#The One Who Inherits the Steel

[simeonscott]

Why You Should Watch GARO

An overview of what makes the spookiest toku franchise out there great.

[fushitoru]

chapter 1: the debutante a bridgerton!au

pairing ⸺ duke!satoru gojo x fem!reader

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

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

chapter summary ⸺ you begin to get ready for your presentation for your debut this season, and satoru steels himself to find a wife. you don't get the reception you'd wanted from some, and satoru will soon curse himself for letting his tongue loose (6.3k)

a/n tired of keeping this in the vault lol so I’ll just post it even if my perfectionist tendencies are screaming at me. thank you so much to @/sinn-clair for beta reading and lexi (@/ayyy-pee) for helping me brainstorm 💗

next. the aftermath

general masterlist | series masterlist

Dearest reader,

Another season comes as the ton descends to London yet again from the countryside. Young ladies and their mamas flock to the modiste in an effort to fluff their feathers to find a match.

The Itadoris are by far one of the most prolific families in the upper echelons of society. The sight of all the children at once⸺Miss Itadori, Lord Choso Itadori, and Mister Yuji Itadori⸺is enough to catch the attention of mamas and young suitors alike. Miss Itadori, making her debut this season, has much to be desired. The debutante is a meek and demure girl, but with many talents indeed. The oldest, Lord Itadori, has a quiet countenance that has ladies and mamas on their toes, counting the days until he finally joins the marriage market. Mister Yuji Itadori is quite the opposite; his physical prowess on horseback riding has had quite a few ladies swooning after.

Furthermore, the heir to the Duke of Gojo is a most interesting character.  Although he has not deigned to find a wife during any season yet, This Author has heard whispers that he will be looking for a bride during this one.  

Lady Mei Mei can certainly be expected to be on the prowl, waiting to sink her teeth into the wealthiest….

⸻ LADY WHISTLEDOWN’S SOCIETY PAPERS

“Seriously?” Choso scrunched his nose in displeasure. “Why would ladies want someone who’s quiet? I use it to convey my displeasure, not to be charming.”

On the other hand, the other brother relaxed on the opposite couch, proud. “I knew I looked good on horseback,” Yuji remarked smugly. “You and my dear sister are clearly jealous of how appealing my muscles look while I’m grabbing the reins.”

“Those ladies clearly hadn’t seen you drop yourself in dung when you were younger. Or the face you make when you are so oddly concentrated. As if you just stepped into a chamber pot.”

Before Yuji could come up with a snide remark to his older brother, the two heard an incessant pacing leading up to the doors of the drawing room they sat in. The door slammed opened to reveal their mother⸺Lady Itadori⸺with a hand to her face in clear distress.

Choso and Yuji exchanged glances before Choso calmly set down the single-page newspaper he was reading. “What is the matter, mother?”

Lady Itadori moaned and sat down on a chair raggedly. “Your sister is the matter. I fear the queen will have reviewed every person in London before your sister leaves her room.”

Before Choso could get a word in, Yuji suddenly stood up. “This is a serious matter, mother. After all, she should be punctual to her debut. I will go fetch her.”

“Wait, Yuji!” Choso and Lady Itadori followed Yuji to the grand staircase of the Itadori manor. Hurriedly, they reached the foot of the stairs to see Yuji tilting his head back to take a deep breath.

“SISTER!” Yuji had his palms up to his face, as if to amplify his already booming scream. “YOU! MUST! MAKE! HASTE!” After the quite of bit noise he'd made, he cleared his throat, looking to the side to see his dumbfounded mother and brother, and shrugged. “Well, someone’s got to the job.”

Then, the brothers and their mother look up to see a peek of white and a “Miss, be careful with the hem!” You, at the top of the staircase, grab the front of your ivory dress, with your maids helping you with the train, as you start stepping down the staircase with an irritated frown. “Must you always be such a nuisance, brother?” Traversing down the stairs until your family members were visible, all you saw were dumbfounded and tense expressions. After enduring hours of painting your face and dealing with your maid Nobara’s fussing over your coiffure, you wished for a more fond reaction. Annoyed, you stomped your way past them to the exit, where the carriage was waiting for you four.

“Dear!” your mother exclaimed, rushing to your side and taking your hand as you reached the door. Her eyes, filled with concern, met yours as she nervously asked, “How are you feeling? I know this is a momentous day for you, but remember, you’ve always excelled in your lessons. It’s only natural that you’ll win the queen’s approval, dear.”

“Yes, Mother, of course,” you sighed. “It is just such a hectic day.”

“But you shall dazzle them.” Choso comes behind you, patting your back gently in his reassuring, elderly brother ways. With a proud smile, he says, “The gentlemen are not prepared for your entrance this season.” 

“Indeed! They will be none the wiser to your snark, sister.” You see Yuji coming up on your other side, offering his elbow. You tentatively take it, eyeing him sourly as he continues, “I am simply elated that Mama’s attention will be on you, rather me.”

You reach to smack him on the head, eliciting an "Ow!" from Yuji just as your mother approaches next to him, frowning. "Of course, Yuji. But it won’t be long before I have to chase after you for your tutor’s complaints about your lack of proficiency⸺"

Yuji interjects hastily. "Well! Would you look at the time? The Queen is waiting!" 

"I'm surprised the gossip pamphlet didn't mention how much of a rake you are," Lord Geto mused, taking a sip of brandy. At his right, Duke Nanami was stoic as always, focusing on the tastes the gin was bringing to his mouth rather than  the two older men beside him.

"I'm severely offended you would even imply such a thing," Mister Satoru Gojo put a hand on his chest, feigning offense. Rather than a gin in his hand, Satoru preferred drinking water lest his mouth spilled something even more notorious than his signature calculative icy blue eyes.

He continued. "Honestly, I don't understand this whole Whistledown business. Some might even say the ton holds her words more in regards than the Holy Bible!"

"You're diverting the matter at hand, Gojo," Nanami took his tired eyes off of his drink to look at Satoru. "As the heir and first son, have your parents not urged you to cease your foolishness? There is a limit to the rakish behavior one can exhibit in your position.”

"Yes," Satoru sighed, "They have. That's precisely why I'm looking for a bride."

There was a silence in which Satoru looked up from his glass to see Kento and Suguru’s mouths agape. "What?"

Suguru leaned closer to Satoru, as if to inspect his countenance unsure if he was jesting or not. "So, is it actually true? You're going to get tied down?"

Nanami wrinkled his nose in disapproval. "Must you say it like that? Marriage isn't imprisonment, you know."

Gojo sighed. "Nanami, Nanami. It's clear that one year that separates us in age has also left a gap in experience." Nanami felt a vein pop as Satoru irritatedly continued in his know-it-all voice. "Marriage is an end. The dead end, in fact. It is when you are abroad in Paris, basking in all the fine entertainment and wooing ladies until you realize you are out of funds. Out of money. Marriage is coming home not to go out and drink, but to a wife that has endless needs of you and children that will have frustrating phases of life. An end to pleasure and an end of all jest."

Kento and Suguru exchanged a glance before Suguru asked, "So why are you looking for a wife?"

Satoru looked dejectedly at them, crossing his arms. "My parents insisted. Said they would freeze my funds and kick me out if I didn't get serious about my future." He continued on his desperate rambling, leaning back in his chair. "I don't understand. Must I have a wife to "get serious" in life? I’m serious about all the fucking mergers and dubious finances my father invests in! Look how well I managed his bets!"

"You know, Satoru, your outlook on marriage is awfully pessimistic," Suguru put down his glass to lean back as well, crossing his arms in seriousness. "Don't you wish for a love match?"

"That sounds ridiculous. Love matches are just a passing fancy young ladies have when reading their ridiculous romance novels."

"Well, of course you think that." Kento deadpanned. "No respectable lady in their right mind would fall for you and your attitude."

"Nanami, you wound me."

Suguru glanced at Satoru with concern. "My dear friend, you are making this harder for yourself than it ought to be."

Satoru groaned. "I came here for jest, not to receive words of so-called wisdom. I assure you both, all is well." He looked at both of his friends. "I do not need to be assured. I simply am looking for a woman fine enough to be my wife to appease my parents and their concerns of continuing on the line and handling the dukedom but for a woman so reserved that she'd respect my wishes and isn't so miserable. Or needy." Satoru shrugged. "I would believe these to be respectable requirements for a wife."

Suguru looked at him with mild displeasure. "It sounds like you are looking for a horse to ride, not a woman you would spend the rest of your life with."

Standing up, Satoru moved behind Kento and Suguru to give them a hearty slap on the back. "Trust me, my dear, dear friends. I will find what I am looking for and drink myself silly for the rest of my life!"

"You don't drink." Kento sighed.

"Never mind, you! Sir, more drinks!" Satoru grinned. "Here's to the bachelor life!"

The three men raised their glasses for the toast. Yet, only one of them contained thin water.

You restlessly arranged the feathers in your coiffure and adjusted the fabric essentially squeezing the breath out of your lungs to accentuate your bust. The palace waiting room was stuffy as ever as debutantes and their mamas fluttered across the room in an effort to catch the smallest of flaws on their person.

Before the Queen did, that is.

"Your feathers are fine, dear. Take deep breaths for me." Your mother raised her hands, prompting you to take a breath in and out as her hands lowered.

You gave her your practiced smile and curtsy to which your mother laid a hand on the small of your back in both approval and reassurance. With the other, she grabbed your own and rubbed comforting circles in the junction of your index finger and your thumb. "You have always excelled in your lessons, my dear. I could not be prouder of the woman you are becoming." She sniffed, and you smiled in appreciation. "The Queen will love you, I am sure of it."

You laughed. "Mama, that is what all these ladies think."

“But none of these ladies have poured in the determination you have, my dear.” Your mother holds your head gently by the cheeks. “Your character and proficiency⸺I am sure the Queen will see the promising young lady that I am proud to call my daughter.”

You felt a lump in your throat. While you appreciated your mother’s words, you could not help but think of the significance of this day. You almost felt dizzy thinking about messing up in front of the Queen; if you didn't find a suitable match as a result, what would become of you? 

Suddenly, there was some fanfare from the main room. "Now, presenting Miss Itadori and the Right Honourable Lady Itadori." Your heart jumped out of your throat as you heard the call for you and your mother to walk up. 

"Let's go, my dear." With a fond kiss to your temple, your mother led you by the hand to the center of the tall and ornate doors that opened to reveal the Queen and her audience. You couldn't help but notice that your mother's hand held a reassuring, yet tight vice. 

When the doors opened, your vision blurred. Your heartbeat got faster, and all you could register was the stares. What felt like a million pairs of eyes blinking upon you, scanning your coiffure, garments, and carefully painted face. While the gossiping widows and mamas whispered amongst themselves, some gentlemen scanned you up and down in clear assessment of your constitution. A distinct smell of tobacco and vanilla wafted through the air, and you took an imperceptible breath in as you steeled yourself before putting your practiced, signature smile. 

A memory from your childhood flashed before you.

"She is excelling in her studies," your tutor had said, discussing your performance with your mother in the drawing room. You, sitting beside them, had fidgeted nervously with your small hands clasped in your lap, sitting as straight as you could manage.

"What must she do to improve?" your mother inquired, her eyes sharp with concern.

"Madame," your tutor had said, turning his gaze towards you with a knowing look. "Your daughter is quite nearly flawless. She is of my most exceptional students; her obedience and composure are unparalleled, even at such a tender age." He then fixed his eyes back on your mother with an authoritative intensity. "But there is one element that will truly distinguish her as a diamond."

Your mother had leaned forward, abandoning her tea in anticipation. "What is it?"

"Her smile."

As you flash your smile to the room, you could feel the people in the room going silent. Your smile was what helped you focus and keep your eyes on the prize: impressing the queen. Smiling in the most innocent and demure way you could possibly muster, you straighten your posture as you advance towards the queen, your eyes serene and your expression a masterful display of delicate charm.

The stares of the ton were on your back, but all you focused on was the harmony of your countenance. Chin up, you reminded yourself. Everyone in this room is my prey, and I am the predator. 

When you and your mother reached the foot of the Queen's throne, you dipped into the deepest curtsy you had to offer, keeping your eyes on the ground as you minimized your smile to a more polite and respectful one. You stayed there for as long as the Queen was silent.

Then, a rustling of fabric as the room silently gasped. The Queen was stepping towards you, and you felt a gloved hand take your chin. Not daring to breathe or rise from your genuflection by even an inch, you forced your body to stay in position as your face was raised to look at the Queen’s.

Her booming, yet regal, voice echoed throughout the room. “You, my dear. Perfect.” She then addressed the room. “I have found my diamond!”

The declaration sent a wave of murmurs through the gathered crowd. You could feel hundreds of eyes on you as you slowly rose from your curtsy, your heart pounding in your chest. Your eyes instinctively sought your mother’s, who looked at you with pride and a hint of warning.

“Keep smiling, my dear,” she whispers into your ear. “They are staring now, more than ever.”

Your mother was right, upon reflection. There were eyes observing you far more diligently than they had before. In particular, a pair of icy and brilliant blue ones. 

“Choso, not today.” Your mother sighed. “I am not ignorant of your overprotective tendencies, especially towards your younger sister and brother.”

Choso was fully frowning in displeasure, arms crossed as he observed your mother, Yuji, and yourself board the carriage. “Mother. Sister is the diamond of the season. The men will be after her like hungry vultures!”

“Well, vultures have a tendency to eat freshly decayed carrion. When you get rid of those dark circles and don’t look like dead meat, you can join us.”

Choso protested further, stopping the doorman from closing the carriage door. “But, Mother⸺”

“Yuji, close the door. Your brother will join us when learns to get sleep and not work on those ledgers overnight.” As per your mother’s instructions, Yuji closes the door on him. As the carriage rolls out of your manor and into the London streets, you blow a mocking kiss to your brother, who is now brewing at the doorstep.

“Phew! Good riddance,” Your mother fanned herself. “I need this night with you, alone. God knows how many suitors will be warded off with that horrid glare of his.”

You laughed softly, leaning back against the plush cushions of the carriage. “I suppose it’s a small price to pay for a bit of peace.”

You and your mother were wrong; your brother should have been there. 

Upon your arrival, you were followed by stares, whispers, and men. Bachelors appeared in droves, eager to engage in conversation, each drawn by your newly anointed title as the diamond of the season. After paying your respects to the Queen, you found yourself swept into a whirlwind of attention, each dance and conversation a testament to the allure your status had brought.

As you navigated the crowd with practiced grace, Yuji, ever the observant and cheeky sibling, leaned in close to you and murmured, “I must say, you’ve outdone yourself. They’re practically circling like hawks. Do you think we’ll need to hire a guard just to keep them at bay?”

You gave him a wry smile, barely concealing your exasperation. “Oh, Yuji, you’re so dramatic. They’re just eager to make their introductions.”

Yuji snickered and nodded towards a particularly earnest-looking gentleman who seemed to be making a concerted effort to catch your attention. “Well, if this is what the season looks like, I might have to prepare myself for a front-row seat to a parade of besotted suitors. Just don’t let them all think you’re here to catch them; we wouldn’t want them getting the wrong idea.”

Your mother, overhearing Yuji’s jest, gave a light laugh and shook her head. “Oh, Yuji, you and your theatrics. Just make sure you’re ready to fend off any advances that come your way.”

“What?” You’ve never seen Yuji’s smile drop so fast. As if on cue, there were mamas and maidens closer to Yuji’s age that were approaching, as if a pack, and he looked at you in panic. “Are they coming towards us? Sister, you’ve got to⸺”

“Mister Itadori,” It appeared it was too late. A pack of young ladies were right next to you, fluttering their fans and lashes and giggling. “Whistledown has praised you quite well in this last issue.”

Help, Yuji mouthed, but you merely winked in response. The young ladies had effectively formed a barrier around you, offering a temporary reprieve from the throng of eager suitors. Sensing an opportunity, you decided to seize the moment and discreetly made your way towards the punch table.  

The cool, refreshing scent of the punch greeted you as you approached, offering a welcome contrast to the bustling, heated atmosphere of the ballroom. You filled a glass with the fruity, aromatic beverage and took a moment to savor the brief solitude.As soon as you took a deep breath in, savoring your newfound freedom, you felt a presence next to you at the punch table. “Miss Itadori.”

Upon turning, you were met with the infallible smirk of Naoya Zen’in. You had indeed heard⸺and read, in Whistledown⸺that his family adopted nontraditional ways of determining the winner of the family inheritance and leadership. While Lord Zen’in wasn’t guaranteed to be the heir, he definitely was one of the top contenders. You assessed him further, taking in his arrogant demeanor as he reached down to give you a kiss on your hand. Rather wet, you thought in disgust.  

But you hid it well, fluttering your lashes up at him. “Mister Zen’in! I am flattered to be acquainted with you today. How do you find today’s ball?”

“Rather well, of course.” He reached to scoop some punch for himself. “I enjoy meeting all the young ladies and dancing with them, of course. Ever in search of my perfect bride.”

You forced an artificial giggle. “Of course. I’m sure all the ladies that have talked to you have been charmed, as am I.”

He swelled, exactly you expected, as you stroked his ego. “But none of these ladies are as valuable as you, my diamond.” To your displeasure, he took a step closer to you, discreetly tracing his finger from your upper arm to where your dance card resided. “May I have your next dance? I have been perfecting my dance skill to the point all my brothers are envious of my prowess!” He barked out a laugh. “In fact, I beat them in horse riding years ago, and…”  

While Naoya kept talking, you merely fluttered your fan over your face in mock interest. You were really starting to mourn your short-founded freedom, wanting a respite from the self obsessed young man. For some reason, you could smell the same distinctive perfume of expensive tobacco and painfully sweet vanilla you had smelled in your presentation, like a warning. Realizing you were drifting off into space with the heady fragrance, you made sure to tune into his ramblings once more.

For some reason⸺that you were growing to find uncomfortable⸺he still had his hand on your dance card. You felt the previously faint aroma growing stronger by the second. “Of course, I am soon to be the heir of the Zen’in name⸺”

A flamboyant and mischievous laugh cut through the air. “Naoya, you amuse me.” To your alarm, a young man steps to the right of you. From what you can see on the side of his face, his head sports brilliant white hair and his eyes are focused on the bachelor in front of you, who is now displeased and openly glaring at the man beside you.

“Gojo, I⸺”

“Funny that you talk about the Zen’in inheritance, Naoya.” The man⸺Gojo⸺scratched his chin in faux puzzlement while cockily smiling. “Last time I checked, Naobito was discussing handing it over to Megumi over pall-mall!”

Naoya was clearly growing more and more distressed. “Father wouldn’t dare to hand that child with a whore of a mother⸺”

Gojo clicked his tongue, outwardly showing a nonchalant smile, but you could noticeably see his eyes darken. “That’s no way to talk in front of a lady, Naoya, and certainly not of a mother. Besides, Mister Zen’in, didn’t Megumi save your family from the edge of poverty?”

Naoya’s nostrils flared. Clearly at the end of his wit, he did a small bow towards you as he swiftly exited your proximity. You blinked, partially processing the conversation that happened as well as the fact that you were now alone with this Gojo. Turning, you prepared your signature smile, the act you had been presenting for countless of young bachelors today. However, what made you stop in your tracks was his eyes.

Even the pure Englishmen you had met in London didn’t possess eyes like his. They were intense and vividly blue, flashing with judgment and calculation. His face, though strikingly pretty and slightly more feminine than others, seemed carefully constructed to mask his true thoughts. His white lashes contrasted sharply with his hair as he blinked.

And then it hit you. This was the heir of the Gojo dukedom, Satoru Gojo. Known as a capital R Rake for reasons unknown to you (Nobara just insisted he was), you could see elegance and arrogance exuding off of him, yet another noble with an ego as big as his wallet. You recall, then, what Whistledown had wrote about him⸺that he has never shown interest in marriage before today.

It was only after he blinked once more that you realized he was waiting for some response to an introuction you didn't catch. In a panicked flurry, you curtsied and said, “My apologies, Mister Gojo. I fear I haven’t had the pleasure of making your acquaintance. Miss Itadori, pleased to meet you.”

Gojo’s smile widened, his blue eyes twinkling with an almost imperceptible amusement. “A pleasure indeed, Miss Itadori.” He returned your curtsy with an elegant nod, his voice smooth and teasing. “I must say, you handle yourself with admirable grace amidst such a tumultuous crowd, my diamond.”

“Thank you, Mr. Gojo,” you replied, attempting to regain your composure as you took a sip of your punch. “I do try my best to navigate these social minefields.”

He chuckled softly, the sound light and charming. “Indeed. Though it seems you’ve had quite the evening already, judging by your rapid responses to Lord Zen’in’s advances.”

You raised an eyebrow, trying to draw a hint of a smile on your lips. “It appears you’ve been observing closely. Are you always so keenly aware of your surroundings, Mister Gojo?”

“Only when I find the scene particularly entertaining,” he said, his gaze shifting to watch the guests around the ballroom. “And tonight, the spectacle is quite extraordinary. I must admit, you are a refreshing change from the usual parade of predictable manners.”

“Predictable?” you asked, your curiosity somewhat piqued. “Do you find most of the guests here lacking in originality?”

“Perhaps not lacking, but certainly not as intriguing,” he replied with a playful grin. “Take, for instance, Mister Zen’in. A man of considerable ambition, no doubt, but with a flair for the dramatic that grows tiresome rather quickly.”

You nodded in agreement. “Yes, he certainly has a penchant for self-promotion. But then, one could argue that every gentleman here has his own brand of theatrics.”

“True,” Gojo said, tilting his head slightly. “But what I find most fascinating is how you’ve managed to stand out amidst this display of pomp and circumstance. It’s not every day one encounters someone who seems so effortlessly poised, even in the face of such overt competition.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere, Mister Gojo,” you said with a light laugh. “But I assure you, my composure is a carefully cultivated skill, not merely a natural state.”

“Ah, then I must commend your efforts,” Gojo said, his eyes gleaming. “It is a rare talent to maintain such grace under pressure. If I may be so bold, might I request the honor of a dance with you this evening? I promise to provide a diversion from the usual pretenses.”

You hesitated for a moment, weighing the potential benefits of engaging further with this intriguing man against the immediate demands of the evening. Finally, you offered him a meek smile. "Of course. I shall be delighted to dance this waltz with you."

Pleased, he guided you to the center of the ballroom, your hand elegantly placed in his. You couldn’t help but feel a sense of triumph as you noticed Lady Mei Mei’s envious glances and the heated stares from other young ladies.

Gojo positioned his hand on your waist as you both assumed the proper stance for the dance. “So, how are you enjoying your night? I trust you’re finding pleasure amidst the horde of suitors the Queen has so graciously provided.”

