprising nervousness overtake her as she places her hand in Aemond’s. His large hand engulfs hers as he gently pulls her to her feet. She takes a moment to notice the callouses on this palm, surely a result of gripping the pommel of his sword. She runs her thumb over the rough patch of skin and Aemond almost shivers.

The princess feels her heart pounding in her throat as they approach the dance floor. Standing before Aemond, she hesitates, uncertain how to start. He clears his throat and gently encircles her waist with his hands. Jaenara's heart quickens even more—almost unbelievably—as she cautiously rests her hands on Aemond’s shoulders.

A lump swells in the prince's throat as Jaenara draws near, the intimate proximity unnerving him. He worries she might sense his racing heart. He speaks to her, hoping his words betray nothing of his physical turmoil.

“We must keep up appearances, niece. Even my brother and sister are dancing together.” Aemond looks down on her, noticing the quick rise and fall of her chest. He figured that was how Jaenara felt — they were simply playing their part.

But Jaenara feels a twinge of disappointment upon hearing this, and does little to hide it. Her eyebrows furrowed together as she responded, rather quietly, “Oh…yes, yes of course…”

A melody of strings fills the silence between the couple as they clumsily guide across the floor. Jaenara, as Aemond noticed, was much more skilled in dancing than he was. She was able to flit around with a certain grace, while he found himself unsure of where to step. At one point, he steps on her foot. 

Jaenara lets out a quick and quiet yelp at the sudden feeling, and she swears she sees Aemond’s cheeks turn pink. “Apologies,” he mutters. 

Despite his sore lack of dancing skills and the dull throb in her foot, Jaenara feels a smug grin pull across her face. 

“You’re not one for dancing I see. How brave of you to take me as a dance partner…I’m afraid my skills are lackluster as well.” She teases, though she attempts to calm her uncle’s nerves. 

Aemond scoffs, “If your skills are unpolished, then mine are nonexistent.”

“Doesn’t all that fancy swordplay make you light on your feet? Surely some of those skills are transferable.” Jaenara tells her uncle.

“This is nothing like that…” Aemond quips.

Jaenara’s laughter echoes through the crowd as she observes Aemond's awkwardness. He feels a twinge of embarrassment at the attention she garners, yet he can't help but admire the joy evident on his betrothed's face.

He savored this. Aemond took pleasure in eliciting genuine laughter and happiness from Jaenara—not the forced, empty laughs she gives when he says things he regrets later. Making her happy brought him joy.

Jaenara was laughing and smiling and happy and warm and in his arms. 

And she had no idea the atrocities that Aemond was planning. 

And what does that make me? He wonders. 

The music permeating through the chamber begins to change, an apparent signal for the couples around them to switch dancing partners. 

“Brother!” Aegon’s voice finds Aemond and Jaenara, “It seems it is time to swap!” Without giving anyone a chance to retort, Aegon takes Jaenara’s hand in his. Helaena settles in between Aemond’s arms as they both watch their brother whisk away the princess. . 

“Mittys” Aemond mutters.

“I am surprised to see you out on the dance floor, Aemond.” Helaena examines her brother curiously. 

“I could say the same to you,” he retorts, coming off a touch too defensive. Helaena raises an eyebrow, to with Aemond then adds, “Jaenara…wished to dance.”

His sister seems unconvinced. “Right…”

Aemond watches Jaenara and Aegon from across the ballroom. His brother's hands are settled on Jaenara’s waist, where his hands once lay. Her own hands are hesitantly perched atop his shoulders. Aemond experiences a hot, uncomfortable sensation in the pit of his stomach as he watches them dance. His gaze is fixed on the couple, his lips pressed into a tight line, brows furrowed. Nearby, Helaena sways dreamily, noticing Aemond's expression and struggling to conceal a small smile.

He watches mouths move, trying best to read their lips. Jaenara appears unexpectedly at ease now, and Aegon grinned wolfishly at his niece. It takes Aemond a great deal of willpower not to leave his sister’s side when he sees Jaenara laugh at some remark Aegon had made. His brother glances towards Aemond's position on the dance floor and sends him a wink.

Must he have everything? Aemond finally finds the resolve to stomp over to Jaenara and Aegon.

“It seems this song has ended, let us return to each other.” He says shortly, glaring at Aegon.

“Why the haste, brother? We were just getting started!” Aegon’s amusement at his brother’s jealousy was evident by the smug grin on his face.

Jealousy? Surely that was not it. Aemond found it impossible for himself to be jealous over such a trivial matter. Jaenara was her own lady, free to do what she wanted — especially when they had established that this relationship was merely transactional. 

But he did feel jealous. Especially when it involved his elder brother. 

Aemond takes his niece’s hand and guides her back to the other side of the room. He wordlessly reassumes his previous position, placing his hands on her waist and venturing to pull Jaenara slightly closer. The princess’ hands find their rest on his shoulders once more. 

"Helaena must have been terribly dull if you returned to me so swiftly for a dance," she muses.