You smiled demurely, carefully maneuvering around him. “Well, my lord, I am very grateful to the Queen for her blessing this season.” You took a delicate step, noting Gojo’s amused smile. “However, it is quite tiring to meet so many people. Repeating my preferences for the countryside or the city can become rather exhausting.”

Gojo’s smile widened as he guided you through a graceful turn. “And which do you prefer?”

“I would argue that the city is preferable when I feel lonely,” you said, gliding with him. “Yet the countryside is ideal for moments of solitude and reflection. Naturally, it also serves as a lovely setting for fond memories with a future husband.”

“What do you enjoy doing in nature?”.

“Embroidering or practicing the pianoforte,” you replied, making sure to display a wistful smile. “There is something particularly enchanting about playing the piano with the door open, letting nature's melody blend with the music.”

“Do you have any other talents or skills?” Gojo inquired as you both continued your dance.

“Yes,” you said, “I am fond of reading and immersing myself in literature. I also have a passion for the arts and languages.”

“Which languages do you speak?” he asked, guiding you through a series of intricate steps.

“I am well-versed in the classics⸺Latin and Greek. I’ve also picked up some French and Spanish, when I was yearning to follow my older brother through Europe for years.”

“What about literature? What do you enjoy reading?” Gojo pressed, his eyes never leaving yours.

Your smile grew slightly strained as you felt the conversation veer towards an uncomfortable territory. You felt as if the duke was interviewing you for review of your admission into an academic institution rather than holding conversation. “I enjoy Byron, sir,” you said carefully.

Gojo hummed in approval. “And here I was, thinking all ladies were engrossed in Whistledown.”

“Ah, well,” you feigned a sigh, your smile tight. “Gossip has its charm for a lady, sometimes.”

“For men, too, I must admit,” Gojo said, tilting his head towards his group of friends. “But I must confess, it is rather unpleasant when the gossip circulates that I am a rake.”

That's because they're true, you whore. "I guess it's up to the smarter individuals in society to discern the truth from the slander."

Gojo’s eyes twinkled with amusement as he guided you through the final steps of the dance. “Indeed, it seems wisdom and discernment are valuable traits in navigating the labyrinth of society’s gossip.”

You nodded. “Quite so. It is the discerning few who see beyond the surface and recognize the true character of a person.”

As the music swelled to its concluding notes, Gojo drew you closer, his gaze fixed on you with a calculative expression. “And what is it that you seek to convey through your own character, Miss Itadori? In a world full of pretense, what do you wish to be known for?”

You maintained your practiced smile. "Mister Gojo, in a world where appearances often speak louder than words, I find it best to embody grace and humility. I hope to be seen as a gentle and devoted companion, one who supports and uplifts those around her.”

Gojo’s smile only sharpened, and you couldn’t help but shake the feeling of somehow being calculated, observed, even hunted as he offered,  “A noble aspiration. It is refreshing to encounter someone who values authenticity amidst the artifice.”

As the final strains of the waltz came to an end, Gojo escorted you back to your starting position. He bowed deeply, his eyes never leaving yours. “Thank you for the dance, Miss Itadori. It has been an evening of unexpected delights.”

You curtsied in return, your eyes meeting his with a demure and sincere expression. “The pleasure was mine, my lord. I am honored to have had this opportunity.”

With a final, charming smile, Gojo stepped back, giving you a nod. “Until we meet again, Miss Itadori. Enjoy the rest of your evening.”

After Gojo had taken his leave, you found yourself once again surrounded by a steady stream of suitors eager to engage you in conversation. You indulged a few with polite discourse, your smile unwavering as you navigated the well-trodden paths of societal pleasantries. Despite your best efforts, fatigue began to set in, and you soon reached your limit.

Deciding to take a brief respite, you excused yourself with practiced grace. You made your way discreetly to the veranda, seeking solace and a breath of fresh air away from the relentless din of the ballroom. As you stepped out into the cool night air, the sound of the revelry faded to a distant murmur, replaced by the gentle rustle of leaves and the faint scent of blooming flowers.

With your mind fresh and clear from the suffocating revelry, you couldn't help but reflect back on the night. With the Queen deeming you as the diamond of the season, you knew your mother and Choso had been appeased. Of course, tomorrow was going to be a long morning; judging by the sheer number of young men approaching you today, you knew many of them would be visiting your drawing room to converse with you and gain the approval of your brother.

There were some suitors that stood out. Lord Ino seemed to take genuine interest in what you had to say, but Mister Fushiguro had both interest and quiet respect that you couldn't help but think was ideal for a marriage. After all, you just wanted a peaceful life after securing yourself and your family. While brief, you had conversed a bit with both Duke Nanami and Lord Geto, but it had been interrupted by some of their friends inviting them onto the terrace. You were sure Naoya wouldn't bother showing his face tomorrow.

That left him. Blue eyes. You couldn't help but think you had heard about him somewhere. 

Gojo.

Even though you couldn't recall much other than his rakish tendencies, the future title of Duke was certainly attractive and respectable. He wasn't so bad; with dashing looks, you couldn't help but simply think that a pretty face wouldn't be bad to look at for all those years. You snickered to yourself at your sheer display of vanity in your thoughts.

If you had to think of the most vain reasons to justify your suitors, Mister Gojo would definitely top your list of the most handsome of men. With a sturdy and healthy build, you could notice the years of dedication he must put in to maintain his athleticism. Perhaps archery, you thought. Those shoulders were definitely wide for days. Or maybe horse riding. He definitely seemed to fill in his pants with his thighs.

However, it was impossible to ignore his mischievous nature. You couldn't imagine a man such as the future Duke showing any outward display of affection, and all your interactions⸺from him outwitting Naoya, to interviewing you under the pretense of dancing⸺have always had him either besting or calculating the other converser. He definitely had a superiority complex, you rolled your eyes. Clearly, your display of the simple and stupid maiden pleased him. You wondered if he treated all the other ladies with the same level of disrespect and evaluation.

Deciding you were too far into the gardens, you turned the opposite direction to join the revelry once more in fear of attracting strange rumors about your presence in the gardens late at night. As soon as you got closer and closer to the ballroom, you heard voices.

"Ah, but there is the diamond, of course." 

You perked up, interested in knowing who was talking about you. The voices seemed to be coming from the entrance between the terrace and the ballroom. "Of course, I understand why the Queen has deemed her so." Crouching, you aimed to discreetly hide behind a large trimmed bush in such a manner that if someone were to be passing by, you wouldn’t appear suspicious. 

Another voice chimed in. “She is beautiful. Not in the salacious way Lady Mei Mei is, but in a more authentic and innocent way.” 

“I fear the ladies nowadays are salacious⸺hungry for suitors with money and power⸺so it only makes sense that the ladies appear that way. But the diamond; she is different.”

A slap, as if someone was affectionately patted on the back for attention. “Yes, yes. But let the man of the night give us his assessment. After all, he is the one who is here tonight with us, finding a wife, when no one who had ever talked to him would ever think he would be doing such a thing.”

“Well, of course. It wouldn’t take a fool to know that marriage is basically imprisonment.” You could discern the speaker’s wry tone. “The goal here is to appease my parents, and my ticket to that is the diamond.”

“Well, get on with it,” a voice pressed, rather impatiently. “What’s your assessment?”

“A bit simpleminded.” Some feeling struck your lungs, as you recognized that it was Gojo’s voice that was speaking. You swallowed, your heart pounding as you waited for more harsh words to torrent upon you. “Has no opinions of substance that should cause conflict. She’s perfectly fine for a wife. I shall begin courting her and will soon propose⸺"

You didn’t hear the rest because you soon found yourself dashing in the opposite direction, towards an alternate entrance to the ballroom. You couldn’t bear to hear any of the more degrading and embarrassing things Gojo had to say about you as you slowed your pace to a fast walk. 

With the main entrance to the ballroom in sight, you thought about the other gentlemen⸺if you could even call them that⸺that must be present, conversing with Gojo. How widespread are these assessments of you? Do all gentlemen think you stupid? However, your thoughts are interrupted when you bump into someone, rather hard.

“Are you alright?”

You look up, putting a hand to your bosom as you try to catch your breath. You see Duke Nanami’s face in close proximity, as he furrows his brow in light worry. You’re clutching your forearms as you are heaving, trying to get oriented. “Yes,” you heave. “Yes, Your Grace.” 

Nanami clearly didn’t accept your assurance as he helped you stand to your full height. “Is there anything wrong?”

“No, no, I assure you; I am quite alri⸺”

“Sister! There you are!” Yuji comes up from behind Nanami, and both of you turn to look at him. “I’ve been looking for you! The punch here is terrible, some of the mamas here are horribly intoxicated. Do you know Mei Mei’s mother just admit⸺” he cuts himself off as he observes Nanami, who’s still touching your arms,  with wide eyes. “Di⸺Did I interrupt something?”

“NO, you didn’t.” You burst out, not wanting yet another man leaving with an unfavorable expression of you tonight. You and Nanami both take a step back to distance yourselves, and he clears his throat.

“Good night, Miss Itadori. Mister Itadori.” He gives you both curt bows as he makes his way past to his carriage.

Yuji blinks. “Oookay. Anyways. Mei Mei’s mother just barfed on top of Naoya as she was buttering him up. I must admit, Mei Mei and Naoya make a formidable match in being intolera⸺”

You could feel yourself filtering Yuji out as you thought about the gentlemen’s gossip from earlier. While you weren’t exactly surprised that Gojo appraised you as a pawn, you couldn’t help but be a little offended that he could talk behind your back. Who’s to predict the other naive ladies that would be subject to his callous and calculative behavior?

 There was only one conclusion to be drawn that you swear to remember for the rest of the season: Gojo was not a man of honor, and you were not going to be one of his victims. 

next. the aftermath

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[remxedmoon]

“shadowy figures appeared before you. apparitions, memories of what once was. reminders of who you’re fighting for. are they your true family, or merely wearing their visage?”

[twohats spoilers below the cut!]

DEATHCARDS!!! WOOO!! that leshy quote isn’t entirely set in stone yet, btw. i made these for a king boss fight i’m working on so realistically he’d be the one narrating? but eh. it’s fun to write in leshy’s voice. anyways, hopefully this won’t be too long?? i’ve got way less design notes this time around, but there’s also 6 cards here and i’m not very succinct. sorry in advance!!

siffrin

2 power - 2 health - 5 bones

loose tail - when a card bearing this sigil would be struck, a tail is created in its place and a card bearing this sigil moves to the right. a tail is defined as: 0 power, 2 health.

steel trap - when a card bearing this sigil perishes, the creature opposing it perishes as well. a pelt is created in your hand.

GOD it was hard to come up with sigils for this one. since these are boss exclusive cards, i had a pretty limited pool to work with… hopefully this is still fitting

loose tail is the closest i could get to a sigil that avoids death, since sigils like unkillable and many lives were off the table. plus, there’s kinda a connection with him not valuing his own life?? and sacrificing a part of himself? i think it works

steel trap!! this sigil is exclusive to the trapper boss fight! since summoned cards (like chimes and tails) inherit sigils, their tail card will also kill whatever’s in front of it when it’s destroyed! sort of a “taking you down with me” situation.

mirabelle

2 power - 5 health - 3 blood

swapper - after a card bearing this sigil is dealt damage, swap its power and health.

swapper!! this is an act 3 sigil exclusive to swapbot! ahhhhhhhh i had such a hard time trying to figure out another card design for her. i REALLY liked the bellist sigil for her and didn’t really have any other ideas. swapper felt like it fit with the change belief to me! and it also makes her a pretty terrifying card to go up against. since this is a boss card, that cost is basically entirely for show lol

ALT CARD ART!!! YIPEE!! literally all i did was flip her eyes to look angry lol. swapbot’s sprite changes when it swaps so i think hers would too!

isabeau

2 power - 4 health - 2 blood

dam builder - when a card bearing this sigil is played, a dam is created on each empty adjacent space. a dam is defined as: 0 power, 2 health.

fledgling - a card bearing this sigil will grow into a more powerful form after 1 turn on the board.

dam builder feels like a very defensive sigil to me, and it synergizes well with fledgling!! after a turn, isabeau will be doing 5 damage across 3 lanes! good god.

odile

1 power - 2 health - 2 blood

trifurcated strike - a card bearing this sigil will strike each opposing space to the left and right of the spaces across from it as well as the space in front of it.

sharp quills - once a card bearing this sigil is struck, the striker is then dealt a single damage point.

this was the HARDEST card to think up, and probably the weakest out of the bunch imo. i think i really nailed her regular card and i just. couldn’t come up with anything. agonies

i picked trifurcated strike as a reference to her being able to use all three craft types, and sharp quills… i think because of her aversion to touch? i think. it’s been a while since i made these aaaaa

bonnie

1 power - 1 health - 1 blood

waterborne - a card bearing this sigil submerges itself during its opponent's turn. while submerged, opposing creatures attack its owner directly.

leader - creatures adjacent to a card bearing this sigil gain 1 power.

if yall remember the notes on my kid card, this is based on the beta version of that card!! which means that for once i’m not putting bonnie through the torments. hooray!

waterborne is there because they always stay out of danger during battles! plus they’re from a coastal town so it fits on that front as well. i didn’t really think about the actual sigil names for cards this time around but hey! it’s a nice bonus!

the beta card had trinket bearer, but that’s a sigil that would only benefit the player in battle, so i swapped it out with leader! since they can’t be directly attacked, this basically makes them a permanent alpha on the king’s side of the field. also, leader, snack leader, it fits namewise as well!

loop

2 power - 1 health - 4 bones

haunter - when a creature bearing this sigil dies, it haunts the space it died in. creatures played in this space gain its old sigils.

bifurcated strike - A card bearing this sigil will strike each opposing space to the left and right of the space across from it.

“i’m normal about inscryption” i say as i give one of my cards a sigil that only appears in the completely missable rulebook of grimmora’s segment of the finale.

so. haunter! the aforementioned grimmora sigil! this appears on no cards ingame, but cmon. it fits. this sigil reminded me of how loop reacts when you guess that they’re a ghost! in battle, i imagine that siffrin will always get played right behind loop. because twohats

bifurcated strike was added here for the same reason it’s on their normal card! it feels like scissors craft!! i needed them to actually have A Sigil to transfer to siffrin and this felt the most fitting to me.

also, just like the normal cards, siffrin and loop are both the only ones to have a bone cost instead of blood cost! teehee :333

and i think that’s it! i’m not making inhabited versions of these cards because they aren’t meant to be accessible outside of the king fight! also! hi! i drafted this post and wrote siffrin’s segment: almost a month ago! oops!! i kept putting this off… at least it’s actually written out now lol. hope you guys enjoy!!!

[ma1dita]

🐥hey babe, thoughts on sirius x reader during hogwarts years? sirius is known for being a huge playboy and reader's a gryffindor and good friends with all the gryffindor girls n marauders. think (best) friends to lovers? he's going out with all these girls all the time searching for a connection and physical affection, but doesn't realize that he has feelings for her until he sees her with another guy (asked to hogsmeade, hanging out at a party, slug club, etc). love ya <33

🐥🐥🐥🐥🐥

sirius black x reader

a/n: for my lovely nini!! i hope you like it LOL sirius was always hard for me to write

wc: 1.5k

—

Sirius Black has everything he’s ever wanted in life.

It’s a bold statement to claim at 17, but after leaving his hellhole of a house, getting good ol’ Uncle Alphard’s inheritance of gold with enough to swim in at Gringotts if he so wishes, and having the best of mates he also has the privilege of calling his family— some may ask what’s next for him, and that’s what he’s trying to figure out too.

Everything will be easy from now on, he thinks— smoothing down his hair and spritzing some cologne while he gets ready to find another girl to get under so that his weekend will have some merit.

“Looking good, Pads,” James grins from his bed as he tosses a quaffle back and forth between him and Peter. The impish boy almost gets nailed in the face, huffing, “Who’s it this time? The girl from Ravenclaw? What’s her name again—Venetia? Violet?”

“Something like that…”

Sirius straightens out his shirt collar and flicks off a speck of imaginary lint from his shoulder—there’s physically nothing wrong with him, but something is still missing.

The door opens with a bang and you brush past him like a hurricane, the boys cheering at your arrival.

“Pretty girl, give us a twirl!” James hollers, and Remus gets up from his bed to spin you around as you giggle with your dress twirling in the wind.

“M’gonna be late because of you lot!” you grin, grabbing James’ bottle of Sleakeasy’s off his dresser and sidling up next to your best friend who’s silent as he stares at you through the mirror with amusement in his eyes.

“What?” you mumble, cheeks flushing as you lather the potion between your fingers to smooth it into your hair, “Can’t let you be the only pretty one around here, Pads.” He’s pulling on the fabric of your dress teasingly, inspecting you from head to toe, “Mhm, and who exactly are you going on a date with, lovie?”

“None of your business! Don’t want any of you boys meddling,” you say exasperatedly, elbowing him when he laughs, and Peter yells out in protest from the floor behind you. You squeeze Sirius’ shoulder, looking at the both of you in the mirror and noticing that his silvery eyes are still glued to you, cool as steel.

“Do I look bad? Borrowed it from Mary, but it doesn’t really fit me as well as it fits her, no?”

He notices the low cut of your dress and the way it frames your body just as well as he can draw it from memory—from the curve of your collarbones to the plush of your hip it certainly doesn’t leave much to his imagination, he’s just never seen you like this before. Sirius is blatantly ogling you now, and Remus throws a pillow at his head sending every perfectly combed piece of hair in different directions. He doesn’t even move to fix it, his breath growing quicker the more he takes you in.

“Lucky bloke. You’d look pretty even if you wore a sackcloth though,” he mumbles, eyes unseeing when you reach up to smooth his strands with a gentle smile. Sirius moves closer so you can reach, lips grazing against the powder blush you applied on your cheek— though if he got any closer he might’ve felt the heat reverberating from your skin. His finger plays with the tie at your bosom, almost in hesitation, or was it contemplation?

When does Sirius ever hesitate to do anything?

“This dress is just….hmmm…”

“What? Making me nervous… Is it too much?” You turn away to ask the other boys, who watch the two of you dance around each other like an old Muggle film Remus’ mum would send them to watch (Hope Lupin wants to teach these boys a thing or two about how to woo women in a respectful, romantic manner, mind you).

“A bit,” Sirius swallows, pulling at his shirt collar like it’s suddenly hard to breathe. Behind you, Peter grips at his hair almost comically while Remus throws his face into a book and sighs. James is watching through his fingers, eyes darting between the two of you two in anticipation. Groaning, you jab at his torso, taking out the rest of the air in his lungs (though he tries not to choke when he pulls you in and feels the smooth skin of your thighs as your dress rides up in the struggle).

“Shut up, you tosser! And I better not see any of you in Hogsmeade later trying to ruin my date—I actually have high hopes for this one…” you giggle, tossing your head against your best friends’ shoulder as you look at the varying faces of shock that surround you.

“Who said we were going to meddle?”

“Us?”

“We’re good boys, doll, we’d never!”

Sirius’ voice rings clearer over the rest of the Marauders as he whispers in your ear, “My girl’s looking forward to a date? Who would’ve thought….”

You spin in his arms and correct him, one arm wrapped around his neck and the other playing with a button on his shirt, “Your best girl…I’m allowed to have fun too, Pads!”

“That you are.”

He presses a kiss to your temple, inhaling the perfume you spritz on for special occasions and feeling like he’s lost you already even before you walk out the door. You send him off on dates all the time with an encouraging smile on your face. So why is it that after you leave the boys watch him flop into his bed and stare at the ceiling?

Sirius could’ve been there for hours for all he knows— ignoring the boys when they tell him they’re going to badger your date at Hosgmeade, unmoving when his date (who’s name turned out to be Vina) banged on his door for skipping out on her, he laid there, arms crossed and brooding. It’s like nothing made sense anymore.

You come tiptoeing into his room with your heels in hand a little before dinner, pulling back the curtains of his poster bed whispering, “Pads? You okay? What happened to your date?”

Sirius rolls over, looking at your wide eyes glinting in the candlelight, “What happened to yours?” he counters.

“It was okay. The boys sent a Bat-Bogey Hex to my date and snot landed in my butterbeer. He thought it was weird when I laughed.”

“M’sorry, lovie,” he sighs, grasping your hand over his duvet and playing with the rings on your fingers.

“S’okay! Don’t wanna be with someone without a sense of humor. Grown man that can’t take a prank. How awful is that?” you grin, before slapping his thigh, “Move over, I’m coming in.” There should be nothing special about the way you easily find your place against his body, molding against his form in both of your wrinkled dress clothes but Sirius can’t help nuzzling against the crown of your head, pressing a kiss to your scalp like it’s second nature.

“Why didn’t you go on your date? Heard Vina almost set the common room on fire.”

He doesn’t have an answer to that, nor the way he questions why his heart is beating faster when you draw stars along his spine.

“D’you at least have a good time today? Looking so pretty and all,” he whispers, pulling your chin up so you can look at each other eye to eye.

“Rem said you weren’t feeling well, so I had one foot out the door the entire time. Besides he was boring. Much rather spend time with you here,” you say like it’s nothing of the sort. Shiny lips press a pink kiss onto his nose. Your lipgloss smells like strawberries, leaving a mark on his aristocratic features.

“Doing nothing?”

“Mhm. Already having more fun, aren’t you?” you breathe out a laugh into his neck, unknowing of the way he looks at you like you hung the stars in the sky. He comes to the realization then that there’s no other place he’d rather be without you by his side. Nothing’s missing, or wrong with him—he has all he needs as long as you’re pressed against him like this, fingers in your hair and legs tangled under the bedspread.

“I didn’t want to go on my date because I wanted to be with you today,” he whispers into the air. You don’t freeze or jolt back like he expects you to, instead pursing your lips against his jaw.

“Yeah?”

“Is that okay?” he mutters, closing his eyes with the feeling that he’s said something awful, shoulders tensing like how they would when his mother would turn the corner.

“Why wouldn’t it be okay? Siri…” you sigh, grabbing his face to look at you and when he opens his eyes, you suddenly know.

“I don’t know how to do this,” Sirius says shakily, putting his hands over yours in case you’re an apparition or want to leave. There’s a space in his heart that’s in the shape of you, and you smile at him like he wasn’t in on the joke, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

“S’okay. You have me.”

And he nods, knowing that’s all he needs.

[kckt88]

Closer

Summary:

Lucaela is a strong bastard-the twin sister of the boy who maimed him with a blade, but she's also the sweetest Omega he's ever scented, and Aemond soon finds himself unable to fight against the primal urge of the Alpha inside him, who has chosen his neice as the perfect mate.

Warning(s): Language, Angst, Masturbation, Uncle/Niece Incest, Kissing, Smut – Fingering, Oral Sex, Loss of Virginity, P in V, Knotting, Mating Bites.

AEMOND TARGARYEN x O.C LUCAELA VELARYON

INSPIRED BY - 'NINE INCH NAILS - CLOSER'

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.

Word Count: 4569

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon or Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used.

Comments, likes, and reblogs are very much appreciated.

Aemond strode across the training grounds of the Red Keep, his sword in hand, the sound of steel slicing through the air as he practiced his swordsmanship. His movements were fluid, each strike precise and powerful, a testament to years of training and discipline.

As he paused for a moment to catch his breath, a sweet fragrance wafted on the breeze, the scent of ripe peaches teasing his senses. Aemond's nostrils flared as he instinctively turned his head, searching for the source of the delightful aroma.

And there she was, emerging from the shadows like a vision—Lucaela, his niece a recently presented Omega. Her presence stirring the Alpha within. She was the twin sister of Lucerys, the boy who had took his eye when they were children. Aemond harboured a deep-seated hatred for Lucerys, but he couldn't deny the magnetic pull he felt towards Lucaela.

"Lucaela," greeted Aemond, his voice low and tinged with a hint of something he dared not name.

“Uncle” replied Lucaela.

A wave of desire swept over Aemond like a tempest, igniting a fire within his soul that threatened to consume him whole.

Lucaela was the epitome of beauty, her long, dark wavy hair cascading down her back like a waterfall of silk, framing her delicate features with an ethereal glow.

Her eyes were a mesmerizing shade of light purple, she was the only one out of her strong siblings that had inherited the Targaryen eyes.

And then there was her peach scent that enveloped him like a cloak, sending his senses reeling with its intoxicating allure. It was a scent he could never forget, a scent that awakened the Alpha within him, urging him to claim the omega as his own.

With every breath he took, Aemond could feel the pull of Lucaela's scent drawing him closer, igniting a hunger deep within him that refused to be ignored. The Alpha inside him roared with a primal need, demanding dominance, craving possession.

“What brings you to the training grounds?” asked Aemond, the point of his sword digging into the ground as he rested his weight upon it.

“I found myself drawn to this part of the castle-I was watching you train” replied Lucaela.

“-And did you like what you saw?” rasped Aemond smirking.

“Your skill with the sword is impressive-you’ll win many tourneys”.

“I don’t give a shit about tourneys-nephews have you come to train?” quipped Aemond as Jace and Luke came to a stop beside Lucaela who scowled.

“Open the gates-“

Aemond smiled at Vaemond Velaryon made his way inside the Red Keep, flanked by a retinue of guards.

Alone in the dimly lit chambers, Aemond sat upon a plush chair, his mind consumed by thoughts of Lucaela.

The sweet scent of peaches still clung to the air, haunting him with its intoxicating allure. Aemond's fingers clenched tightly around the armrests of his chair as he fought against the primal urges stirring within him.

The petition for Vaemond to seize control of Driftmark had failed, his sickly father had miraculously roused himself from his stupor and came to the aid of Rhaenyra-his favourite child.

Viserys had steadfastly upheld the bastard strong boys claim to Driftmark and Vaemond had lost his head for it.

Now he would have to endure spending more time in the presence of Rhaenyra and her brood of bastards, his presence would be expected at dinner, and he would have to be in the same room as Lucaela.

Never in his life had he been this tempted by the scent of an Omega, just thinking about her was enough to make his cock hard. He’d already fucked his fist three times since their encounter in the training yard and it had done nothing to satisfy his desire.

Aemond closed his eye, trying in vain to banish her from his thoughts, but her image remained etched into the depths of his mind. The soft curve of her lips, the warmth of her gaze—each detail a tantalizing temptation that threatened to unravel his self-control.

For an Alpha, the scent of an Omega, especially a newly presented one, is like a siren's song, weaving its way through the air and captivating their senses with its intoxicating sweetness. It ignites a fire within them, awakening desires that they struggle to contain.

The Alpha within him surged with a primal longing, a desire as ancient as time itself. It whispered to him in the depths of his soul, urging him to claim Lucaela as his own, to make her his mate, and to sire pups with her.

In the quiet solitude of his chambers, Aemond wrestled with conflicting emotions, torn between the responsibilities of his station and the yearnings of his heart. His Alpha instincts raged, demanding dominance and possession, driving him to seek out Lucaela and bind her to him in an unbreakable bond.

He imagined her taking his knot, his fangs sinking into her neck, forever claiming her as his. He pictured her belly swollen with his pups. The Alpha within him growling with satisfaction, his cock hard again.

“Fuck-“ groaned Aemond as his hands moved to untie his breeches once more.

Not even a day she had been back in the Red Keep and already he’d been reduced to hiding in his chambers fucking his own fist.

He briefly considered finding another Omega or perhaps a Beta female, perhaps if he could find one that looked similar to-

NO-the Alpha inside him would not accept a substitute, it had to be Lucaela.

His cock as hard as steel, already leaking precum and he began to move his hand up and down.

“Fuck-“ groaned Aemond his hips moving back and forth.

His mind a wash with vivid images of Lucaela, under him, on top of him, of him behind her, fucking his knot into her sweet wet warm cunny.

Gods he felt like he was in rut, his hips and fist moving faster, he was close-so close.

The scent of peaches-fuck he wondered if she tasted like a ripe peach, one of his favourite fruits.

Soft-sweet, perfect for sinking his teeth into.

“Lucaela-my Lucy-MINE” roared Aemond as he erupted, his seed spilling all over his fist and lower abdomen.

Aemond collapsed against the back of the chair, his heart pounding in his chest, the knot at the base of his cock throbbed continuously.

Then a soft knock at the door, broke Aemond out his reverie.

“Dinner is ready Prince Aemond-your presence is expected”.

“I’ll be there in a moment” replied Aemond, tucking his cock back in his breeches and reaching for a cloth.

God this dinner was going to be hell. But he must endure. He must do his duty. He supposed he could always hold his breath, that way he would smell the Omega’s scent, but that would also lead to his untimely death, and he couldn’t hold his breath all night.

His cock stirred once again at the thought of Lucaela and Aemond shook his head in disbelief.

“Fuck sake-not again” snapped Aemond as he ran a hand over his face.

No-he couldn’t indulge himself, otherwise he’d be late. So, with a deep breath he left his chambers and made his way to the dining room.

Praying to every fucking one of the seven that he could restrain himself.

The scent of roasted meats and spiced wines filled the air, mingling with the chatter and laughter of his relatives, yet beneath the facade of familial camaraderie, Aemond's inner turmoil raged like a storm.

Seated alongside his kin, Aemond struggled to maintain his composure, his fingers tightening around the stem of his goblet as he forced himself to focus on the conversation swirling around him. But try as he might to distract himself, his thoughts kept returning to Lucaela.

The Alpha within him clawed desperately at the confines of his self-control, yearning to claim her as his own, to dominate and possess her in a primal display of dominance. It whispered seductive promises of fulfilment and satisfaction, urging him to seize what he desired most.

But Aemond knew he couldn't succumb to those urges, not here, not now, surrounded by his family so, Aemond gritted his teeth against the tumult of his inner turmoil, his facade of stoicism masking the turmoil raging within. He cast furtive glances across the table, his gaze lingering on Lucaela, who sat beside her brother Lucerys, her expression a mask of serene composure.

Each glance only served to fuel the fire burning within him, the Alpha's hunger growing more insatiable with each passing moment. He longed to reach out and claim Lucaela, to mark her as his own and brand her with his scent—a symbol of their bond forged in the crucible of desire.

Not even his father’s desperate rambling were enough to distract him, not even the toasts, or even his sister Helaena dancing with Jace.

She was Aegon’s wife, but obviously the drunk cunt could only sit and stare as the bastard strong boy twirled her around in time with the music.

After his father had been escorted from the dining room, Aemond prayed for the night to come to a close, he had to get back to his chambers, his cock was throbbing with need, and he was sure the scent of his arousal was becoming more and more obvious by the second, due to the looks that Lucaela was giving him and the faint blush that dusted her cheeks.

Then the roasted pig was placed in front on him, and that bastard boy had the audacity to laugh at him.

His fist colliding loudly with the table, and he rose to his feet thanking the gods that his leather jerkin was long enough to hide the bulge in his breeches.

“Final tribute” said Aemond picking up his goblet “To the health of my niece and nephews-Lucaela, Jace and Luke-each of them handsome, wise and strong-“

“Aemond” warned Alicent.

“Come-let us drain our cups to these three strong-“

“-I dare you to say that again” challenged Jace.

“Why, it was only a compliment. Don’t you think yourself strong?” challenged Aemond, as Jace’s fist collided with the side of his face.

The dining room erupted into a cacophony of noise, Lucerys who had rose to defend his brother Jace had been slammed headfirst into the table, Lucaela had then slid her hands into Aegon’s silver hair and wrenched him away from her twin brother-and Jace had been shoved to the floor.

Aemond’s blood was growing hot as he watched Lucaela defending her brother, he didn’t give two shits about Luke, but it was the way in which the Omega had fiercely risen from her seat and thrown herself into the chaos.

The hard slap she delivered to Aegon’s pale cheek had the Alpha inside Aemond growling with delight.

But Jace had hauled himself of the floor and was charging towards Aemond, who braced himself ready to fight.

“Wait-wait-“ snarled Daemon, stepping in between the two.

“Go to your chambers-all of you go now” ordered Rhaenyra.

Aemond watched as Lucaela bowed her head to her mother and followed her brothers from the dining room.

As he watched her leave Aemond suddenly became very aware that Daemon was watching him with intrigue, following his gaze.

The older Alpha raised his non-existent eyebrows at Aemond who decided it was for the best to stand down, challenging Daemon wouldn’t do him any favours, not with Lucaela anyway.

So, he left the dining room, not bothering to deal with the aftermath of his actions as there was something else that demanded his attention.

Aemond’s footsteps echoed softly as he made his way through the corridors of the Red Keep, his heart pounding with a mixture of anticipation and trepidation. The flickering torches cast dancing shadows along the stone walls, casting an eerie glow upon his determined features.

He knew he shouldn't be here, shouldn't succumb to the forbidden desires that tugged at his soul like a riptide dragging him under. But the scent of Lucaela lingered in his senses, a sweet intoxicating fragrance that called to him with an irresistible allure, driving him ever closer to her chambers.

As he reached the door to Lucaela's quarters, Aemond hesitated for a moment, his hand poised to knock. His mind raced with a thousand reasons why he should turn back, why he should resist the primal urges that threatened to consume him.

But then he caught another whiff of her scent, carried on the breeze like a whispered promise, and all rational thought fled from his mind. With a shaky breath, he rapped his knuckles against the door, the sound echoing through the silent corridor.

The door creaked open, revealing Lucaela standing on the threshold, her eyes widening in surprise at the sight of him.

Aemond's gaze locked with hers, his heart pounding in his chest as he struggled to find the words to express the tempest of emotions raging within him. But before he could speak, the scent of Lucaela enveloped him like a tidal wave, washing away his doubts and fears in a flood of primal need.

“What do you want?” asked Lucaela.

“You know what I want-“ replied Aemond as he stepped inside the dimly lit chamber.

“No, I don’t-“

“-Sure, you do” said Aemond.

“You can’t want me-“ muttered Lucaela, lowering her gaze to the floor.

“Why not?” snarked Aemond.

“I thought I was a bastard-you said it yourself. Handsome, wise and strong”

“When it comes to you I was wrong, I should have said pretty and perfect for birthing my pups” growled Aemond as he stepped forward, closing the distance between them in a single stride. He could feel the heat of her body, the softness of her skin, beckoning him closer with each passing second.

And then, without a word, he crushed his lips to hers in a searing kiss.

His Alpha roaring with delight, at the sweet taste of the Omega.

Breaking away from the kiss, Lucaela gasped for breath, her eyes meeting Aemond's with a mixture of desire and uncertainty. "We mustn't," she breathed, her voice trembling with restraint. "We should court properly, earn the blessing of the King and our family.”

Aemond's brows furrowed, a shadow passing over his features as he shook his head in disbelief. "You know as well as I do, Lucy," he murmured, his voice tinged with bitterness. "My mother and grandsire would never allow such a match to take place. They would sooner see us wed to strangers for political gain than grant their blessing to our union."

“Aemond” whimpered Lucaela as he reached out to gently cup her cheek, his touch sending shivers down her spine.

"You can feel it, can't you?" he murmured, his voice low and husky with desire. "The pull of my Alpha scent”

Lucaela's breath caught in her throat at his words, her heart pounding with a mixture of longing and apprehension. She wanted to deny it, to cling to the remnants of her resolve, but the undeniable truth hung heavy in the air between them.

"I-I shouldn't," she whispered, her voice barely a breath as she fought to resist the primal urges that threatened to consume her. "We mustn't give in to temptation, Aemond. We must honour our duty and our family."

But even as she spoke the words, Lucaela could feel the last vestiges of her resistance crumbling beneath the weight of Aemond's presence, his Alpha scent wrapping around her like a velvet cloak, suffusing her senses with a heady intoxication that left her dizzy with desire.

Aemond's lips curled into a knowing smile as he leaned in closer, his breath hot against her ear. "You cannot deny the pull any longer, Issa dōna," he murmured, his voice a seductive whisper that sent shivers down her spine. "Our desires are too strong, too primal to be ignored” (My sweet).

With a soft gasp, Lucaela closed the distance between them, her lips meeting Aemond's in a searing kiss that left them both breathless and wanting more.

Lucaela had lost most of her senses the moment Aemond had pressed her onto the bed and knelt down between her open legs.

“Issa dōna Omega” whispered Aemond (My sweet Omega).

Lucaela’s eyes rolled into the back of her head as Aemond’s tongue swept across her slick wet folds.

Lucaela bit the back of her hand to keep herself from screaming as Aemond began using his long fingers to tease her entrance.

“Ivestragī issa rȳbagon ao issa dōna” growled Aemond (Let me hear you my sweet).

“A-Aemond. Oh god. Please” moaned Lucaela.

Aemond pressed two fingers inside Lucaela, moving them against a spot that made her entire body shake.

“I know your almost there. Let it happen my sweet. Come for me” whispered Aemond.

Lucaela arched her back and let out a scream as her pleasure erupted.

Aemond crawled up Lucaela’s body, placing gentle kisses on her skin as he moved higher and higher.

Lucaela blushed furiously when she saw that Aemond’s chin was shining with her slick.

“Calm yourself my little strong girl” murmured Aemond.

“I-I’ve never-” mumbled Lucaela.

“Relax and let Alpha take care of you”.

Almost as if he could read Lucaela’s mind, Aemond smiled and began peppering gentle kisses all over Lucaela’s face.

“You can take it. Ao istan vēttan syt issa” whispered Aemond as he began rubbing his hard cock along Lucaela’s wet folds (You were made for me).

Suddenly Aemond rolls his hips forward and the entire hard length of him is buried inside Lucaela.

“A-Aemond” shrieks Lucaela at the sting of her maidenhead being taken.

Aemond stills for a moment, almost as if he is savouring the feeling of Lucaela’s tight wet heat being wrapped around him.

After a few mintues, Lucaela begins to writh against him.

“M-Move please Alpha. I need you” begged Lucaela desperately.

Aemond rolls his hips gently at first, allowing Lucaela the time to adjust to the feeling of his cock moving back and forth inside her, but when his sweet Omega begins issuing pleas of ‘Harder and faster’ Aemond loses it and begins fucking Lucaela into the mattress.

Their hips pound together as Aemond thrusts hard and fast, his movements brutal and precise.

“Lucaela. My Omega” moans Aemond as his cock begins to thicken at the base.

“Yes. Yes. Oh, it’s feels so good. Alpha don’t stop. Fuck me harder. I can take it”

“Going to fill you up with my seed. I want to see you swollen with my pups” hisses Aemond.

“Yes. Alpha breed me. I want to grow round with your pup. I will give you as many pups as you desire” exclaimed Lucaela.

“Y-Your neck. I need too-Claim you” growls Aemond.

“Yes, Alpha claim me. Make me yours” begs Lucaela.

With a low growl of desire, Aemond tilts Lucaela's head back, exposing the delicate curve of her neck to his hungry gaze.

His cock throbbing with anticipation,

Lucaela's breath hitched as she felt the heat of Aemond's lips brush against her skin, his touch igniting her blood. Then, she felt the sharp sting of his teeth sinking into her flesh, a mixture of pleasure and pain flooding her senses.

Aemond's Alpha scent enveloped her, swirling around her like a whirlwind, as Lucaela surrendered to the overwhelming sensation. With a gasp of ecstasy, she arched against him, her nails digging into his shoulders as she felt their bond solidifying, the mating bond that would bind them together for eternity.

But even as Aemond claimed her as his own, Lucaela's own Omega instincts surged to life, driving her to reciprocate the gesture. With a fierce determination, she bit down on Aemond's neck.

Whilst her teeth are not as sharp as Aemonds, they still manage to puncture his mating gland. Sealing Alpha and Omega together forever. Their bond snapping into place. Their hearts as one.

The blood from their bites running down their bodies, as they moved together. Her Alpha fucked her hard and fast, his hips pounding against hers. The sound of skin slapping together echoed around the chambers.

As Aemond gives one last thrust and forces his knot inside Lucaela, spilling rope after rope of his seed inside his Omega, which made Lucaela throw her own head back and scream, as she reached her peak, clenching around her Alpha’s pulsating cock.

It didn’t stop there, Aemond only needed a few moments of rest before growing hard inside of his Omega again.

As Lucaela’s legs relaxed and let go of her hold on Aemond, his knot had deflated enough to allow him to move backwards, and he raised himself to his knees between Lucaela’s legs.

The loss of her Alpha inside her made Lucaela whimper as the ache quickly returned. 

“Roll over” ordered Aemond. It was a command, an Alpha command, and Lucaela whimpered as she felt it take control of her body, she had to obey, she had to please her Alpha.

She was now on all fours in front of him, ready to be mounted again. Her waves of scent and slick made Aemond almost stagger. He pushed his cock into the whimpering Omega once more with shaky hands and proceeded to pound her even harder and quicker than before, snapping his hips against her while grunting loudly, driving needy moans out of Lucaela. 

Aemond was gripping her hips so hard that his nails were digging into her skin, leaving marks everywhere, the pain drove Lucaela wild with need and she needed to feel more of it.

Almost as if he could sense what she needed, Aemond reached forward and grabbed Lucaela’s hair, making her head shoot back. Lucaela cried out to her Alpha in pleasure, making Aemond growl.

His knot started to slowly push inside Lucaela, and she let out a feral cry as the knot made its way deeper and deeper inside of her.

It swelled up so much, it hurt, it hurt so good.

“A-Aemond-yes-yes-please” babbled Lucaela as she peaked, her slick dripping onto the sheets.

“I will have you dripping with my seed my sweet Omega. I can’t wait to see you swell with my pups, everyone will know your mine-“ moaned Aemond.

Aemond thrust one, two, three more times before growling once again, shooting his seed deep inside Lucaela, filling her up. He grunted out Lucaela’s name chasing the pleasure of his own peak. He then let out a deep, satisfied breath before collapsing onto his Omega.

Aemond moved his face to Lucaela’s neck again, and lovingly nuzzled her.

Lucaela laid trembling underneath him, his knot had swelled and locked together,

“ñuhon” muttered Aemond (Mine).

In the depths of the night, shrouded in shadows cast by flickering torchlight, Lucaela made her way down to the skull of Balerion, the ancient relic looming over her like a silent sentinel of the past. She paused before the massive skull, her heart pounding with a mixture of apprehension and resolve.

As she waited, Lucaela reached up to the fresh mating mark on her neck and grimaced at the dried blood lingering on her skin.

At the sound of footsteps, Lucaela took a deep breath and turned to face Daemon.

"Is it done?"

Lucaela nodded, her voice steady despite the turmoil churning within her. "Yes," she replied, her words echoing softly in the cavernous chamber. "Aemond has claimed me as his mate. His seed has filled my womb."

A slow smile spread across Daemon's lips, a flicker of satisfaction dancing in his eyes. "Well done," he murmured, his voice a low rumble that echoed through the darkness.

“Thank you-father” whispered Lucaela.

"You must lay with him as many times as you can to ensure that you carry Aemond's pup," he said, his tone firm and commanding. "No Alpha would ever turn away from their own child and with Aemond on our side, your mother's path to the Iron Throne is clearer than ever."

"I-I understand," she murmured, her voice barely more than a whisper as she met Daemon's gaze with a mixture of resignation and determination.

Daemon nodded; his expression unreadable as he regarded her with an intensity that sent shivers down her spine. "Good," he said, his voice a low rumble that echoed through the chamber. "With his pup in your womb, our position will be secure”.

“What of those who conspire against mother?” asked Lucaela.

“Otto Hightower isn’t the only treasonous cunt involved, soon the others will reveal themselves and when they do-justice will served” replied Daemon his hand resting on the hilt of Dark Sister.

“Perzys se ānogar” said Lucaela (Fire and Blood).

Daemon's eyes softened as he looked upon Lucaela, a sense of pride swelling within him like a flame dancing in the darkness. Of Rhaenyra's three children from her first marriage, Lucaela was his favourite—the embodiment of everything he believed a Targaryen should be.

"You have done well" he said, his voice carrying the weight of his admiration. "But now, it is time for you to return to your mate and get some rest. Thanks to you, the war will be won before it even begins”

As Lucaela made her way back to her chambers, her mind drifted back to Daemon's plan.

Her presentation as an Omega had marked a turning point, her scent at its strongest—a heady concoction of sweetness and allure that had the power to captivate even the most stoic of unmated Alphas. It was a scent that could drive men to madness, igniting a primal hunger that could not be ignored.

Whispers had reached Dragonstone of Ottos plans to usurp the Iron Throne when Viserys passed and have Aegon crowned, and Daemon knew they had to play it smart at least for now and he had seen the potential of her power as an Omega and recognized the opportunity it presented.

Aemond and Vhagar were Otto’s biggest asset, and without them he was nothing.

So, Daemon had suggested that she deliberately place herself in front of Aemond, play coy and let her scent drive him wild with desire until he could resist her no longer.

Lucaela pushed open the door, the soft light of the moon casting a gentle glow across the room, illuminating the seed and blood-stained sheets that bore witness to their passionate union.

Aemond was still asleep, his features softened by the embrace of slumber, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm.