Aemond decides not to meet her gaze, instead focusing on a corner of the chamber that lies straight ahead.

“What did you and Aegon speak of?” He asks quietly, not bothering to respond to her joke.

“Oh,” His niece sounds taken aback, “Nothing really. He asked me what I thought of the coronation. How I was feeling this evening. He was being surprisingly tame…perhaps the wine has dulled him for once…” A pause, “He made a joke about your ‘piss poor lack of dancing skills’ as he called them. But that is all.”

“Hmm.” Is all Aemond cares to respond with, as his gaze remains fixed on that empty corner of the room. 

Has he always been this…brooding? The princess asks herself. Jaenara’s hands squeeze on his shoulders slightly, attempting to recenter her uncle’s attention. It makes Aemond feel dizzy. He finally dares to look down at her.

To the prince, Jaenara’s headpiece looked like a golden halo nestled amongst her raven hair. His eyes soften.

Bewitching. 

“He can say what he likes.” He finally adds. 

“I would not let him.” Jaenara asserts firmly. “No one is allowed to disparage you but me.” She teases, hoping she has not crossed a line. She feels reassurance upon seeing a smirk crackle upon Aemond’s face. 

Jaenara was not sure what she was doing — acting like this. So carefree, so playful. Enjoying herself. Perhaps buoyed by the wine or the lingering elation from her mother's coronation. But all of the earlier worries of the day had momentarily melted away, and she found herself enjoying Aemond Targaryen’s company. 

Aemond and Jaenara eventually find themselves back at their family’s table, both having their fair share of dancing for the evening. The lords and ladies have begun to trickle out of the Red Keep for the evening, much to Aemond’s relief as he was beginning to feel tired from the day’s festivities. Though his fatigue was nothing compared to the exhaustion Jaenara felt; she was beginning to feel the consequences of staying awake the previous night. When Jaenara noticed her mother gesturing for her to join her at the end of the table, she whispered a quick remark to Aemond and rose to take her seat next to Rhaenyra. Aemond watched carefully as mother and daughter delighted in their conversation, Rhaenyra occasionally casting a glance in her half-brother's direction as they spoke.

Aemond huffed and took a drink from his cup. 

“Aemond.” Jacaerys said from across the table. The prince looks up to his nephew.

“Thank you,” Jace tells him, “for dancing with her. She likes to pretend she does not care for such frivolities. But she does.”

Aemond nodded in acknowledgment. He began to revel in the fact that Jace seemed to be warming up to him finally, when the man across from him spoke once more. 

“She likes to pretend she doesn't care about a lot of things, really…But it’s not true. You can always tell when she’s lying…” Jace adds, his eyes fixed on Aemond. An uncertain expression crossed his nephew’s face, hinting at some hidden knowledge.

Aemond seemed to grasp the implication.

Impossible.

He cleared his throat in a rather exaggerated manner and stood abruptly, causing his chair to scrape loudly against the floor. All heads at the table turned towards him.

"I... I am retiring for the night," he announced. He dared to glance at his half-sister, though he skillfully avoided the confused gaze of Jaenara. "Your Grace," he added, his voice strained. 

Rhaenyra returns the acknowledgement with a polite nod. 

Aemond strode out of the Great Hall, heading straight for his chambers. He wished for the dark corridors of the Red Keep to swallow him whole. The silence of the night was shattered by the echoing sound of another’s footsteps on the stone floor. He quickened his pace.

“Uncle!” A small voice called out behind him.

Damn it all.

Aemond does not need to turn around to know who has followed him, though he does stop and wait for her to catch up.

“Are you well?” Jaenara asks breathlessly.

He does not meet her eyes when he responds. “Just tired.” His tone is convincing, for he sounds exasperated.

Jaenara hesitated to address the obvious turmoil surrounding him, deciding to let it lie for now.

"Very well... Goodnight, uncle. Try to get some rest," she said, her tone teetering between sympathy and suspicion. When he didn't reply, the princess turned and began making her way back to the hall.

Aemond takes a glance over his shoulder, watching his betrothed safely return to the chamber.

“Goodnight, Jaenara.” he whispers into the stillness of the night.

a/n: this chapter felt a bit rushed to me but I just really wanted to get something out ahhhh. as for the next chapter...hehehe...

tags: @aleemendoza2425-blog @toodlesxcuddles

[a-chronic-illness]

Wishes- Gojo Saturo x (F) Reader

It was a beautiful spring morning, the sun casting a warm golden glow over the world. A gentle breeze rustled through the field, causing the wildflowers to sway in harmony. Fluffy white clouds drifted lazily across the clear blue sky, creating a picturesque backdrop for the day.

Gojo Satoru found himself sitting amid this serene setting, surrounded by vibrant green grass and colorful blossoms. Beside him sat a woman, whose presence seemed to add an extra magic touch to the already enchanting atmosphere. Her name was (Y/n),...she was a captivating mystery, a personification of the beauty that surrounded them…at least that's how he felt about her...