As Lucaela slipped beneath the covers and nestled against Aemond's side, his arms instinctively wrapping around her and pulling her close, a sense of warmth and contentment washed over her like a wave crashing against the shore.

And as she lay there in the darkness, wrapped in Aemond's embrace, Lucaela couldn't help but wonder if perhaps being mated to him wouldn't be so bad after all.

The fervour in which he had taken her to bed had been unlike anything she had expected, growing up the septa’s had always told her of a woman’s duty, that she existed for a man’s pleasure and not her own.

But Aemond had shown her that there was much pleasure to be had, and she couldn’t wait to experience more.

[mrsfancyferrari]

Could you maybe make an AU with Carlos? Kind of a Romeo and Juliet vibe where they’re both royalty and aren’t allowed to be together but w a happy ending?

Happy Ever After

Anon: Could you maybe make an AU with Carlos? Kind of a Romeo and Juliet vibe where they’re both royalty and aren’t allowed to be together but w a happy ending?

Song: Love Story by Indila

Author’s note: Hey anon! I'm not used to the story of Romeo and Juliet so please bear with me! Please like, reblog and share this! <33

Word count: 8.6k

Once upon a time, in the kingdom of Aragonia, nestled between towering mountains and winding rivers, lay a land of unparalleled beauty and prosperity. The kingdom was a tapestry of lush, verdant landscapes, where rolling hills were adorned with wildflowers that danced in the gentle breeze.

Majestic castles, their spires reaching towards the heavens, stood as a testament to the kingdom's rich history and the ingenuity of its people.

The citizens of Aragonia were a proud and industrious lot, known far and wide for their skilled craftsmanship and unwavering commitment to their community.

From the bustling marketplaces in the heart of the capital city to the quaint, charming villages that dotted the countryside, the people of Aragonia lived in harmony, their days filled with the laughter of children and the rhythmic hum of daily life.

At the center of this enchanting kingdom stood the grand palace, a sprawling edifice of gleaming marble and intricate stonework.

Here, the wise and benevolent ruler of Aragonia presided, guiding the kingdom with a steady hand and a deep understanding of the needs of his people.

Under the watchful eye of the monarch, Aragonia flourished, its reputation for prosperity and innovation spreading far beyond its borders, drawing in visitors from near and far who marveled at the beauty and wonder of this truly remarkable land.

Princess Y/N, known for your grace and beauty, was the eldest daughter of King Alfonso VII. You had inherited your father's intelligence and compassion, making you a beloved figure within the kingdom.

Prince Carlos, on the other hand, was the youngest son of King Ferdinand III. Despite his noble status, he possessed a rebellious spirit that drew him closer to the commoners.

King Alfonso and King Ferdinand were embroiled in a bitter feud that threatened to tear the kingdom apart. The two monarchs harbored deep-seated animosity towards one another, stemming from long-standing political and personal disputes.

This toxic rivalry manifested in a climate of tension and distrust, with the two men constantly vying for power and influence. The tension between them spilled over into their respective families, creating a rift that only served to exacerbate the already precarious situation within the kingdom.

As the conflict escalated, the people of the land found themselves caught in the crossfire, uncertain of their future and the stability of the realm. . . .

"Princess Y/N, are you ready for the party?" your servant asked you as you stared out of your oval-shaped window, revealing the endless sea and the docks.

"Yes Matilda, I am ready," you muttered.

You were not. You hated going to these parties that your father organized. The grand halls filled with nobility, the endless chatter about alliances and politics, and the constant pressure to present yourself as the perfect princess made you feel suffocated.

You'd rather stay here and watch the sea forever, losing yourself in the gentle rhythm of the waves and the distant calls of the seabirds.

As you reluctantly turned away from the window, you couldn't help but sigh. The ocean had always been your sanctuary, a place where you could dream of freedom and adventure far from the palace walls.

But duty called, and you knew you had to uphold your role, no matter how much it pained you.

Adjusting your gown, you took a deep breath and steeled yourself for the evening ahead, wishing that one day you might find a way to escape the gilded cage that held you.

Your father expected you to charm the guests, forge new alliances, and perhaps even catch the eye of a suitable suitor. He had always emphasized the importance of these gatherings for the kingdom's future, and he relied on you to play your part perfectly.

Despite your own desires, you knew that failing to meet his expectations could have serious repercussions for both you and the realm.

The thought of potential suitors filled you with a mixture of dread and resignation. You longed for a partner who understood your love for the sea and your yearning for freedom, rather than someone who only saw you as a pawn in their political games.

Yet, you knew that such a romantic ideal was unlikely in your world, where alliances were forged not by love but by necessity. . . .

"Carlos! Are you sure this isn't going to get us into big trouble?" Mercutio whispered as the three of them pushed through the overgrown garden of the Alfonso family.

Carlos grinned, his eyes gleaming with excitement. "Relax, Mercutio. I've done this a dozen times before. The Alfonsos are too busy celebrating to notice a few extra guests," he replied confidently, ducking under a low-hanging branch.

"Besides, we blend in perfectly. Just act like you belong, and no one will question a thing."

Benvolio, trailing behind them, chimed in, "He's right, Mercutio. Remember last summer when we crashed the mayor's gala? We even got compliments on our outfits!" He adjusted his mask and smoothed his clothes, trying to muster up some of Carlos' bravado.

"Let's just have fun tonight. What's the worst that could happen?"

The garden was a labyrinth of lavishly manicured hedges and vibrant flowerbeds, with twinkling fairy lights strung overhead that cast a magical glow on the scene. Stone statues of mythical creatures peeked out from behind dense shrubbery, and a grand marble fountain stood at the center, its water sparkling like liquid diamonds.

The air was filled with the sweet scent of blooming jasmine, adding an enchanting allure to the evening.

"Just blend in," Carlos finally whispered before slipping into the crowd, his movements fluid and confident. Mercutio and Benvolio exchanged a quick glance, then followed suit, mingling seamlessly with the other revelers.

The sound of laughter and music enveloped them as they made their way toward the heart of the celebration, hoping their disguises would hold up under the scrutiny of the Alfonso family and their guests.

Carlos was dressed in an elegant black suit adorned with intricate gold embroidery, his mask a matching black with delicate filigree that framed his eyes.

Mercutio wore a deep blue velvet coat with silver accents, his mask resembling a Venetian masterpiece with feathers that added a touch of mystique.

Benvolio, opting for a more understated look, sported a dark green ensemble with subtle bronze details, his mask simple yet sophisticated, giving him an air of quiet confidence.

Carlos, Mercutio and Benvolio all arrived at the mansion, eager to have a good time. As they mingled with the guests, no one had any idea that they were from the rival Ferdinand family.

They blended in seamlessly, sipping drinks and chatting merrily, their true identities hidden from the unsuspecting crowd.

The three friends revelled in the freedom of being anonymous at the party. They could let their guard down and truly enjoy themselves, without the constant tension and rivalry that existed between their family and the Alfonso.

For once, they were able to forget the long-standing feud and simply live in the moment, dancing and laughing without a care in the world. . . .

"Everyone! Please give your full attention to King Alfonso and his daughter, Princess Y/N who make their appearance tonight!" The announcer stated, catching everyone's attention and the room came to a silent halt.

The grand hall was adorned with opulent chandeliers that cast a warm, golden glow over the elegantly dressed guests. Rich tapestries depicting scenes of royal triumphs hung on the walls, and an orchestra played softly in the background, adding to the regal atmosphere.

At the top of the imperial staircase, a majestic red carpet led straight to the throne, where King Alfonso and Princess Y/N stood in their resplendent attire.

King Alfonso, a striking figure with a commanding presence, wore a robe of deep crimson velvet trimmed with gold embroidery. His crown, encrusted with precious gemstones, rested regally upon his silver hair, which added to his dignified look.

His piercing blue eyes surveyed the room with a mixture of authority and benevolence, and a jeweled scepter in his right hand glinted under the chandelier's light, symbolizing his unchallenged power and leadership.

Princess Y/N, standing gracefully beside him, was the epitome of elegance and poise. Your gown, a masterpiece of delicate lace and satin in shades of royal blue, shimmered with every movement.

A tiara of diamonds and sapphires adorned your flowing locks, complementing your serene and captivating beauty.

Your eyes, a brilliant shade of green, radiated warmth and kindness as you acknowledged the gathered guests, while your calm demeanor and gentle smile hinted at the wisdom and strength that lay beneath your refined exterior.

Carlos and his friends were at the buffet, eagerly sampling the lavish spread of delicacies when the announcement echoed through the hall.

While his companions barely glanced up before returning to their plates, Carlos found himself captivated by the sight of you. Your graceful presence and ethereal beauty held him spellbound, making it impossible for him to look away.

The sparkle of your tiara and the gentle warmth in your eyes seemed to draw him in, as if you were the very embodiment of a fairy tale come to life.

As his friends continued their animated conversation about the best dishes at the buffet, Carlos remained rooted to his spot, his gaze fixed firmly on the princess.

He felt an inexplicable connection, a magnetic pull that made the noise and bustle around him fade into the background.

In that moment, nothing else mattered; all he could see was you, and all he could feel was the hope that perhaps, just perhaps, you might notice him amidst the sea of faces.

The first dance came soon after the announcement, and Carlos knew it was the perfect chance to make his presence known. As the music started, couples began to fill the dance floor, but Carlos's eyes never left you.

Gathering his courage, he approached with a respectful bow, extending his hand. "May I have this dance, Princess?" he asked, his voice steady despite the whirlwind of emotions inside him.

You smiled warmly, recognizing the sincerity in his gaze, and placed your hand in his.

As you both moved gracefully to the rhythm, the world seemed to blur around you. Carlos felt a sense of belonging and purpose, each step affirming the connection he felt.

In your presence, the grandeur of the ballroom faded, leaving just the two of you, sharing a moment that neither would soon forget.

"What is your name?" you asked, your voice as melodious as the music enveloping the room. Carlos hesitated for a brief moment, the truth perched on the edge of his tongue.

"My name is Charles," he lied. A slight tremor in his voice betrayed his nervousness.

You tilted your head slightly, a curious glint in your eyes as you continued to dance. "Charles," you repeated, testing the name on your lips. "It's a pleasure to meet you. Tell me, Charles, what brings you to our celebration tonight?"

Carlos swallowed hard, determined to maintain his composure. "I came with friends," he replied, gesturing subtly towards the buffet. "But now, I am grateful for this unexpected opportunity to dance with you, Princess."

Carlos and you danced gracefully before your father, the King. As the music came to an end, your father gave you a pointed look, signalling that it was time to separate and greet another potential suitor.

You leaned in to Carlos and whispered, "Meet me in the west garden in an hour."

Carlos' eyes widened momentarily, but he quickly regained his composure. "I'll be there," he replied, his voice barely above a whisper.

You made your way through the throng of guests, exchanging pleasantries with the various noblemen and women who sought your attention. However, your mind was focused on the upcoming meeting with Carlos.

As the appointed hour approached, you slipped away from the main festivities and hurried to the west garden. Carlos was already there, waiting for you under the moonlit sky.

"You came," You said, relief evident in your voice.

"Of course," Carlos responded, taking your hands in his. "I couldn't bear the thought of not seeing you, even if it's just for a moment."

"Carlos, I... I don't know what to do. My father expects me to entertain these suitors, but that's not what my heart wants me to do."

Carlos squeezed your hands gently, his eyes searching yours. "Sometimes, we must follow our hearts, even if it means defying expectations," he said, his voice filled with quiet determination.

"I know it might be difficult, but you deserve to be with someone who understands you, who cherishes you for who you are, not just for your title."

You took a deep breath, feeling the weight of your father's expectations and the longing in your heart. "But what if my father never approves? What if he forces me to marry someone else?" you asked, your voice trembling with uncertainty.

Carlos stepped closer, his grip on your hands firm and reassuring. "Then we'll find a way to be together, no matter the obstacles. Love is worth fighting for, Princess. And I promise, I will fight for you."

"But how, you've only met me today," you started, your voice tinged with skepticism.

"It's something called love at first sight, Princess," Carlos teased, a playful smile dancing on his lips. "From the moment I saw you, I knew there was something special about you. It's not just about the title or the expectations—it's about the connection we share, even in such a short time."

You felt a warmth spread through your chest at his words, but doubt still lingered. "But what if this feeling fades? What if we regret defying everything for a chance that might not last?"

Carlos' expression grew serious, his eyes locking onto yours with unwavering intensity. "Feelings like this don't fade easily, Princess. Genuine connections are rare and precious, and I believe ours is one of them. We owe it to ourselves to explore this, to give our hearts a chance to truly know if it's real."

"Okay," you replied shyly, a blush rising to your cheeks. No one has ever spoken to you like this before; it has always been about fulfilling duties and consummating the marriage.

Your entire life, you were taught that love was secondary to alliances and obligations, but Carlos' words stirred something deep within you—a hope that maybe, just maybe, there was more to life than duty.

Carlos' eyes softened as he noticed your hesitation. "This world we live in often binds us with chains of duty and tradition. But sometimes, those chains need to be broken for us to truly live. Let me prove to you that what we have is real. Let me show you a world where love and happiness aren't just dreams but possibilities."

His words carried a promise, a vow that resonated with the unspoken desires in your heart.

You nodded, unable to speak any more, tears welling up in your eyes. Carlos' hand gently cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing away a stray tear. "Thank you for trusting me," he whispered, his voice filled with sincerity and warmth.

He leaned in and placed a tender kiss on your cheek, the simple gesture sending a shiver down your spine. His lips lingered for a moment, and you closed your eyes, savoring the unexpected comfort and reassurance his presence brought.

As he pulled back, his eyes never left yours, a silent promise passing between you.

In that moment, the world outside seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of you standing together against the backdrop of an uncertain future.

You took a deep breath, feeling a newfound strength and determination blooming within you. With Carlos by your side, you felt ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead, confident that love, for once, would guide your path.

"Should your first job to court me be to kiss me on the lips?" you teased, a playful glint in your eyes. Carlos chuckled, the sound light and full of promise.

"If that is what the princess desires," he replied, his voice low and husky.

He leaned in slowly, giving you ample time to pull away if you wished. But you didn't; instead, you found yourself closing the distance between you, your lips meeting his in a soft, tentative kiss.

The kiss was gentle, almost hesitant at first, as if both of you were savoring the moment's significance. Then it deepened, becoming a silent conversation of shared hopes and unspoken dreams.

When you finally pulled away, your heart was racing, and you saw the same exhilaration mirrored in Carlos' eyes.

"Consider it the first of many," he murmured, his forehead resting against yours. "Because this is just the beginning of our journey together."

Your mind was a whirlwind of emotions, a blend of excitement, nervousness, and an overwhelming sense of belonging. The kiss had unlocked a floodgate of feelings you had kept hidden for so long, and in that brief, magical moment, you felt truly seen and understood.

As you gazed into Carlos' eyes, you knew that whatever lay ahead, you would face it together, strengthened by the bond you had just forged.

"How will I communicate with you?" Carlos whispered, his breath warm against your skin.

You smiled softly, your fingers tracing the outline of his jaw. "We'll find a way," you replied, your voice steady with conviction. "Whether through letters, messages, or the silent understanding we share, we'll always be connected."

Carlos nodded, his eyes filled with trust and determination. "I believe in us," he said quietly, his hand gently squeezing yours.

"Princess Y/N! Where are you?" you heard your maid, Matilda, yell out your name, her voice carrying a mix of urgency and worry.

You turned towards the sound, your heart sinking slightly at the reminder of your duties and the world that awaited outside this intimate bubble.

"I think that's the sign to leave, but don't worry, I'll be here tomorrow," Carlos said, letting go of you reluctantly. You nodded, a soft smile playing on your lips.

"Promise?" you asked, your eyes searching his.

"Promise," Carlos replied, his gaze unwavering.

With one last lingering look, you turned and began to walk towards Matilda's voice, feeling Carlos' eyes on you until you disappeared from view. . . .

"Matilda, you saw who I was with, am I right?" you asked, staring out of your window as the evening sun cast long shadows across the room.

"Yes, Princess," Matilda replied, her voice hesitant but clear.

"Do you recognize him?" you pressed, turning to face her, your curiosity mingling with a touch of apprehension.

Matilda nodded slowly. "Yes, I do. He is the youngest child of our rival, King Ferdinand's child, Prince Carlos."

A gasp escaped your lips, and you felt a mix of shock and confusion grip you. "Prince Carlos? But how... why didn't you tell me sooner?"

Matilda's eyes softened with understanding. "I didn't want to alarm you, Princess. I saw how happy you were. But you must be careful; our kingdoms have a complicated history."

Your mind raced with conflicting emotions.

If Prince Carlos had lied about his identity, how could you trust anything else he had said

The promise he made to you felt sincere at the time, but now, doubt gnawed at your heart. What if his intentions were not as pure as you had believed?

The weight of the revelation pressed heavily on your shoulders, and the once-clear path ahead now seemed clouded with uncertainty.

Yet, there was a part of you that wanted to believe in the connection you had felt with him. Despite the rivalry between your kingdoms, there had been moments of genuine warmth and understanding in your conversations.

Could it be possible that he, too, wished for peace and a way to bridge the divide?

You knew you needed to tread carefully, but the hope that perhaps, just perhaps, there could be more to his story than deceit kept a small flame of optimism alive within you.

Your heart ached with the weight of uncertainty. "Matilda, what should I do?" you asked, your voice trembling.

Matilda stepped closer, her expression filled with empathy. "Princess, you must tread carefully. Confront Prince Carlos and seek the truth. But remember, matters of the heart are never simple, especially when they are entangled with the affairs of state. Trust your instincts, but also be prepared for whatever truths may come to light."

A whirlwind of emotions swirled within you—fear, hope, and a lingering sense of betrayal. Matilda's words echoed in your mind, urging you to confront Prince Carlos yet cautioning you to brace for the truth.

Your heart beat erratically, torn between the desire to uncover the reality and the dread of what that reality might reveal. . . .

"Good morning, Princess," you heard Carlos say as he emerged from behind a bush, his mask still on from yesterday.

You were in your garden, the same place where Carlos had left you last night. His presence startled you, but you quickly composed yourself, determined to face him.

"Carlos," you began, your voice steady despite the turmoil within.

His eyes widened in surprise at the sound of his real name, betraying a flicker of vulnerability. "I see you know the truth," he said softly, his voice tinged with regret.

"I need to know the full truth. Why did you hide your identity from me?"

His eyes flickered with a mixture of guilt and resolve as he stepped closer, the morning light casting shadows across his masked face.

"I never intended to deceive you," he said softly.

Slowly, with deliberate movements, Carlos reached up and removed his mask, revealing a face that was both strikingly handsome and etched with sorrow. Your breath hitched at the sight, your heart skipping a beat as you took in the chiseled features and the intense eyes that had once seemed so distant.

It was as if a barrier had been lifted between you, and for a moment, the world around you faded into the background.

"I feared that revealing my true identity would ruin the connection we had built. Our fathers have a long history of conflict, and I didn't want that to stand between us. But now, I realize that honesty is the only way forward. I hope you can understand and find it in your heart to trust me once more."

You took a deep breath, letting his words sink in. "Carlos, this isn't just about our fathers' past. It's about the trust between us, the foundation of any relationship," you said, your voice trembling slightly.

"You should have told me the truth from the beginning. How can I be sure there aren't other secrets you're hiding?"

Carlos looked down, his expression a mix of shame and determination. "I understand your hesitation, but I promise you, there are no more secrets. I want to build a future with you based on honesty and trust. Please, give me a chance to prove myself," he implored, reaching out to take your hand.

The warmth of his touch sent a shiver down your spine, and for a moment, you allowed yourself to hope that maybe, just maybe, things could be different.

You looked into his eyes, searching for any sign of deceit, but all you saw was sincerity and a deep longing. "Carlos, this isn't going to be easy," you said, your voice softening.

"Trust has to be earned, and it will take time for me to fully trust you again. But I want to try. I want to believe that we can overcome this, together."

Carlos's eyes lit up with a glimmer of hope. "Thank you," he whispered, his grip on your hand tightening slightly. "I promise I will do whatever it takes to show you that my intentions are true. No more secrets, no more lies. Just us, facing the world together."

You nodded, feeling a cautious optimism bloom within you.

The path ahead was uncertain, but for the first time in a long time, you both felt that it might just be possible to forge a future built on a foundation of truth and mutual respect.

"Good," you muttered, cupping his face to place a kiss on his lips.

The kiss was tentative at first, as if testing the waters of this newfound honesty. But soon, it deepened with a mutual understanding that this was the first step towards mending what had been broken.

Pulling back slightly, you looked into his eyes, seeing the determination etched in his gaze.

"Well," you said with a playful smile, "if we're going to start fresh, maybe we should celebrate with dinner tonight. How about you cook for me? I've been dying to taste your famous paella."

Carlos chuckled, a spark of mischief lighting up his eyes. "Ah, my culinary skills, eh? You know, I only bring out my best recipes for special occasions. But for you, I think I can make an exception."

"You'd better," you teased, giving him a light nudge. "And don't think you can win me over with just food. I'm expecting some serious effort on your part."

Carlos grinned, his confidence returning. "Challenge accepted. Just wait, by the end of the night, you won't have any doubts about my commitment to us."

You both laughed, the tension easing as you basked in the warmth of this new beginning, ready to face whatever came next, together. . . .

Carlos couldn't help but sneak another glance at the grand Alfonso mansion as he crept through the garden, his heart pounding with excitement and nerves.

"Are you sure about this?" he whispered, finally reaching the veranda where you stood waiting.

"Absolutely," you whispered back, a smile playing on your lips. "I've thought about it, and I don't want to waste any more time. If we're going to build a future together, let's start now."

Carlos took a deep breath, looking deep into your eyes. "Then let's do it. Let's get married. I'll make Friar Laurence wed us tomorrow."

You nodded, feeling a rush of exhilaration. "Yes, Carlos. Let's take this leap of faith together. No more doubts, no more hesitation. Just us, united in a promise to face everything hand in hand."

"Until tomorrow, princess. I can't wait to make you my wife," Carlos said, kissing your knuckles.

Your heart raced as his warm lips brushed against your skin. The way he looked at you, with such adoration and longing, sent shivers down your spine. You knew in that moment that there was no one else you'd rather spend the rest of your life with.

"I can hardly contain my excitement," you replied, your voice barely above a whisper. "The thought of becoming your wife fills me with such joy."

Carlos smiled, his eyes sparkling with love. "Then it's settled. Tomorrow, in front of all our loved ones, I will make you mine forever." He brought your hand to his lips once more, sealing the promise with a tender kiss.

As he reluctantly pulled away, you already felt the loss of his touch. But the knowledge that soon you would be bound to him for eternity filled you with a sense of peace and belonging.

Tomorrow could not come soon enough.

The next day, under the cover of dawn, you and Carlos made your way to Friar Laurence's small chapel. The early morning light filtered through the stained glass windows, casting colorful patterns on the stone floor.

Friar Laurence stood at the altar, a knowing smile on his face as you approached. "Are you both ready to take this step?" he asked softly, his voice filled with warmth and understanding.

Carlos squeezed your hand, his eyes never leaving yours. "Yes, Friar," he replied with unwavering certainty. "We are ready to start our life together."

You nodded in agreement, feeling a swell of emotion rise in your chest.

Friar Laurence began the ceremony, his words a soothing balm to your anxious heart. As you exchanged vows, the world outside seemed to fade away.

Friar Laurence started, "Carlos and Y/N, I now pronounce you husband and wife. May your union bring an end to the conflict between your families."

Carlos said, his eyes never leaving yours. "Thank you, Friar Laurence. With this marriage, I hope my father and Y/N's father can find peace."

"As do I, Carlos. Our love will show them that there is a way forward, beyond this senseless feud."

Friar Laurence smiled, "I pray that your marriage will be the first step towards reconciliation. May God bless you both."

For those precious moments, it was just the two of you, bound by love and the promise of a future together. . . .

Later that afternoon, Carlos met with Mercutio in the secluded garden behind his family's estate. The air was filled with the scent of blooming roses and the gentle hum of bees.

Benvolio, ever the jester, was the first to speak. "Carlos, you look like a man with a secret. Do tell, what has you so radiant today?"

Carlos couldn't suppress his joy any longer. "My friend, I have wonderful news. This morning, Y/N and I were married in Friar Laurence's chapel."

Benvolio's eyes widened in surprise. "Married? So soon? But what about the feud between your families? Do they know?"

Carlos shook his head, a determined look in his eyes. "Not yet, but we hope that our union will be the catalyst for peace. We believe that our love can end this senseless conflict. Now, more than ever, we need your support and discretion."

However, he is soon stopped when he sees Tybalt Alfonso, Y/N's cousin, there arguing with Mercutio. The tension in the garden was palpable, cutting through the serene atmosphere like a knife.

Tybalt's face was flushed with anger as he pointed an accusing finger at Mercutio. "What are you doing here, Montague?"

Tybalt spat, his voice laced with venom. "This garden is not for the likes of you."

Mercutio, ever the provocateur, smirked and replied, "Oh, Tybalt, must you always be so dramatic? We're simply enjoying the lovely weather. Besides, Carlos invited us."

Carlos stepped forward, trying to diffuse the situation. "Tybalt, please, this isn't the time for old grudges."

Tybalt glared at Carlos, his eyes burning with fury. "You dare refuse my challenge?" he spat, his voice dripping with contempt. "We are sworn enemies, and you will face me in combat!"

Carlos held up his hands, his expression calm and resolute. "I cannot, Tybalt. You are like family to me. I love you as a brother, and I will not raise my hand against you."

Tybalt's brow furrowed in confusion, his anger momentarily tempered by the unexpected response. "What madness is this?" he demanded.

"We have been at odds for years, and now you claim to love me as kin?"

"It is no madness, Tybalt," Carlos replied evenly. "My heart has changed, and I see now that our feud has been a foolish and pointless thing. Let us put aside our differences and embrace as family."

Tybalt's jaw tightened, his hands clenching into fists. "You mock me with your words, Carlos," he growled.

"I will not be swayed by your honeyed tongue. The time for talk is over - draw your sword and fight, or be forever branded a coward!"

"I cannot believe you refuse to fight like a true man," Mercutio spat, his eyes narrowed in frustration as Carlos once again declined the challenge.

"Do you not have the courage to face me on the battlefield?"

Carlos averted his gaze, his voice barely above a whisper. "I mean no disrespect, Mercutio, but I have no desire to engage in such violence. Perhaps we could resolve this matter peacefully."

Mercutio scoffed, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. "Peaceful? Bah! You dishonour yourself and all those around you with your cowardice."

He stepped forward, his chin raised defiantly. "If you will not fight, then I shall take your place and show you how a true warrior conducts himself."

Before Carlos could protest, Mercutio had already turned to face Tybalt, his sword drawn and his stance ready.

"En garde, Tybalt!" he called out, his voice ringing with a mixture of anger and excitement. "Let us see who is the better swordsman!"

Tybalt and Mercutio drew their swords, the blades gleaming in the sunlight as they began to duel.

The sound of steel clashing against steel echoed through the streets as the two men traded fierce blows, their movements swift and precise.

Sensing the escalating tension, Carlos attempted to intervene, stepping between the combatants in a desperate bid to stop the fighting.

However, Tybalt, blinded by rage, lashed out with his sword, aiming to strike Carlos but instead catching Mercutio in the chest.

Mercutio cried out in pain as the blade pierced his flesh, crimson blood spilling onto the cobblestones. He staggered backward, his own sword slipping from his grasp as he clutched at the wound.

Tybalt, realising his mistake, hesitated for a moment, his expression a mix of shock and regret.

The brief pause was all Carlos needed to seize Tybalt's sword arm, wrestling the weapon from his grip and forcing him to the ground. Mercutio, his strength fading, collapsed to his knees, his laboured breaths echoing in the stunned silence that had fallen over the scene.

Mercutio drew his final, shuddering breath, his body racked with agony. He turned to his friend Carlos, pain etched across his face.

"Alas, dear friend, I fear my end is nigh," Mercutio said, his voice barely above a whisper. "This wound, it burns like fire, sapping my strength with every passing moment."

Carlo grasped Mercutio's hand, tears welling in his eyes. "Speak not of such things, good Mercutio. You shall recover, I promise you."

Mercutio managed a weak smile. "Nay, Romeo, my time has come. Promise me, promise me you'll not forget me." Romeo nodded solemnly, a single tear cascading down his cheek.

"I shall never forget you, my dearest friend."

Carlos's heart ached with unbearable sorrow as he held Mercutio's hand tightly. "Your memory will live on in my heart forever, Mercutio," he vowed, his voice breaking.

With a final squeeze, he watched helplessly as the light faded from his friend's eyes. . . .

Carlos felt furious at Tybalt for killing Mercutio. The death of his dear friend had left him overcome with rage.

How dare Tybalt take Mercutio's life in such a callous manner? Carlos seethed with anger, his fists clenched as he replayed the tragic events in his mind.

In that moment, all Carlos could think about was avenging Mercutio. The thirst for retribution burned within him, clouding his judgment.

He knew he had to confront Tybalt, to make him pay for this heinous act. Carlos was determined to ensure justice was served, no matter the cost. His grief had morphed into a fierce, unyielding desire for vengeance.

Carlos scanned the area, his eyes narrowing as he searched for Tybalt. The coward had fled, leaving chaos and heartbreak in his wake. Carlos's rage intensified with every passing second, knowing that Tybalt had not only taken Mercutio's life but had also escaped without facing the consequences of his actions.

The thought of Tybalt's cowardice fueled his resolve, and he vowed to track him down, no matter how long it took or how far he had to go.

Determined and unwavering, Carlos rose to his feet, his mind singularly focused on his mission. He would hunt Tybalt to the ends of the earth if necessary, driven by a mix of grief and fury.

The streets that once seemed familiar now felt like a labyrinth he had to navigate to find his enemy.

As he moved forward, each step was a promise to Mercutio: justice would be served, and the pain inflicted upon his friend would not go unanswered.

Carlos and Tybalt found each other in the dimly lit alleyway, the tension between the two palpable. They circled one another, eyes locked, hands gripping their weapons tightly.

Without warning, Tybalt lunged forward, his blade slicing through the air. Carlos parried the attack, the sound of steel clashing against steel echoing through the narrow passage. The two men traded blows, their movements quick and precise, each one trying to gain the upper hand.

The fight raged on, neither man willing to back down. Tybalt's attacks grew more frenzied, his desperation fueling his strikes.

Carlos, however, remained calm and focused, his counterattacks landing with devastating precision.

In a final, desperate attempt, Tybalt made one last lunge.

But Carlos was ready, and with a swift, decisive movement, he plunged his blade deep into Tybalt's chest. Tybalt's eyes widened in shock, and he crumpled to the ground, lifeless.

Carlos stood over Tybalt's lifeless body, his chest heaving with the adrenaline of the fight. The rage that had fueled him moments ago began to ebb, replaced by a heavy, somber silence.

He glanced up at the darkened sky, a sense of emptiness washing over him as he realized that, despite his victory, the void left by Mercutio's death could never truly be filled.

Realising what he has done, Carlos fled in a panic. The weight of his actions overwhelmed him, and he knew he could not face the consequences.

The Prince arrived on the scene, his expression grave.

With a booming voice, he declared, "Carlos, your crimes for killing Tybalt are unforgivable. You are hereby banished from Aragonia, effective immediately. You must leave our lands at once and never return, lest you face the full extent of our justice."

Carlos trembled, knowing there was no arguing with the Prince's decree.

You crumpled to the floor, the news of your cousin Tybalt's death and your husband Carlos' banishment hitting you like a tidal wave. Tears streamed down your face as you clutched the letter that had delivered such devastating news.

The room seemed to spin, and you felt an unbearable weight pressing down on your chest, making it difficult to breathe.

The love you had for Carlos was now intertwined with the grief and anger over Tybalt's demise, leaving you torn and shattered.

Days turned into nights, and the sorrow did not relent. You wandered through your home, haunted by memories of happier times, now tainted by the tragedy that had befallen your family.

Friends and family tried to console you, but their words felt hollow, unable to bridge the chasm of pain that consumed you.

The future seemed bleak, and you struggled to find a way forward, questioning how you could ever rebuild your life with the two most important people ripped away from you.

Each moment brought a fresh wave of anguish, the love for Carlos clashing violently with the grief and anger over Tybalt's death. You found yourself trapped in an endless cycle of longing and resentment, unable to reconcile the two.

At night, when the world was quiet, the memories of Carlos's gentle touch would surface, only to be shattered by the haunting vision of Tybalt's lifeless body, leaving you torn between the man you loved and the cousin you had lost.

"Y/N! Open the window door!" you heard someone too familiar say at your balcony at night.

You were about to sleep when you ran to the balcony to see Carlos, your husband who was supposed to be banished from the kingdom for killing your cousin.

"Carlos, what are you doing here?" you asked, opening the window for him, still angry for his actions.

"Y/N, my love, I had to come back. I couldn't live without you," Carlos pleaded, his eyes filled with desperation.

"I know what I did was wrong, but I did it to protect you. That cousin of yours was a threat, and I had to eliminate him."

You shook your head in disbelief. "Protect me? By murdering my own flesh and blood? Do you have any idea what you've done? You're a wanted man, Carlos. If they find you here, they'll kill you."

"I don't care about that," he said, reaching for your hand. "All that matters to me is you. I love you, Y/N, and I'll do whatever it takes to be with you."

You pulled your hand away, your heart torn between your love for Carlos and the weight of his actions. "Carlos, you have to leave. This is madness. I can't protect you, and I can't be with you, not after what you've done."

"They didn't tell anyone but your cousin killed Mercutio," Carlos muttered.

"What? That can't be true," You exclaimed, your heart racing. "My cousin would never do such a thing!"

Carlos shook his head solemnly. "I'm afraid it is true. I was there, I tried to stop them. They were trying to cover it up. I'm sorry I killed Tybalt but it was justice for Mercutio,"

You felt a sense of disbelief wash over you.

"Tell me everything, Carlos," you demanded, your voice trembling. "I need to know exactly what happened that night."

Carlos took a deep breath, his eyes never leaving yours. "It all started when I was telling Mercutio about our marriage. Tybalt suddenly came out of nowhere and challenged us to fight. Tybalt lost his temper and attacked him. I tried to intervene, but it was too late. When I saw Mercutio fall, I knew I had to act."

You could see that Carlos wasn't lying through his eyes, which made you feel even worse. You walked further into your room, your hand on your face, trying to process the whirlwind of emotions crashing over you.

Carlos followed you, quietly closing the window behind him to ensure no one would hear your conversation.

"Y/N, I know this is difficult to accept, but I had no choice," Carlos said softly, his voice filled with regret. "I couldn't let Tybalt get away with what he did to Mercutio. Our friend needed justice, and I couldn't just stand by and do nothing."

You couldn't help but feel a pang of sympathy for Carlos, despite the anger and betrayal still burning within you. The room felt suffocating, the weight of the truth pressing down on you both.

"Y/N, I didn't come here to discuss bloodshed and the past," Carlos said, his voice steadying as he took a step closer to you.

"Then what did you come here to discuss?" you asked, leaning against the nearest wall to face him, your eyes searching his for answers.

"Us," he muttered, looking down at the floor. "We haven't really consummated the marriage, have we?"

Your breath caught in your throat, the intensity of the moment overwhelming you. "Carlos, this isn't the time," you whispered, trying to hold back the storm of emotions. "Our lives are in danger, and all you can think about is us?"

Carlos raised his eyes to meet yours, determination etched in his features. "Yes, because despite everything, I love you. And I need to know if there's still a chance for us, if you still love me too."

You stood there, stunned by his confession. The love you once felt for Carlos was now tangled with the pain of recent events. "Carlos," you began, struggling to find the right words.

"I don't know if I can just forget everything that happened. Mercutio's death, the feud—it has all changed us. But I can't deny that a part of me still cares for you."

Carlos took another step closer, his eyes softening. "Then let that part guide you," he pleaded. "We can find a way through this, together. We can honor Mercutio by trying to build something better, something that isn't marred by hatred and violence."

You searched his eyes, longing to believe in the possibility of a future where love could triumph over the shadows of the past.

"Y/N, I want you," he said, his voice low and husky.

You looked up at him, your heart racing. You wanted him too, but you were still scared. . . .

"I don't know if I'm ready," you said, your voice trembling.

Carlos took a step closer to you, his eyes never leaving yours. "I'll be gentle, I promise," he said, his fingers tracing the outline of your face.

You looked up at him, and in that moment, you knew you couldn't resist him any longer. You took a deep breath and nodded, and Carlos led you inside.

As soon as the door closed behind you, Carlos pulled you close and kissed you, his lips hot and demanding. You responded eagerly, your body melting against his.

He started to undress you, his hands skillfully removing your clothes. You stood there, trembling with anticipation, as he kissed every inch of your body.

When he reached your breasts, he took one nipple into his mouth and sucked, his tongue swirling around it. You let out a moan, your body responding to his touch.

He continued to explore your body, his hands and mouth leaving a trail of fire in their wake. When he reached your pussy, he spread your lips apart and started to lick and suck, his tongue delving deep inside you.

You let out a loud moan, your body writhing with pleasure. He continued to lick and suck, his fingers joining in to stimulate your clit.

You felt an orgasm building inside you, and you grabbed onto Carlos's head, pulling him closer. "Don't stop," you moaned. "Don't stop."

He didn't stop, and soon you were crying out in pleasure, your body shaking as you came hard against his mouth.

When you finally came down from your orgasm, Carlos stood up and kissed you, his tongue delving deep into your mouth. You could taste your own juices on his lips, and it only turned you on more.

He reached down and pulled out his cock, and you could see the desire in his eyes. You wrapped your legs around his waist, and he entered you in one swift motion.

You let out a loud moan as he filled you up, your body adjusting to his size. He started to thrust, slowly at first, and then faster and harder.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, your bodies moving in perfect harmony. You could feel another orgasm building inside you, and you urged him on.

"Harder, Carlos," you moaned, "harder."

He responded by thrusting even harder, his cock hitting your G-spot with every stroke. You let out a loud cry as you came again, your body shaking with pleasure.

Carlos continued to thrust, his own orgasm building. He let out a loud groan as he came, his hot cum filling you up.

You collapsed against him, your bodies slick with sweat. You kissed him, your tongues intertwined, and you knew that you had made the right decision.

"Let's run away together," you muttered breathlessly, your lips still tingling from the intensity of your kiss.

Carlos looked into your eyes, his face softening with a mixture of surprise and tenderness. "You mean it?" he asked, his voice filled with hope and disbelief.

You nodded, feeling a surge of certainty wash over you. "Yes, let's leave everything behind and start fresh, just the two of us."

Carlos smiled, a glimmer of excitement flickering in his eyes. "I’ve wanted this for so long. We can go anywhere you want," he said, caressing your cheek. "Paris, Bali, or even a small cabin in the mountains. As long as I'm with you, nothing else matters."

You kissed him again, your decision cemented by the passion you shared, ready to embark on a new journey together.

"You stay here and rest, and I'll pack for you," he said, sitting up with a playful smirk. "I've gotten a good eye for fashion, you know."

You laughed, feeling a sense of relief and exhilaration wash over you. "Oh really? I'd love to see your choices," you teased, brushing a strand of hair from his face.

Carlos stood up and began gathering clothes and essentials, his movements quick and efficient. "Trust me, you'll look amazing in everything I pick," he said confidently.

You watched him, a smile playing on your lips, feeling a newfound sense of freedom. "I can't wait to see where this adventure takes us," you murmured, your heart swelling with anticipation.

Carlos turned to you, holding up a sundress and a pair of sandals. "How about this for our first stop in Paris? It's perfect for a romantic stroll along the Seine," he suggested with a wink.

You giggled, nodding your approval. "I love it! And maybe a hat to go with it? We don't want to look like typical tourists," you added with a playful grin.

He chuckled, placing the outfit in the suitcase. "Consider it done. And for the mountains, I've got just the thing—cozy sweaters and boots for those chilly nights by the fireplace," he said, his eyes sparkling with excitement.

You felt a rush of warmth and affection, knowing that no matter where you went, as long as you were together, it would be perfect.

"Here's to new beginnings," you said, raising an imaginary glass, and Carlos joined in, the two of you basking in the glow of your shared dreams and the promise of endless possibilities. . . .

The next morning, as the first rays of sunlight filtered through the curtains, Matilda burst into your room, her face pale with panic.

"Where are you?!" she screamed, her voice trembling with fear. She tore through the room, throwing open the closet doors and rifling through drawers, but all she found was an empty suitcase and a note left behind.

Matilda's hands shook as she unfolded the note, her eyes scanning the familiar handwriting. "Dear Matilda, I've decided to start a new chapter with Carlos. I hope you understand. Please don't worry about me; I'm finally following my heart. Love, [Your Name]."

Tears welled up in her eyes, but she knew deep down that you were doing what was best for you. She took a deep breath and whispered, "Be happy," sending her silent blessings to wherever your adventure was taking you.

Matilda took a moment to collect herself, then resolved to support your decision despite her initial shock. She decided to focus on her own journey, finding solace in the thought that you were finally pursuing your happiness.

Matilda knew that breaking the news to your family would be difficult, so she opted to tell a little white lie.

Over breakfast, she calmly explained to your parents that you had taken a spur-of-the-moment business trip and would be out of touch for a while.

"It's a great opportunity for her," she said, forcing a smile. "She didn't want to worry you with the details but assured me she'd be back soon."

Your parents exchanged concerned glances but ultimately trusted Matilda's explanation. As the days turned into weeks, she continued to cover for you, providing updates and reassuring them that you were doing well.

Deep down, Matilda felt the weight of the secret she was keeping, but she knew it was what you needed.

She found strength in the hope that one day, you would return to share your incredible journey with everyone. . . .

[missmatchablossom]

Gojo x Reader Royalty AU

summary: you are a princess in an arranged marriage with the crown prince of the country, satoru gojo. when you finally come of age and move into his palace, the two of you are forced to spend time together as the future queen and king of the nation. the future king definitely seems to have a thing for you though.

a.n: the intro is a bit long but gives some context to the story! feel free to skip right to the dialogue. also, this was totally inspired by the kdrama "Princess Hours" or "Goong" if anyone remembers that lol

Part I. 

Intro 

It’s been officially two months since you became officially engaged to Satoru Gojo, the nation's crown prince. Two months since you uprooted your entire life to live in his palace of gold and glamour, spending your days slaved to lessons about your royal duties. 

It was your grandfather's wish; he was the one who promised the hand of his granddaughter to the future crown prince of the nation, solidifying your position as queen before you were even born. 

That’s how you ended up betrothed to Prince Suguru, the crown prince of the nation. At least he was, up until he abdicated one year ago. It wasn’t clear what happened, only that it was a sudden decision that still left the country reeling. By law, his younger brother Prince Satoru inherited his spot, and by proxy the right to marry you.

Once you officially became of age, you moved to live at Gojo’s palace with him. You had both been so busy the past two months that there was barely a second to talk, but tonight would be different. Tonight was your first public event as a couple. 

~

Evening had just fallen, and the palace was buzzing with preparations for a charity ball being hosted. Major politicians and other royal figures would be in attendance, and it was the first social event where you and Gojo were expected to greet everyone as a couple. 

The hours you spent getting ready flew by, and before you knew it you were being led to the entrance of the ballroom, where Gojo was waiting for you. 

The clicking of your heels alerted him to your proximity, prompting him to swiftly turn around to gaze at you. He was a dream, dressed in a navy suit with gold accents. The crown atop his head was a sophisticated array of cerulean jewels, the perfect match to his eyes. It was so swift you almost didn’t catch it - the way his eyes widened, the way his jaw slacked ever so slightly. But you blinked and the vestiges of his surprise were gone, replaced by the disarming smile he had around you. Around everyone. 

“You look lovely princess,” he commented easily, lifting your gloved hand to his lips. 

It was a casual greeting - you knew that. But it was hard to reason with your heart beating wildly in your ears. 

“Thank you. You are dashing tonight your highness,” you complimented back, gathering the satin around your legs to give him a curtsy.

He nodded his thanks, carefully placing your hand in the crook of his elbow as you both turned to the double doors leading to the ball. It was time for your grand entrance as the crown prince and princess, future king and queen of the country. 

You couldn’t help but think of the ruthless stares of all the guests this evening, judging every step you take, every breath you breathe. Your fingers turned to ice as your nerves began to rise, body becoming rigid as you prepared to steel yourself. 

“I’m with you.” Gojo said, lips touching the shell of your ear. His warmth drove away your nerves, causing your body to buzz with his nearness.

You turned to flash him a grateful smile, which he returned with a squeeze against your fingers. 

The ball went off without a hitch, following your grand entrance. You were almost immediately pulled in several directions following Gojo’s lead, smiling gracefully at each new person you were introduced to. 

Almost everyone fawned over the two of you, sweetening your ears with flattery. But every compliment was backhanded, sprinkled in to soothe over their real sentiments.

“My, you look amazing together! It’s too bad about Prince Suguru, he was so outstanding.”