They sat there, side by side, engaged in a conversation that flowed effortlessly. Their words danced in the air, carrying with them laughter, dreams, and shared experiences. Gojo's voice was soothing, his words carrying a sense of wisdom and understanding that made (y/n) feel seen and valued.

As they continued to talk, (Y/n)’s eyes sparkled with delight, her expression turning surprised. She couldn't contain her smile as she gently pressed her finger against the corner of Gojo's nose, making him blink a few times. With a playful gesture, she revealed one of his white eyelashes, delicately perched on her index finger.

"Look, it's a wish," she exclaimed, her voice filled with childlike wonder. Gojo looked at her, confusion evident in his eyes. Sensing his confusion, (Y/n) explained the silly tradition she had grown up with. In her country, finding a loose eyelash meant making a wish. You would blow it off the tip of your index finger and let it float away, carrying your deepest desires with it.

Gojo chuckled softly, his laughter like music to (Y/n)'s ears. He found joy in the simplicity of her traditions, in the way she found beauty in the smallest of things. It was one of the many reasons he found himself falling in love with her, over and over again. But he never voiced these feelings, knowing that her heart did not desire him in the same way.

They sat there, basking in the warmth of the sun, as (Y/n) blew the eyelash off her finger. It danced in the wind, twirling and spinning before disappearing into the vast expanse of the sky. It was a fleeting moment, a simple act, but it held a profound significance for both of them.

At that moment, they understood the power of appreciating the little things, and 

finding joy in the simplest of connections. 

"(Y/n), have you ever wondered what lies beyond the horizon?" Gojo asked, his eyes filled with a sense of curiosity.

She pondered his question for a moment, her gaze fixed on the distance. "I have," she replied, her voice carrying a hint of wonder. "I often find myself daydreaming about the unknown, about the endless possibilities that await us."

Gojo nodded, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. "There's something magical about the unknown, isn't there? It holds the promise of adventure, of new beginnings."

They fell into a comfortable silence, their eyes tracing the patterns of the clouds as they drifted across the sky. The wind whispered through the field, carrying with it the scent of blooming flowers. It was a moment of serenity, of being fully present in each other's company.

"(Y/n), what is your greatest wish?" Gojo asked, breaking the silence.

She turned to him, her eyes shining with a mixture of hope and vulnerability. "My greatest wish is to find my purpose, to make a difference in the world. I want to leave a mark, no matter how small."

Gojo smiled, his gaze filled with admiration. "I do not doubt that you will achieve great things, (Y/n). Your passion and determination are truly inspiring."

As the day wore on, their conversation delved into deeper topics, exploring their fears, and dreams, and shared love for the world's beauty. They laughed, they debated, and they discovered new facets of each other's personalities.

But amidst the laughter and shared moments, there was an unspoken understanding between them. (Y/n) knew that Gojo's love for her was different from her feelings. She cherished their friendship, their connection, but her heart belonged to another. It was a bittersweet realization, one that she carried silently within her.

As the sun began its descent, casting a warm golden hue over the field, (Y/n) couldn't help but steal glances at Gojo. His features were illuminated by the soft light, his eyes reflecting the colors of the setting sun. She wished she could freeze this moment, and capture it in her memory forever.

But time, like the passing clouds, was relentless. The day drew to a close, and they both knew it was time to part ways. Slowly they stood up, their gazes lingering on each other, reluctant to let go of the connection they had forged throughout the day.

"(Y/n)," Gojo began, his voice filled with gratitude and longing. "Thank you for today. Thank you for sharing your thoughts, your dreams, and your laughter with me. You bring so much light into my life."

Tears welled up in (Y/n)'s eyes, a mixture of joy and sadness. She reached out, her hand gently cupping Gojo's cheek, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath her touch. "And you bring so much joy into mine," she whispered, her voice filled with unspoken emotions.

They stood there, caught in a moment of unspoken affection, their hearts yearning for something more. But the reality of their circumstances weighed heavily upon them. (Y/n) knew that her heart belonged to another, and Gojo respected that, even if it pained him.

With a final lingering gaze, they reluctantly let go of each other's hands. The sun dipped below the horizon, casting a soft glow over the field. The world seemed to hold its breath as if acknowledging the depth of their unspoken connection.

"(Y/n)," Gojo said softly, his voice carrying a tinge of sadness. "Our paths may diverge, but the memories we've created today will forever hold a special place in my heart."

She nodded, her voice choked with emotion. "And in mine as well, Gojo. Thank you for reminding me of the beauty in the little things.”

As they began to walk away from each other, their steps heavy with unspoken words, they couldn't help but steal one last glance. Their eyes met, silently conveying a multitude of emotions - love, longing, and a profound sense of gratitude.

and as they disappeared into the distance, their hearts carried the weight of unspoken love. They knew that their connection would forever remain a cherished memory, a reminder of the beauty that can be found in the simplest of encounters.