“His Highness Suguru was a fine prince, it must be hard to be cast in his shadow, you poor thing.”

“It must be hard to suddenly have all the roles of the crown. Please do reach out if you need my support, I imagine you’ll need it. But do not worry, I pledge my loyalties to the two of you.”

Each comment burned at your throat, even if they weren’t directed at you. You would’ve said something, but Gojo handled himself better than you would’ve in this situation. 

The confidence with which he spoke, the proud set of his shoulders, the ease with which he fielded all questions, it was as if being crown prince was his birthright. It was like each jab at him lit a fire in his eyes, and he somehow made each person leave the conversation feel stupid for questioning him. 

People attempted to belittle you as well, but you quieted them with the same ease as Gojo, which earned you a smile and side-eyed glance from the prince the first time he saw you do it. 

The ball ended, and thankfully the amount of nobles approaching you quickly diminished once they learned they couldn’t shake you two. 

When you bade your last farewell, you both seemed to exhale deeply at the same time, turning to look at each other. He still somehow looked like he just got ready, despite hours passing since the ball began. His silver hair remained set perfectly, not a strand out of place. The shine in his cerulean eyes did seem a bit dimmer, though.

He stared at you with the same intensity, then placed his hands in his pockets and leaned against the wall, catching you off guard with how little space there was between you two.

“See something you like princess?” he said. His lips were curved, his voice silken in the late hours of the night. How this man had the energy to flirt with you after the night you had was beyond you.

Normally, you’d shrink away from a comment like that. But you felt a rush of confidence after standing your ground against all the nobility at the ball today. So you mirrored his position, leaning up and tilting your head so you were only a foot away from his face. 

“I do, actually,” you said, grinning as you caught the widening of his eyes. He blinked a few times, as though he struggled to compose himself.

“Are they always like that?” you asked, feeling brave. He raised a brow, and you elaborated.

“Belittling you, always bringing up Prince Suguru,” you said.

He hummed, looking away for a second. 

“Yes. They’ve always vocalized their preference for him. They do it now to get a rise from me, to see me ruffled.”

“Why?” you asked. His eyes slid back to you, and you couldn’t look away from the intensity in them.

“Suguru was trusting - easier for them to manipulate. But they were never able to control me. They’re afraid of me.” he said, smirking like the thought pleased him so. He stared down at you, studying for your reaction.

“Should I be afraid of you?” you asked curiously, tilting your head at him. He reached a hand towards the side of your face, twirling a loose strand of hair around his finger.

“After I saw you handle them in there, I’m starting to think I should be afraid of you,” he said, tucking the strand behind your ear, eliciting a shiver out of you. The smirk never left his face.

You felt the blush creep up your cheeks as you answered.

“I’m glad you’re aware,” you said, the smile evident in your voice.

The sudden chiming of the grandfather clock caused you to jolt in place, and you swear you heard Gojo stifle a laugh.

“It’s midnight,” he stated, and you noticed him reaching a hand up to his temple, his knuckles making small circles against his skin.

You yawned, finally realizing how tired your body was after your long day.

“I’ll walk you to your room,” he offered, and you nodded, trailing after him.

You smiled to yourself as you watched his posture immediately change now that you were alone. He slouched his shoulders and crossed his arms behind his head, almost leaning back as he took languid steps beside you. His legs were so long that it would’ve taken ages to catch up with him if he wasn’t walking so slowly.

You reached up to yank the tiara out of your hair, shaking it free of the tight updo that was pulling at your scalp. His eyes studied you curiously as you noticed him kneading his temple once more.

“Headache?” you asked, breaking the comfortable silence.

“Yeah, my eyes are sensitive to light. The bright lights inside the ballroom give me headaches,” he replied.

You mulled over the words you were about to say, thinking it was probably too forward of you. 

“I know a remedy for headaches. Wanna try?” you asked anyways, heart thumping in your ears. 

He looked at you curiously, an easy smile on his lips and he nodded.

“Alright, I’ll need somewhere you can lay down,” you said quietly, hoping the evening hid the blush on your cheeks. He raised his brows, chuckling a bit.

“I have a couch inside my study. It’s a few doors down,” he said, nodding towards another door.

You reached it quickly, following him into a sizable room. He flickered on a couple of lights, encasing the room in a soft glow. A black desk stretched across one side of the room, right in front of a floor-to-ceiling bookshelf that covered the entire wall. A large sectional was positioned in front of his desk, the black leather complimenting the other black and navy accents of the room. His rich sandalwood scent was filling your senses, intoxicating you with him.

He closed the door with a soft click, and you suddenly became aware that you were alone behind closed doors with the devastatingly handsome Prince Gojo. 

He smiled slowly, making no move to approach you first as he stood by the door.

“How do you want me?” he drawled, causing your eyes to widen a bit. 

For the headache remedy. He was talking about the headache remedy, nothing else.

You pressed your lips together, turning to seat yourself at the end of his sofa. Smiling shyly at him, you patted the tops of your thighs.

“You’ll have to place your head in my lap, if you’re okay with that,” you said.

You could’ve sworn you caught his eyes widening ever so slightly, but he recovered quickly and gave you a small smile. 

“I don’t mind,” he said, and he settled himself next to you on the couch and leaned down towards your lap. You wanted to laugh at how truly long he was, his lithe body filling up almost all of the sofa, but you were too distracted.

Distracted by how his silvery hair felt like silk against your thighs. Distracted by the smell of sandalwood filling your space with his close proximity. Overwhelmed by how ethereal he was up close, like the most acclaimed artists would spend their whole lifetimes trying to create someone as lovely as him.

“Like this?” he said, and you noticed his thumb rubbing over his pulse point again. 

You bit back your smile and nodded. 

“Close your eyes, please,” you asked, and he complied. You sucked in a breath as you admired how long and full his lashes were. It was so unfair, actually.

You gingerly reached your fingers towards each side of his temple, drawing gentle circles. 

He let out a sigh as he leaned into your touch, his features relaxing.

“Feels good?” you asked, chuckling to yourself. 

“Mhm,” he said, not even bothering to open his eyes or use his words. 

You sat in comfortable silence, massaging his temples and willing his headache to go away. 

“I know it hasn’t been long since we’ve been engaged, but you can talk to me, you know. About the Sugru stuff, or anything else that might bother you. I’ll listen,” you said quietly. 

His eyes opened slowly, and you stopped your ministrations, letting your hands pause besides his face. He reached a hand up to grasp one of yours.

“Are you upset that your engagement to him broke off?” he asked evenly, not revealing his feelings toward the matter.

“No,” you answered truthfully. Gojo’s slight exhale almost made you smile.

“I didn’t interact with him much, to be honest. I can’t say I really knew him,” you continued.

“I want to know you though,” you added shyly, and his cerulean eyes flicked to yours. He smiled brilliantly, and you realized it was the first time you truly saw him smile.

“I’ll tell you anything,” he replied, gently guiding your hands to move back to his temple in a wordless command. You were more than happy to obey.

“Okay. Favorite dessert?” you asked, your fingers at his temple again.

“Kikufuku. But I’ll eat anything sweet. You?” he replied, his eyes still closed.

“Anything matcha. But I also love strawberries and nutella,” you said, pleased as he hummed his approval.

“Favorite color?” he asked.

“Hmm, navy and sage green. You?”

“I like all shades of blue. And black, and white,” he said, and you laughed, eyes scanning that exact color palette in this room.

“I can tell,” you said, and he opened his eyes to smile boyishly at you.

The two of you continued to go back and forth, time escaping you as you discovered new things about each other. 

You mused over the new information you had about your fiance. He likes cats, romance movies, and plants - especially ones with pretty flowers. His favorite food is udon, and he can’t stand peas. He has an enormous family, but he’s only close with a younger cousin named Megumi. He looked especially happy to be talking about messing with him, and you hoped to meet him soon.

“Do you ever feel scared about becoming king?” you dared to ask, feeling the tiniest bit closer to him after playing 20 questions.

He looked thoughtful for a while, and you ceased your massage on his temple.

“I know I have what it takes to be the greatest King this country has seen in a long time. And I have every intention to become just that, for my people and for me,” he said solemnly, spoken with the confidence and pride of a true royal.

“It’s rare, but I do feel scared sometimes. I never thought I’d have to do this alone,” he admitted after a while, his brows furrowing slightly as he appeared lost in thought.

“What do you mean?” you pressed gently. 

“Suguru was supposed to be King, I knew that. We had the same vision to grow up and make our kingdom the most powerful, to rule together. But he changed suddenly, like a switch snapped and he was a different person,” he said, throat bobbing as he spoke.

“He’s not well. We haven’t spoke since he gave up the throne,” he almost whispered. You blinked a few times as you stared at him, Prince Gojo. A capable future king, but a younger brother at the same time, who was grieving over his brother.

You wordlessly slipped your hand into his hand, and he tensed for a second before relaxing and wrapping his fingers around yours.

“I’m with you,” you said, using the same words he gave you earlier. 

Loaded silence filled the room. You worried you might’ve scared him off, might’ve forced him to talk about things he wasn’t ready to address yet because a few beats too many passed without him saying anything.

“You’re not alone, my prince. I know it wasn’t your choice, but I’m here to share your burdens. Hear your truths. I’m not going anywhere,” you promised, meaning every word. 

“Thank you,” he finally said, his voice heavy with emotion he wasn’t ready to share yet. But you smiled as he squeezed your hand. 

“Mhm,” you responded, beginning to thread your right hand through his pearl locks. 

His eyes shot closed once again as he let out a soft groan, leaning his head back to chase your touch. 

“Fuck, if you keep doing that there won’t be any words out of me for a while,” he said, and you laughed. 

“You’re just like a cat,” you noted, the smile evident in your voice. You lightly scraped your fingernails against his scalp, finally seeing all the tension dissolve in his face. 

“I would be happy to be a cat if I got to sit in your lap and get petted all day,” he drawled and you blushed at the deeper tone he adopted. 

You opened your mouth to say something but stopped yourself as you noted the sated, sleepy smile on his face. The big, bad Prince Gojo was relaxed for once, and he looked painfully handsome.

Shaking your head to yourself, you continued silently stroking your hands through his hair, watching as his breaths slowed and became even. His lips parted slightly as his body relaxed with sleep, the side of his cheek turning to lay against your thigh.

You smiled to yourself, not ceasing your touch until you fell asleep yourself.

[corruptedcaps]

Transfusion Confusion

The following story is inspired by a prompt from the great @misseviehyde

---

Emma tossed in her hospital bed trying to sleep but she knew from weeks of being there that it would be futile. It wasn't the bed or the room itself, which was relatively nice for a hospital, that kept her from sleeping. No it was her long prolonged illness that gave her insomnia.

Emma had been in an out of hospitals since she was young. She had a rare condition that would strike at anytime. It wasn't life threatening but it made being a functional adult nearly impossible. She would spend weeks like this alone in the hospital getting her body pumped full of steroids and hormones to return her body to normality.

Her condition made having a social life basically impossible. As a result she didn't have any friends, had never had a boyfriend, and even her parents had ran off when she was four. It was a pretty pitiful existence but it was the only one she knew.

The door creaked open, and Rita, a kind and friendly nurse Emma had known for years, walked in, pushing a bed with a comatose woman on it. The woman, despite her unconscious state, was strikingly beautiful, her features sharp and flawless.

Emma sat up, confused. "What's going on?"

"I'm sorry to wake you Emma. We're running out of space, and I hope you don’t mind if we put Veronica in here for now. She’s been comatose for a while, so she won’t cause any trouble. If she ever wakes up, that's when the trouble would start." Rita said with a tired smile.

"Why? What's her deal?" Emma said looking at the blonde haired beauty.

"You never heard of Veronica Steele before? Well count yourself lucky. She's a real piece of work. A week after she married the richest guy in town, her new husband fell mysteriously to his death. Of course no one could prove it was her but she didn't make it secret she enjoyed inheriting everything he had." Rita said as she hooked Veronica's bed up to the sensors.

"So how'd she end up in a coma?" Emma asked intrigued.

"Oh she partied a little too hard and over dosed. She loved to let loose any chance she could and she did it often. She broke up so many good relationships. That's why everyone called her the homewrecking queen. Although I know some who called her the Whorewrecker." Rita said blunted. She looked over at a shocked Emma.

"I'm sorry Emma, it's been a long shift, I don't know what I'm saying. I'll just hook up her IV and I'll be out of your hair. She'll only be here temporary, I promise." Rita said going back to finishing up.

Emma sighed and lay back down, pulling the thin hospital blanket up to her chest as Rita moved around the room. She closed her eyes as the nurse placed Veronica’s bag in the closet beside her bed and began setting up the IV drip.

Rita, clearly exhausted, fumbled with the tubing for a moment. Without a second thought, she connected Veronica to the same IV bag Emma was already attached to, her tired mind too clouded to notice the mistake.

"There we go," Rita mumbled, stepping back with a satisfied nod before quietly leaving the room.

As the room settled into silence, a soft bubbling sound came from the IV bag. A strange pink liquid began to seep from Veronica's drip, mixing with the clear solution. Slowly, it flowed down the tube, snaking its way toward Emma’s arm, the liquid now entering her bloodstream unnoticed.

As the minutes ticked by, Emma began to feel a strange sensation coursing through her body. What started as a faint warmth soon blossomed into a surge of energy, filling her veins with a vitality she had never felt. Her frail limbs, once thin and weak, began to fill out, muscles tightening and expanding beneath her skin.

Opening her eyes she watched in awe as her arms and legs transformed, growing stronger, more defined. The sensation was intoxicating, a rush of pure, exhilarating strength, but the best was yet to come.

Emma’s gaze dropped to her chest as a tingling sensation spread through her. Her boobs, once modest and unremarkable, began to swell, growing larger with each passing breath. She gasped as they expanded beyond anything she had ever seen on another woman, full and heavy, straining against her hospital gown.

Emma's eyes drifted to the IV connected to her arm. The pink liquid was pumping in rhythm into her body. She followed the tubing up to the bag and back over to the lifeless Veronica.

She noticed with shock that Veronica’s once voluptuous body had become gaunt and frail. Her once full tits had shrunk to barely noticeable proportions. The life force, the very essence of Veronica’s power, was being siphoned into her.

Instinctively, Emma reached to remove the IV, but just as her fingers touched the line, a seductive voice echoed in her mind saying "Don’t!"

The voice seemed at once comforting and commanding. Desirable and demanding. It continued.

"Veronica has no use for her beauty trapped in that coma. It would be such a waste to not use it, don't you think?" The voice purred in Emma’s mind.

Emma’s hand hovered over the IV, trembling. She knew she should take it out in hopes to reverse whatever was happening but she couldn't deny how increasing good she was feeling.

"She had her fun, isn't it time you had some of your own? Isn't it time you got to feel alive?" The voice continued. She tried to resist, tried to shake off the influence of the voice, but the logic it offered was undeniable. Why should Veronica have a perfect body when she was nothing more than a shell?

"After all the years of being weak and pathetic, haven't you earned this? Don't you deserve this?" The voice hissed pleasantly.

Despite herself, Emma felt her lips curl into a smirk, the seductive reasoning taking hold. The voice was right. She did deserve this. Why not take what was freely flowing into her veins?

Emma let out a slow breath and lay back down on the bed, sinking into the thin mattress, as the changes continued to ripple through her body. Her once dull and lifeless hair began to shimmer with health, growing longer, thicker, and cascading down her shoulders in luxurious waves.

Her lips, which had always been chapped and thin, plumped into a full, sensuous pout. Emma ran her tongue over them, feeling their newfound softness, a wicked smile tugging at the corners.

She held her hand out and watched as her nails, once brittle and short, lengthened and hardened into perfectly painted manicured talons. She ran her hands over her new tits with pleasure, giving them a joyful squeeze.

Her body was red hot with desire for her own form and she needed release. Pushing her hands further south, she slipped them under her hospital gown. Had she'd known how good long nails felt in her pussy she would have had them done every week.

She let out a moan of carnal delight as her fingers got soaked with her own juices. She watched in glee as her all blemishes on her skin started to erase. Her pale complexion began to tan, erasing the years spend inside under fluorescents.

As her body transformed, so too did her mind. Her sweet and caring nature, moulded by years of loneliness and illness, was getting corrupted. Where once she desired human connection now it sickened her. She didn't need anyone, not when she was superior to them.

She felt an overwhelming surge of narcissism, a belief that she was better than everyone else, more beautiful, more powerful. Her thoughts turned mean, dismissive of others. Vanity and arrogance took root, feeding off her new obvious beauty. The voice in her head was no longer an intruder. It was a reflection of her own desires.

"Yesssss! I feel so fucking alive!" She groaned as she continued to pump herself. She watched with an evil grin as the last of the pink liquid flowed into her body. She timed her climax to that moment perfectly and with one swift motion, she ripped the IV from her arm, feeling the rush of her transformation, her orgasm, and the last of Veronica's essence in one.

Emma swung her legs over the edge of the bed and stood up, feeling the solid strength in her legs. She leaned over backwards, catching herself on the ground and flipping back onto her feet with ease. She wasn't just cured, she had evolved.

Each step toward Veronica was deliberate, confident. She stood over the frail, unconscious woman, a sneer curling her lips. Veronica had all the imperfections that once plagued Emma. Thinning weak hair, pockmarked skin, unathletic limbs, unremarkable beauty.

Emma turned to Veronica's closet and eagerly ripped it open. She began rifling through the expensive clothes and luxurious belongings. She pulled out designer dresses, delicate lingerie, and sparkling jewelry, tossing them onto the bed with a satisfied smirk. Each item felt like another piece of the life she was meant to have, now finally hers.

However she found the biggest prize inside a designer bag. Pulling out her wallet, Emma grinned at the plethora of credit cards just crying out to be used and abused. She took out Veronica's ID and stood in front of the mirror with it next to her.

"Yes of course I'm Veronica Steele, how dare you question me. I'll have you fired for even speaking to me worm." She said with a natural bratty tone that she knew would have everyone convinced she was Veronica in no time.

However out of the corner of her eye she saw something unexpected. Veronica was stirring. The transfer must have some how knocked her out of her coma. However Emma was not about to give up a life she had barely tasted. Picking up the pillow from her bed, Emma walked calmly but coldly over to Veronica.

---

Rita was having her 7th coffee of her shift, fighting against her drooping eyelids when the code blue alarm started to go off for Emma's room. The shock of the alarm was like taking seven coffees at once.

Rushing to the room she got in just time to see a blonde bombshell pulling the bedsheet over Veronica.

"I'm sorry nurse but the little urchin girl who was in here with me is gone. I think Emma was her name." Said the blonde, turning around with a face that conveyed no hint of sadness.

Despite her extreme transformation and the fact that she was in Veronica's designer clothes, Rita was not fooled by who the blonde was.

"Emma? What happened? You look…" Rita said before being cut off by Emma.

"Nurse Rita, you are delirious with exhaustion. I am Veronica Steele." Emma said, her voice smooth as silk but carrying a hint of menace.

"I don't know what has happened or what you have done to the real Veronica but it's ok we can fix this." Rita said bewildered but trying to get a grasp on the situation.

"Nurse you forget your place and you forget who you are talking to! I will buy this hospital and turn it into a landfill if you keep talking like this." Emma said, her ire palpaple. And yet Rita could not condone what was happening.

"No, this isn't right, I can't...." Rita said trailing off as Emma slowly approached her intimating her.

"Listen here you fucking cunt. You will report the unremarkable death of Emma Smith. You will also report on my miraculous recovery, Veronica Steele. If you don't I will see you hang for the death of that useless bag of bones laying over there. Understand?" Emma said with a whisper that was somehow more intense than her shouting.

Rita looked up at fear at the woman she had taken care of for years, seeing no part of her left.

"Y-yes... of course." Rita said trembling.

"Yes what?" Emma said starting to smirk.

"Y-yes... Ms. Steele." Rita replied. Emma satisfied and more than a little bit aroused at hearing her new name, stood back from Rita in triumphant.

"Good. Now go order me a fucking car." Emma said, turning her smirk into a cold pout. Rita quickly scurried out of the room.

Emma walked over to the closet and picked up the bag that contained the begins of her new life. She stepped over to the door and took one last look where the real Veronica lay.

"I wish I could say I was sorry, but that wouldn't be very Veronica of me." She said with a cackle as she left the room.

THE END

[theseeingfawn]

My Elriel Subscription list on AO3

Below are the MANY Eriel fics I am currently subscribed to and DYING for more of…

🌹A Court of Blooming Sight by katkos96

Summary: Post ACOSF and HOFAS Eriel fan fic! This fan fic will try and stay as canon as possible, with theories based off of many lovely creators as well as my own. There may be some head canons involved, as we have not had a book come out yet, but any theories and the minds behind them will be tagged. This is duel-pov between Elain and Azriel!

🌹A Court of Sunlight and Shadows by Ahimadala

Summary: Just when Elain thought she had found balance since her life was turned upside down, someone begins to doubt the true nature of her powers. Koschei threatens the fragile peace that has settled over Prythian with his search for the cauldron. However, its power is now inextricably linked to the one who has been gifted by it.

🌹A Match Baked In Heaven by NikeTheStatue

Summary: Elain Archeron, owner of the prestigious Marigold Agency, which specializes in exclusive matchmaking has a new and very challenging client. Azriel Night, football superstar, 'stubborn as a mule' (according to his brother Cassian), handsome womanizer is under pressure to find himself a wife. At stake--a 230 million inheritance.

🌹A Shot in the Darkest Dark by yourstarsmyscars

Summary: It was always those who understood fate the least who spoke most freely of it, as though the future were a path carved of marble, all roads leading in one direction, and one direction alone.

It was always meant to be this way, they said, never understanding that fate was chaos and not order, madness with no clarity. And fate could be changed, if you knew which strands to pluck.

🌹Chiaroscuro (Series) by Meraki_Moonglade/a>

Summary: A collection of beautifully told stories on the budding relationship between Elain and Azriel.

🌹Cruel Summer by slythrhys

Summary: With a broken heart and a bruised ego, Elain tries to survive a week living alongside Azriel in her family's summer home, where they all gather to celebrate Nesta and Cassian's wedding.

🌹Everywhere, Everything by duskandcobalt

Summary: Two close friends, one crossed line… After a decade of friendship, Elain and Azriel are left to navigate the fallout following an encounter that's far from platonic. or A friends to lovers fic about denial and longing.

🌹Forgotten Bonds by noedovenest

Summary: After the events of ACOSF, Elain is torn between exploring her bond with her mate and her growing affection for Azriel.

🌹Golden Doe in a Valley of Shadow by Violetasteracademic

Summary: A week after Solstice, Elain is lost and heartbroken by Azriel's rejection. A surprise encounter with Lucien in the townhouse leads to an offer Elain wasn't expecting, and a readiness to face the future.

🌹High Infidelity by tswaney17

Summary: Elain and Azriel are fuck buddies, nothing more. But when a word slips out in the heat of the moment, their entire relationship comes to a screeching halt.

🌹Miss Americana and the Heartbreak Prince by yourstarsmyscars

Summary: Fresh off a brutal break-up, Elain is in need of a distraction. A casual fling. One no strings bad idea, with a guy she definitely won't get attached to, so she can finally move on. Azriel has lost count of the number of women who've come to regret meeting him. But while he may be the worst idea Elain has had in a while, he's determined to prove that she won't regret him.

🌹Satin and Steel by airelemental

Summary: Princess/Knight alternate universe. Elain Archeron is on her way to visit her sister, the newly crowned queen of Prythian. With no romantic prospects and a new inheritance of all of her parents' land and most of their wealth, Elain wants nothing more than to lead a quiet life where she's finally in charge of her own destiny.

Upon her arrival, King Rhysand appoints his highest ranking knight, Sir Azriel, as her royal guard and chaperone. She thinks he's a brute and is appalled at the idea of someone following her around everywhere she wishes to go during her stay. He finds her spoiled and can think of a thousand different ways to better spend his time.

🌹Shining Through That Moonless Night by tealeaves_and_rosepetals

Summary: Good intentions went wrong on the night of Solstice, and ever since, Elain and Azriel have struggled through days that felt darker and colder without the joy of the secret love that grew between them. Yet for both of them, a tiny glimmer of hope remains, bright and unyielding.

[thebadboyfanclub]

Like A True Flower (Aemond x Reader)

So this was a bit hard to write but I hope you guys like it. There’s a slight mention of Aegon but I think I’ll need to write a part two to get into it cause there was just too many things to write. Let me know if you will be interested in that

As the years passed and the Targaryen name went from a burning dragon fire to merely a small candle that was handed to Daenerys Targaryen, the whispers of the bastard curse never went silent.

“If my children do not sit on the throne then none of our lines shall prosper”

(Y/n) Targaryens legacy lived on from people tarnishing her, blaming her and others who admired her wits and hunger for recognition. The bastard of Daemon Targaryen that was dropped off in Kings Landing, at the time Daemon had begged his brother King Viserys to legitimize her, raise her as their own, only the Seven could have known that (y/n) would turn out to be the one to put the sword on Aemonds hand and send him off to battle that got them both killed.

(Y/n) was the lady wife of Aemond per Queen Alicents request? At first, Alicent scoffed at the babe who seemed to sense the hatred that grew around her crib, a bastard amongst royalty, it was such a scandal at the time that Viserys had even considered giving her away. The babe growing tireless and her lungs as strong as steel made her discomfort evident to everyone with well working set of ears.

“Your grace”

“Have you fed her?”

“Fed her changed her, bathe her, nothing seems to work”

Alicent had walked into her nursery for the first time since she arrived, something in her compelled her to come to the child’s aid, listening to her wailing took her back to the first year of Aegons life.

“Give her to me”

The wet nurse hesitated only for a split second before she complied with the queen's orders, gently passing that young babe to Alicent who cooed at the poor thing, she had almost turned purple from crying, “she misses her mother” Alicent considered silently, slowly she started rocking her whilst she walked towards the window, she was pregnant with her third child at the time, her belly growing big and someone’s else daughter in her arms.

“She looks beautiful I’ll give you that much little girl”

She joked to the babe as the light of the sun graced her cheeks, it always seemed to work for Aegon and as the seconds passed (y/n) 's cries lessened, and a satisfied smile grew on Alicent lips as the little lady finally found peace in her arms, slowly turning her frown to one of the most adorable yawns that tugged at Alicante heartstrings.

“All you wanted was some sunlight, like a true flower”

Alicent was in awe of the child ever since, such a true beauty, and as she grew her delightful personality took everyone by storm, to be around her was to fall for her, even as just a child little boys would bring her flowers that they plucked from some unfortunate garden, including Aegon and later Aemond.

The two brothers were close to the princess, they would compete for her attention any way they could, of course, Aegon had the advantage of having a dragon and Aemond had to stay on the ground as he watched them circle one another, he would gawk at them with envy, praying that one day Aegon will have to watch him ride his very own dragon with (y/n).

Aegon on the other side would despise (y/n) and Aemonds reading time, the young girl was gifted at the literate arts, it was almost like she would swallow any book and recite on the spot anything that she was asked about any book she had gotten her hands on, Aemond was not as intellect yet he caught fast than Aegon and was more inclined to ask intriguing questions.

You can imagine his outburst of rage when the queen announced that she was to marry his youngest brother.

“She had inherited the lustful urges of her ferocious father, at the very least we must say she was much more discreet about it”

The historians would report back when asked about it, Aegon had the lust and fire of the dragon, while Aemond was sweet, attentive to her needs and his touch was oh so soft. Besides the fact that (y/n) wanted to have a bite of sweet and spicy, she also relished the jealousy between them, fighting for a spot in her bed every night was an aphrodisiac like no other.

Even though she was married under the seven to Aemond, she would often sneak from her chambers at the hour of the wolf and warm Aegon bed or other times when the chambermaids would scurry away after listening to the loud moans of (y/n) and Aemond in any type of room that the castle had to offer.

“A little after the war of dragons began her lady in waiting- Chiara Baratheon- had reported seeing the princess sitting on the iron throne while Aegon pleased her”

Mushroom would add briefly and with a hint of disapproval. No matter what she had the blind trust of the king and the prince and the undeniable love of Queen Alicent, the gods seemed to be in her favor whilst everyone wondered how.

(Y/n) was blessed by the dark world that her entire bloodline owed everything, at nightfall when the castle grew tired (y/n) would burn her candles and open her book, coming in contact with her ancestors as she sacrificed animals or even offered her own drops of blood and whenever she could she would spill Aemonds or Aegons, if you asked her she would say that she did it out of love, to keep them safe and in power, if they climbed the throne it was only natural that she would follow.

-

“Are you sure about your choice in your gown?”

“Never been more certain of something in my life, don’t you find it flattering?”

“You would be the most comely lady in all of Westeros even with a sack”

“Then it is settled, I am sure Mother will love it as well”

(Y/n) responded light-heartedly as she snaked her arm around Aemonds, she smiled brightly up at him like she always did making his stomach turn in backflips….like she always did.

Admins was taken by his lady wife, he was forever a slave to her and he was the one who had thrown away the key of his cell, his eye would sparkle with admiration any time he would simply gaze at her, her touch brought him goosebumps and her love, oh her love, like a fire that slowly burned him from the inside, a sweet death that was worth a thousand cuts.

“Our deepest apologies, I lost track of time worrying about my bloody hair”

(Y/n) could not afford to seem raddled or scared in front of her father's hawk eye, she paraded in with Aemond linked on her arm and a bright smile of a carefree attitude.

“Mother”

She acknowledged Alicent as her mother years before she was wed to Aemond, bending down to give a kiss on the cheek to the queen that made Alicent smile brightly and turn slightly towards her.

“How are you my flower?”

“Better, the morning sickness seems to be wearing off”

“Morning sickness? Is the princess with child?”

“Indeed… forgive me you haven’t been at court for so long, should I address you as princess, sister, or good mother?”

“Princess will do”

Rhaenyra confirmed through her teeth as her hand went over Daemon which had turned into a fist. Rhaenyra was no fool yet she somewhat understood the reasoning behind the young girl’s actions, left behind and forgotten by her father, motherless by death and fatherless by choice, she had begged Daemon to demand to take her with them but Daemon felt that the bond was unable to be fixed in any way.

(Y/n) only nodded and Aemond pulled out the chair next to Queen Alicent as she always wished to sit right next to her, even Otto had learned not to question it, as the dinner went on and the exhausting speech of King Viserys who just so happened to remember that he has a family that has steadfastly trickled into the chaos that he never even attempted to fix (y/n) also had to endure the forcefully emotional toast of Rhaenyra, still the shock that came from Alicent calling her “a fine queen” was the part that compelled her to rise and take her goblet.

“I would also like to raise a toast to our king who was kind enough to take me in when I had no one and merely but a babe I will always be grateful for that and to my mother, Queen Alicent, who came to my aid and offered me the love and the kind touch of a parent that I was denied by destiny, my love and devotion for her goes beyond words, may they live on and be able to see the fruits of my marriage.”

Daemon was ready to combust from anger. “How fucking dare she?” He thought “I took her from the arms of her dead mother, I begged Viserys to give her a home and now this is how she chooses to repay me?”

As the music played and the wine flowed everyone’s shoulders seemed to relax and laughter would intertwine with the mixture of talks amongst the people that dined.

“Would you do me the honor?”

(Y/n) heard from the back of her, turning only to be met with Prince Jacaerys who was sticking his arm out of her, there was a time when (y/n) and Jacaerys had some type of connection, Jacaerys was kind to her and had even offered to teach her the art of the sword, (y/n) puffed out a breath after she took his hand, no matter how she felt about it she was aware that Alicent wanted this to pass as swiftly as possible with no type of conflict.

“You look breathtaking if that isn’t obvious”

“That is very kind of you to say, my prince”

“I remember there was a time when we did not use such formalities”

“That was a time when my intended had both eyes”

she threw back with a smile still on her lips, as they dance (y/n) might have appeared to be happy although it could not be further from the truth, as they danced around together with a turn that Jacaerys had guided she was able to see both Aegon and Aemond waiting for their moment to attack Jacaerys, the prince was too carefree as he walked in the edge of their swords and it came the time that (y/n) dipped with his one arm around her waist and his free one went up to caress her locks, that was when a sudden booming sound of Aemonds fist on the table was heard, (y/n) immediately stood up and watched Aemond raise his goblet.

“To the health of my nephews, Jace, Luke, and Joffrey each of them handsome, wise… strong”

“Aemond”

“Come, let us drain our cups to these three strong boys”

“I dare you to say that again”

“Why? T’was only a compliment, do you not think yourself strong boy?”

Jacaerys was once again the one to bring violence into the matter, what seemed to be not taken into consideration was that Aemond was now a man-grown, and quite easily with one hand, he pushed Jacaerys onto the floor. (Y/n) walked to Aemond and stood between them, her hands finding his forearms, before she could phrase anything the queen had also walked up to the prince of chaos.

“Why would you say such a thing in front of all these people?”

“I was merely expressing how proud I am of my family mother, though it seems my nephews aren’t quite as proud of theirs”

That was enough to send Jacaerys off again and try to free himself from the guards. The prince only got to make a few steps before Daemon stood between, it seemed like Jacaerys respected the rogue prince which left (y/n) dumbfounded, “who could respect such a buffoon?” She questioned in her mind

As Daemon turned to look at Aemond (y/n) took it upon herself and stood in front of her husband, the same smirk that Daemon had was the one that (y/n) was presented as well, her mismatched eyes reminded him so much of his mothers, “it was a shame that they had to be wasted on her” he thought.

At least he had to appreciate her ever-growing courage, though he didn’t know if he had to congratulate her or fear her, the girl put herself ahead of the man that she was wed just to prove she was just as courageous as the man she grew to hate.

“Go to your chambers, all of you”

Rhaenyra commanded but it appeared that (y/n) and Daemon had gone on a standoff, eyeballing one another like animals waiting for a slight move so the other could attack, both of them spewed fire from the eyes.

Aemond admired her, he would not dare to touch her and quite frankly he did not want to, he thoroughly enjoyed the sight of his love standing her ground against such a vile man.

“Little flower, please”

Alicent pleaded as her shaky hands found (y/n) 's upper arm and gave it a slight squeeze, (y/n) inhaled sharply although she only took a step back when Daemon diverted his focus to his lady wife, (y/n) offered a smirk to Alicent and after she gave a kiss on her cheek to calm her down, she knew that Alicent was never fond of such tension.

“Get some rest Mother, a long morrow awaits us”

The only way towards their chambers was to pass by Daemon, so step by step (y/n) and Aemond stood by his side, (y/n) halted and faced Daemon right in the eye.

“Let us solve this another day, Father”

It would have been better if she had called him the vilest of names, that name was enough for Daemon to reach for his sword and Rhaenyra to beg him to stop by pushing him back.

(Y/n)s laughter was heard as she walked away with her husband following close, the second the doors of the dining hall closed Aemond had snaked his arm around her waist and pulled her for a deep kiss to which (y/n) responded with the same passion.

“I did not know such things excited you, my love”

“How could it not? Any man would implore for an ounce of your attention after such performance”

“You always demand my attention Aemond”

“Can you blame me?”

He cheekily responded. (Y/n) only smiled and kissed him again pulling him in, she did not have much time, though a small stop to collect her prize of a very excited husband would not hurt.

“Tonight I need you in my chamber”

“Where will you do it tonight my love?”

“The simplest of cuts… right here”

She said as she let her index finger grace over the middle of his chest, she had to offer something right before the king died to make sure the will stayed spinning towards her.

“Whatever you want, my love, as long as I get my treat after”

“I could never deny myself the pleasure of you”

“Let us go before Aegon catches up to us and steals you away from me

Requests are open!

[ronearoundblindly]

Okay, so, hear me out.

I know I've got a Beauty and the Beast AU coming for skinny!Steve, but @darsynia gave me/let me have this idea of a Cinderella AU with him, too, except he is the Cinderella character who gets transformed to live his dream for a day.

I present to you the setup of:

*All photos from Pinterest

Steven is the only child of an exiled prince, and due to happenstance of the aged Warrior King Phillips having no male heir of his own, Steve becomes true royalty overnight.

His cousins, Princesses Margaret and Sharon, angry at the circumstance of their demotions at court, offer no help to the young, small, and often sickly new king.

No one is allowed to see him until his coronation. The few knights and advisors who have laid eyes on Steve are sworn to secrecy, and though he has a mind for strategy, Steve is burdened by his appearance.

Given the coronation crown the night before the big ceremony, Steve stares deep into the massive yellow gem at its front and wishes to look like the "ruler they all want to see."

And he does.

He wears the heavy crown easily, he stands tall over most of the court, and he carries a heavy, steel sword at his hip for the first time ever without the blade dragging across the stone floor.

The court is elated. No one looks twice, not even the handful of men who knew, but that's the magic of the stone...

Steve meets a seemingly endless stream of people, but the most curious is the apprentice of King Phillips' military advisor, a young man he saw befriending a stray cat in the courtyard while everyone else ogled and angled for him. The apprentice's eyes...there's just something about them...

After a long celebration feast where he charmed the nobility with humility, practicality, and honor, Steve falls asleep small again, but certain he can win over the whole realm if he can simply be known for his actions, not his physique.

That becomes the plan; Steve will work behind the scenes, make the kingdom better for people high and low, and then he'll be loved and accepted for who he is. In the meantime, he, in his natural form, can act as a sort of messenger or page boy 'for King Steven' and move around freely. Why not? They all are on the lookout for a man standing two hands higher and broader than him.

One of his first visits is to his inherited military advisor. Of course, Steve doesn't expect the apprentice to live inside the family home, possibly somewhere on the estate maybe, but after a long ride to get there and a long discussion while sitting in the man's study, Steve asks if he might walk the garden before leaving.

He asks about the woman by the roses, and his advisor simply replies "that's my daughter."

Of course, he won't bother to introduce him. Steve's an untitled nobody like he's been his entire life thus far.

Steve might not have seen the resemblance, truly, if not for the exact movement of your finger to gently lift a wilting petal back into place.

It's the move the apprentice made when scratching beneath the cat's chin, and he'll never forget that smile.

"You," he blurts, startled at the otherwise drastic change in your appearance.

You jump back before composing yourself, shielding your eyes from the bright sun above as you look him over.

He's more alarmed by your curtsy than you are by him, watching you bow deeply where moments ago your father dismissed him offhand.

"Your Majesty," you say to the ground.

You...

You recognize him like this? How? How is that possible?

His wish was granted. They all saw a perfect soldier, but that's just the thing: you didn't want to be ruled by a perfect soldier.

You wanted a good man.

You, who secretly longs to offer more to your father and family than a bartering chip for marriage, same as his cousins, need the king to be a good man because then he'll understand this...

A/N: Ok, full disclosure, I might already be very protective of this one, so we'll see if I can bring myself to put it all out there. Anyway! Thank you for the gif, Brandy! It was a great opportunity to get this down.

Also, if it's just an idea/intro, do I include the taglist? Idk. I hate pinging y'all if it's not like a lot of content.

[Main Masterlist; Light Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

[sparklingcid3r]

wut did the convo between darry and child services go like? obvi was complicated but like genuinely how did he convince them he could b the guardian of 2 teenage boys? he genuinely must have nerves of steel.

also like must have been the worse adjustment if he always confided in paul or his dad when stressed, but now has no one. like his just isolation from any close relationship is soooo noticeable, esp compared to his brothers who actively lean on their best friends

just ignore that this might end up horribly inaccurate🙏 i’m here for a good time alr leave me alone😭 but fr darry was going through the traumas of odysseus on his voyage back to ithaca when he should have been getting lit at the club😔

Darry’s shell shock looks a whole lot like numbness. That’s how he feels, too, so when the same officers who just told him they’re very sorry, but his parents have been killed in an accident, he just stares and hears them iterate for him what exactly he needs to get done immediately. He forces himself to actually listen, because this isn’t about him, it’s about Pony and Soda and keeping a roof above their heads.

He needs to locate his ma and dad’s birth certificates and legal documents to have their wills probated and assets distributed, schedule an appointment with the funeral director, schedule a date for the funeral itself, meet with the court to be appointed Pony and Soda’s legal guardian, but that’s only after they deem him fit to be the sole caretaker of two teenagers. They’ll assign them a case manager. They’ll ask him what his salary is, they’ll call his old coaches to ask about his time management and self-discipline—what if he comes up short in some way? What if he makes a mistake and gets his brothers thrown in a home?

Fuck, then there’s the personal arrangements. He needs to call the college dean and tell him extraordinary circumstances have forced him to drop out, probably he’ll still have to pay for the rest of the semester he didn’t get to finish. When the case manager comes over for their meeting—the house is a mess from Darry’s birthday party, they’ll think Darry is okay with raising his brothers in filth. Something about bank statements too, he’s sure he’ll have to go over it, see what his parents have been paying for, what he’ll need to pay for and what he has to cut now that money’s about to be tighter. Bills, taxes, he needs to draw up a system to distribute those payments overdue or not. Groceries, do they need to go shopping soon? With what money? With Darry’s money, he needs to get a job now.

Darry gets to work.

Identifying the bodies is the first thing he does. He lets Steve and Johnny stay over to keep Pony and Soda company. Two-Bit offers to come with Darry to the hospital, but he refuses. When he gets to the hospital, he sees Dally standing at the entrance, cross-armed and stone-faced. He doesn’t even look at Darry when he arrives. Just pushes himself off the pillar and shrugs. “Your call.”

Darry says nothing, so Dally follows him in. The police lead him to the morgue. The sheets are carefully folded back to reveal their faces, and Darry’s stomach heaves and his eyes blur. His parents are shredded. They’re just bodies, sliced, crushed bodies. He doesn’t even realize he stumbling until a steeled hand grabs him and keeps him upright, and Dally’s saying “Easy, easy, man. Breathe, Darrel. That them?”

Darry nods. All he’s think is that it’s going to be a closed casket funeral.

The wills are the next thing he deals with. Once those are probated and the surrogate has deemed them official, Darry is free to pay the fees and obtain his inheritance, as well as transfer his parents’ money to his name in the bank.

Next, Darry searches for a job. Something physical, or something to do with numbers. He was going to be an accountant after all, might as well make some use of the few months he spent studying. After busting his ass hunting and applying, he lands a job at Fitzmorris Roofing and starts as soon as he can. The pay is decent, but not enough, so he keeps looking. Eventually he finds out about a firm at the edge of town looking for a bookkeeper, so Darry goes in for an interview and walks out with his second job.

Then are the bank statements. Darry gets issued a copy of his parents’ bank statements from the previous month and spends entire nights going through them. After crunching the numbers twice, he finds out that in two months from now, they’ll have to go without paying the electricity bill for a few weeks while Darry’s paychecks catch up with expenses. Better than going hungry. They’ll just have to deal with the dark.

So far, they’ve been feeding off the numerous donations from families around town. Lasagnas and casseroles and meatloafs, that’s what they’ve been pushing around their plates for the past two weeks. Darry surmises they have about one more week to make those last, then he’ll need to crack open a cookbook or two.

He meets with the funeral director. He advises Darry on what graveyard to pick, what kinds of caskets to hold the bodies in, how much of the burial will be covered by insurance. All Darry understands is that this is money he’ll need to cut from their budget. It eats at him.

Darry blinks and a week has gone by.

He doesn’t really remembering seeing Pony and Soda during it. Everything’s a blur. But he looks at a calendar and realizes with a seize of his heart that their case manager is supposed to meet them for the first time in—an hour and a half.

Shit, he hasn’t even gotten to cleaning the house yet. There’s laundry on the fucking couch, for Christ’s sake. Darry snatches it up and bangs down Soda and Pony’s door, dumping it on the bed. He sees a lump under the blanket and a jolt rocks him—that’s your brother, that’s Ponyboy, he’s grieving, he’s in pain, he needs help—but all he can do is kick the mattress and tell him, “On your feet, Ponyboy, Mrs. Mulligan’ll be here for dinner.” Pony doesn’t move, but there’s nothing else Darry can do, so he rips the blanket off Pony and leaves, slamming the door behind him because his own strength has become unfamiliar to him.

Soda’s in the backyard doing whatever the hell Soda’s been doing while Darry was out, and he’s called in but he comes trailing in like a wet dog. Darry doesn’t know what he’ll do if this meeting doesn’t go well, if Mulligan says Darry is not suited to provide for his brothers, how he’ll possible be able to live by himself knowing his brothers have been separated, so he snaps for Soda to stand up straight and fix his hair. Soda looks at him blankly, and again there’s a voice in Darry’s head—Sodapop’s not alright, he’s not talking, he’s not smiling, he’s not laughing, you have to fix this—but all he can say is “Now, dammit” and hits the countertop, spooking Soda enough to get him to flee, and Darry’s alone again, cleaning the table of the bills and documents, pushing them on top of the icebox and out of sight.

Darry’s prepped one of their last donated meals, macaroni salad, and set the table as nice as he can.

Fifteen minutes before Mrs. Mulligan arrives, he checks in on Pony and Soda. He stands outside their door, hand raised to knock, but he can hear them talking.

Talking about him.

“He’s gone crazy, Soda, I swear. When’s the last time you saw him stand still for two seconds? If you’ve seen him at all.”

“Dunno, Ponykid.”

“I miss Ma. I miss her and Dad. It’s like Darry hasn’t even noticed they’re gone.”

“Naw, baby, don’t say that. He’s trying, I think. He’s trying awful hard. We just don’t see it.”

“You don’t even know that. What if he’s making plans to shove us in a boys’ home?”

Darry can’t take it. His breath is lodged in his throat, but he can’t go falling apart right now, not when he’s come this far and still has a long way to go. He just knocks and calls them out to the living room.

Darry can’t meet their eyes when they sit in the living room. Pony’s lean on Soda’s shoulder but Darry can’t think about that, he’s got to put the macaroni salad in a bowl and clean off the utensils and “Pony, I told you to wash the dishes this morning.” With his back turned to his brothers, Darry winces. Anger never used to seep out this easily. But everything was enough of a threat to push him over the edge. Everything everyone said to him pierced him like a hook, made his tongue feel heavy and his blood feel hot. He needed to put a lid over it tonight.

Mrs. Mulligan’s eyes don’t rise to Darry’s when he opens the door for her. She looks behind him at their living room, at Soda and Pony on the couch, makes a funny noise in the back of her throat, then extends her hand out to Darry. Immediately Darry knows he’s going to be on the defensive the entire night. This woman does not approve of where Soda and Pony are being raised. Whether that means she doesn’t approve of the East side as a location or Darry as a guardian, he isn’t sure.

She drills him, but it’s disguised as gentle. Darry does everything slowly. Serving the food, making small talk, discussing Pony and Soda’s grades. Mulligan switches to speaking directly to the boys, and Darry’s not hungry, but he pretends to enjoy chewing the rubbery macaroni and keeps his head down.

Despite their reservations about life without their parents, Soda and Pony defend Darry to the case manager. It goes smoothly enough that she leaves Darry with a smile and a promise to stay in touch.

When the door clicks shut, Pony is gone in the blink of an eye back to his room. Soda just stalks into the kitchen and starts wrapping up leftovers, cleaning off the dishes. Darry tries to get Soda to sleep, but Soda turns to him.

“I’ll do the dishes, Darry. Just don’t get mad at Pony.”

“No, Soda, I’ll do it—“

“You’re tired, Darry. Let me be useful?”

Soda always knew how to spin the conversation in his favor. He was right. Darry was tired. He was just… tired.

But there’s a reason Darry hasn’t given himself a restful night yet. He doesn’t trust himself yet.

“Give me the sponge, Sodapop. Pony needs you.”

Darry’s had sixteen years to learn how to outmaneuver his kid brother. He’s not in the mood to fight fair.

Soda concedes and draws away from the sink, but he lingers in the doorway. “We need you, too, Darry.”

“I know. I’ll be here in the morning.”

He wouldn’t be. He’d be gone by the time they woke up, on top of a roof with bundles of roofing slung over his shoulder, but it wasn’t his physical presence that mattered. He was going to keep their heads above water, no matter what it took.

“When’s the funeral?” asks Soda.

“Friday.”

Two days. Two days until it was official and their parents were covered in dirt. Darry just needed to keep it together until then.

“G’night, Darry.”

“G’night.”

When the funeral comes, Darry’s quiet. Pony and Soda are weeping, unashamed by it, so Darry’s the one people feel comfortable giving their condolences to. He shakes a lot of hands, feels disgusted by it, like he’s collecting germs and other people’s bad luck. The gang is there, even Dally, but they hang in the back of the crowd, discounting Two-Bit, who’s up front with his ma and sister.

After Darry gives the eulogy he doesn’t remember writing, he watches twin caskets get sunk into the ground, dirt spilling on top of them, and Darry is officially alone. He leaves the ceremony, goes and sits down on a bench outside the fencing.

Not yet. Don’t break yet.

A shadow falls across his own. Dally’s taking drags from a cigarette at his side. He’s just as quiet as Darry, but offers the cancer stick. Darry accepts it, taking a few puffs. He’s out of practice and coughs the first time. Dally just pats his back and waits for him to try again. It feels good, but not the kind of good Darry knows he can depend on. He’s still got to stay healthy if he’s going to be trudging around in the sun for half his day and sitting around doing math for the other half.

“Do what you gotta do, as long as it’s nothing permanent,” Dally says.

“Couldn’t if I wanted to,” Darry replies, handing back the cigarette. His eyes sting.

It’s like the world’s stopped rotating after his parents are put to rest. Not when Darry actually expected it to. He closes the door to his parents’ bedroom, the room he’s been sleeping in for the past… however long it’s been.

He doesn’t even make it to the bed. The moment the door’s locked behind him, Darry’s loosening his dad’s tie from his neck, yanking at his dad’s collar to untighten his airways, but it doesn’t work. He slumps against the door and slides down, messing up his hair and crying into his arms, only as hard as his silence will allow. Pony and Soda are in the next room over, still teary, consoling each other. Darry won’t steal their reprieve.

He falls apart alone, wondering how he’s meant to wake up tomorrow in a world he doesn’t want to live in. And when he picks himself up and puts himself back together, he’ll do that alone too. He doesn’t have a choice.

istg sometimes yall just gotta LET ME COOK 👩‍🍳 can u tell i got super into it the longer i went on for lmao

oh btw this doesn’t scratch the surface of everything darry prob needed to do. he would have had to choose what his parents wore in their caskets, dealt with the scrapping of the car, assumed responsibility of the real estate deed (the house), communicated with pony and soda’s high school, communicated with his parents’ former employers, etc etc. the break was uncatchable i fear

[fanficapologist]

Of Dragons and Maelstroms

Themes and Warnings: slow burn, enemies to lovers, blood, violence, explicit language, sexual violence, period-typical misogyny, sexual themes, smut, tension, marriage, jealousy, pregnancy, childbirth, miscarriage, attempted sexual assault, breastfeeding, major character death, divergent timelines

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood/Game of Thrones characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

Chapter Ninety-Nine

The plan was bold, a coordinated strike meant to take the Capital by surprise from every direction, with fire and steel raining down from the sky and the sea. Word had already been dispatched to Lord Unwin, commanding him to call the Dragonseeds to heel and launch an attack from the west. They would unleash their dragons upon the western border of the Crownlands, forcing Rhaenyra’s supporters to divide their forces. From the south, Prince Daeron, Aemond’s younger brother, would lead an assault from the south, rallying the houses in the Stormlands before making his push toward the Capital.

Both Aemond and his Hand, Ser Criston Cole, had a critical role to play. The King and his most trusted advisor were to make their way north to the Riverlands, from where they would descend upon King’s Landing with a force that no one could ignore. Ser Criston would begin by taking Harrenhal, using it as a staging ground to gather their troops. Aemond, riding his mighty dragon Vhagar, would lead the charge on the Capital from the north, burning through any resistance with a fury no force could withstand.

And Maera, though injured and nursing a wounded collarbone, was not to be left behind. Once her body had healed enough to take to the skies again, she would launch her own attack. She would lead the eastern assault on the Capital, riding her powerful blue and black dragon, Ēbrion. Her task was to strike from the east while the fleet of Morne, which she had inherited, sailed into Blackwater Bay below, cutting off King’s Landing from the sea.

The coordinated attack was set to take place in three weeks, once Criston Cole had reached Harrenhal and the ground troops were ready to move. It was a plausible plan, one designed to overwhelm their enemy from all directions. Every piece was carefully placed, every move calculated. Victory seemed certain. Right?

Late one evening, the Queen had gone in search of her husband. Her collarbone still ached, though the maesters assured her it was healing well. She was eager to discuss the final details of the attack, but when she entered the grand hall, she found him sitting upon the throne of Dragonstone. The throne was carved from blackened volcanic stone, its jagged edges sharp and foreboding, much like the man who now sat upon it.

Aemond’s usual poise and control were absent, replaced by a seething fury that rippled through the room like a living thing. His one eye, cold and piercing, was fixed on a letter gripped tightly in his hand, the parchment crumpled from the force of his grip. His lips were pressed into a thin line, his jaw clenched so tightly that Maera could see the muscles twitching beneath his pale skin.

She hesitated at the base of the steps leading up to the ancient chair, her breath catching in her throat. The Kings rigid posture, his stormy expression, told her that something had gone terribly wrong. Steeling herself, she began to climb the steps. Each footstep echoed through the cold, stony chamber, the soft swish of her black and green skirts brushing against her legs as she ascended. The sound of her approach filled the room, but Aemond remained still, his gaze fixed on the far wall, his anger simmering beneath a surface of quiet restraint.

As she reached the top of the steps and stood before him, he didn’t look at her. Instead, he roughly extended a crumpled piece of parchment towards her, his fingers trembling slightly as he released it into her hands. The Queen accepted the letter with careful hands, her heart sinking with each passing second.

She slowly unfurled it, her green eyes darting across the page as the words leapt out at her. It was from Lord Unwin, detailing the progress—or lack thereof—with the Dragonseeds, Hugh Hammer and Ulf the White. The news was not good.

She closed her eyes and cast her head back, gazing up at the ceiling as though seeking guidance from the heavens. Silently, she prayed for strength, willing herself to remain composed, though every part of her wanted to scream. The gods, it seemed, were testing her patience, her resolve, her very will to fight.

Aemond’s muttered curse broke the silence. “Fuck.” The word was low, barely above a whisper, but the frustration in his voice was unmistakable. He pinched the bridge of his nose, his anger giving way to the weight of what they had just lost.

"Damn her for her stupidity," he spat, his voice a low, dangerous growl. "Rhaenyra's reckless arrogance has loosed this chaos upon the world. Mere men should never have been given the power of a dragon. They think themselves higher than they are. Fools."

Maera remained silent, her eyes fixed on the crumpled letter in her hand. Lord Unwin's detailed account filled her with a rising dread. He had tried to reason with the two Dragonseeds, tried to remind them of the promises made to secure their loyalty—Harrenhal for Hugh Hammer, and Horn Hill for Ulf the White. But those promises no longer held sway. Ulf had become bold, demanding Highgarden instead, his ambition reaching far beyond what was originally offered. It was outrageous, but it was the attitude of Hugh Hammer that stoked Aemond's rage to a near-blinding degree.

Hugh had claimed that none of the Targaryens—neither Rhaenyra nor Aemond—were fit to lead. He mocked them all, proclaiming that they were not gods as they so believed, for even a bastard could claim a dragon. His words dripped with contempt. And then came the final insult: Hugh Hammer had crowned himself, donning a crude black iron circlet and declaring his own claim to the Iron Throne. The audacity of the man was staggering.

As the words sunk in, Maera’s vision blurred with fury. The Dragonseeds were supposed to be pawns in this war—tools to be used and discarded when the time came. Yet, now, they fancied themselves kings and conquerors. The paper crumpled in her hand, the anger building until she could no longer hold it. With a sharp exhale, she hurled the letter across the room, the parchment hitting the stone wall with a soft thud before fluttering uselessly to the floor.

Her voice cut through the tense silence of the chamber, her tone laced with urgency. “What is to be done about it?”

Aemond straightened up on the stony throne, his sharp features shadowed in the dim light. He cleared his throat, jaw tightening as he considered the question. “Lord Unwin is planning a coup,” he replied, his voice gruff with restrained anger. “He intends to kill both cunts before their delusions can spread any further.” His tone was cold, ruthless, but Maera knew it was the only choice. There was no room for mercy with traitors like them.

Crossing his arms, Aemond shifted, his silver hair falling over his shoulder, catching the glint of the low candlelight. His crown sat heavily on his brow, a reminder of the weight they both bore in this war. “As for Vermithor and Silverwing…”he continued, his voice thoughtful now. “We may just have to cut our losses.”

The Queen nodded, her mind turning over the plan. Hugh and Ulf were beyond reasoning, that much was clear. More importantly, they had become dangerous threats to the Greens. With the war pressing in from all sides, they couldn’t afford to fight multiple enemies at once. The Dragonseeds needed to go. As for the dragons, the likelihood of anyone else successfully claiming them was slim. Most who had tried, thanks to Rhaenyra’s reckless decision to arm bastards with dragons, had died in the process. Yet, as much as the betrayers needed to die, the loss of the beasts could severely impact the Green’s power in the Dance of the Dragons.

Still, her thoughts drifted to other methods that could be used to win the battle. “And Daeron?” she asked, her voice softening. She couldn’t help but feel a pang of sympathy for the boy, who was reportedly very different from his older brothers. Aegon and Aemond became ruthless Targaryen Princes, raised in Kings Landing. Whereas Daeron, raised in Oldtown, was gentler, more placid, adept with a lute as he was with his sword.

Lord Unwin had made it clear that the youngest Prince was being pushed around by Hugh and Ulf, disrespected and mocked at every turn when he attempted to regain control in Tumbleton with Lord Hobert Hightower, a spectacular failure.

Aemond’s jaw tightened, though his voice was calmer when he spoke of his brother. “Daeron will continue to the Stormlands as planned. He’ll remain at Storm’s End until we give the signal for the attack.”

Maera nodded again, though her heart ached for her brother-in-law. He would face the storm in his own time, just as they all would. The game of thrones was unforgiving, even to the young.

A chuckle broke the tension in the room. She turned her head and saw Aemond shaking his head, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “Daeron hasn’t seen his lady wife in some time,” he remarked with an amused glint in his eye. “It’ll do him good to spend some time at Storm’s End. Perhaps he’ll even try to conceive an heir while he’s there.”

The Queen breathed out a soft laugh, raising her brows in surprise. It had nearly slipped her mind that Daeron was wed to Lady Ellyn Baratheon. The marriage had been an arrangement made after Aemond’s betrothal to Lady Floris Baratheon had been broken off so that he could marry Maera instead. That deal had reshuffled the pieces in the game, requiring another Targaryen prince to strengthen the Baratheon alliance. Daeron had been forced to take up that mantle, his union to Lady Ellyn smoothing over any lingering tensions between the houses.

Out of the corner of her eye, Maera noticed Aemond gesturing subtly with his hand, his silver hair gleaming in the dim light. She stepped closer, her heart softening as she placed her hand in his. His grip was warm, firm, as he ran his thumb over her knuckles in a familiar gesture of affection. His touch paused over the golden and sapphire ring that gleamed on her finger—the one he had given her before their wedding. A rare, gentle smile curved his lips as he admired the ring, the stone reflecting the same rich blue as his sapphire eye that lay beneath his leather patch.

Yet his wife’s thoughts turned dark as the weight of the future pressed on her mind. War was uncertain; its outcome impossible to predict. Between the Blacks and the Greens, only one side could emerge victorious, and if it was to be Aemond, the succession needed to be secured. With every battle, the stakes grew higher, and Maera knew that a kingdom needed more than a victorious king—it needed a clear line of inheritance.

She tilted her head slightly, looking at her husband. “Once the invasion is done, Daeron should be named Prince of Dragonstone.” Her voice was measured but firm, the thought fully formed in her mind. Aemond raised a brow at her suggestion, his expression one of slight surprise. Before he could question her, Maera continued, “He is your heir, after all.”

Aemond’s lips quirked into a smirk, his gaze sharpening. “For now,” he purred, a playful yet serious tone beneath his words. Then, without warning, he yanked Maera forward until she was perched on his lap, her body pressed against his. His sharp nose brushed against the length of her neck, his breath warm as he inhaled the familiar scent of her hair. His voice dropped to a low, intimate whisper. “Until we conceive a son,” he murmured, his lips grazing her ear.

A giggle escaped Maera’s lips as she pressed her hands against his chest, feigning an attempt to push him away. “Issa darys,” my King, she said, a note of laughter in her voice, “as much as I admire your enthusiasm…” Her cheeks flushed slightly as she added, “My moonsblood hasn’t returned since Aemara was born.” But despite her playful resistance, Aemond only tightened his arms around her, his hold possessive and unyielding.

The Queen felt her husband’s lips peppering kisses upon her skin, his touch sending a shiver through her body. She squirmed slightly in his lap, her skin prickling at the warmth of his mouth against her. A gasp escaped her when he bit down harshly, her breath catching as she heard him chuckle against her skin. She pulled back, cupping his cheek with one hand, determined to steady herself and not get distracted.

"It may be some time before we conceive another child." She searched his eye, wanting to know that he understood the gravity of her next words. "To secure the succession, Daeron should be formally recognized. It would strengthen our position."

Aemond sighed, his hand gently stroking her back in slow, reassuring circles. With his other hand, he brought her hand to his lips, kissing it with a tenderness that contrasted with his earlier roughness. His gaze softened as he looked at her. "Once again, you show your wisdom, issa daria,” my Queen, he murmured, his tone a mix of admiration and resignation. "A ceremony for Daeron will be prepared. But only once the invasion is done."

Maera smiled, her tension easing as she nodded in agreement. The future still held uncertainty, but she was satisfied they had set the right course for now. Aemond, ever pragmatic, glanced at her with a wry smirk. "Perhaps your Ladies could help plan the ceremony?"

His wife chuckled softly, her fingers brushing through the loose strands of his silver hair. "I will put them to work," she replied with a smile, already imagining how she could enlist them in the preparations. The weight of the world had not left their shoulders, but for a brief moment, Maera allowed herself to feel the smallest sense of hope, their plans slowly falling into place.

The King tilted his head slightly, his sharp gaze softening as his hand hovered just above Maera’s collarbone. His fingers reached out, lightly stroking the green and black fabric of her dress, the silk smooth under his touch. "And how is your wound healing?" he asked, his voice low, tinged with genuine concern.

Maera grinned, rolling her shoulder back with a confident ease. "It’s healing well," she replied, feeling a warmth in her chest at his attentiveness. She moved her arm slightly to show him, the motion fluid. "I hardly feel it now," she added, her tone light and proud of her recovery.

Her husband hummed softly in response, his hand lingering near her skin before dropping back to his lap. Maera caught the way his single violet eye raked over her, taking in the curve of her body, lingering a little longer than usual. His gaze settled on her chest, and she saw the subtle shift in his posture, his interest plain despite his calm demeanor.

A slow smirk tugged at the corners of the Queen’s lips as she met his gaze. "Is there anything else I could do to assist you this evening, my King?" she asked, her voice playful, laced with suggestion. The tension between them shifted, thickening as her question hung in the air.

Aemond's lips curled into a smirk of his own, his eye flickering with amusement and desire, as if silently weighing her offer with all the seriousness of a council decision. His finger trailed lightly along her jaw, sending shivers down her spine as her heart thumped loudly in her chest. His touch was soft but deliberate, and she could see the devilish grin curling at the corners of his mouth. "I wish for my Queen to get on her knees and ease my troubles," he murmured, his voice low and thick with desire.

Maera gasped softly at his lewd command, her breath catching in her throat. But before she could react further, his other hand moved roughly to squeeze her upper thigh, his grip firm and possessive. He leaned in closer, his breath hot against her ear as he whispered, "And since my wife is such a skilled dragon rider, perhaps she can demonstrate her mastery by riding me upon the throne of our ancestors."

A wicked smile spread across Maera's lips, her eyes gleaming with amusement and anticipation. "I couldn't very well refuse my King, now could I?" she replied softly, her voice thick with playful submission.

Without a word, Aemond pulled her closer, his lips crashing against hers with an urgency that took her breath away. His kiss was fierce, filled with hunger as he claimed her mouth. The heat between them ignited instantly, her body responding to the raw need in his touch. His lips moved with hers, demanding and insistent, his grip on her thigh tightening as he deepened the kiss.

Aemond's tongue traced her bottom lip, teasing her, silently demanding more. She parted her lips for him without hesitation, inviting him in. Their tongues met in a feverish dance, his rough and commanding while hers answered with equal intensity. Each movement was deliberate, every stroke a testament to the passion that simmered just beneath the surface.

Maera's hands explored her husband’s broad chest, feeling the firm muscle beneath the fine leather of his doublet. Her fingers traced the intricate stitching as they moved across his torso, lingering at the contours of his chest before sliding lower. His body was strong, hardened from years of intense training, and the power he exuded only deepened her desire for him.

As her lips left his and found the warm skin of his neck, Maera nipped lightly, teasing his pulse point with the tip of her tongue before licking along the line of his jaw. Aemond hissed at the sensation, his breath catching in his throat as her lips left a trail of heat in their wake. His hands roamed eagerly over her body, squeezing and caressing the curves hidden beneath the layers of her green and black dress.

The one-eyed King’s touch grew more urgent, and his hands found her breasts, feeling the peaks of her nipples harden beneath the fabric at his touch. The warmth of her body and the soft moan she let slip fueled his growing need, and a low growl of desire escaped him, vibrating in the space between them.

Her body responded instinctively, her hips rocking against Aemond as she felt the familiar hardness of his length pressing beneath her. The heat between them intensified, and with every subtle movement, her breath hitched, her own need growing alongside his.

Unable to contain his hunger any longer, his fingers tugged eagerly at the ribbons at the front of her dress, fumbling in his desperation to untie them. He wanted to feel her bare skin against him, to rid her of the barrier between them. Each pull at the ribbons came faster, his impatience growing with every second as he sought the softness of her flesh beneath the fabric.

Just as Aemond's fingers worked eagerly at the last ribbon of her dress, desperate to pull it free, Maera grinned, a teasing glint in her eyes. Without warning, she hopped off his lap, leaving him momentarily stunned. She flashed him a sultry smile, biting her lower lip as she took a step back, her movements slow and deliberate.

Aemond's gaze darkened, his single violet eye following her every move, anticipation hanging thick in the air. Maera, ever graceful, sank slowly to her knees before him, elegantly adjusting her skirts so they fanned around her like a pool of fabric. Her hands smoothed over the green and black silk, her posture poised and deliberate. When she looked up at him, her gaze was smoldering with intent, full of confidence and allure.

She reached for the ties of his breeches, her fingers deftly undoing the knot that held them together. With practiced ease, she freed him from the confines of the fabric, her hand wrapping around his cock, warm and firm. Aemond's breath hitched, his chest rising sharply as her delicate fingers closed around him, stroking slowly at first, tracing the length of his shaft with the lightest of touches.

He groaned deeply, the sound guttural and raw, his head tilting back as the sensation overwhelmed him. Her fingers moved with deliberate care, teasing him, exploring him, her touch gentle yet purposeful. Maera watched the way his jaw clenched, the way his muscles tightened beneath her ministrations.

His breaths came ragged as he looked down at Maera, her delicate hand still wrapped around him. "Do you intend to spend the whole evening teasing me, wife?" Aemond asked, his voice strained, a mixture of impatience and desire lacing his words.

The Queen’s lips curled into a wicked smile. She leaned forward, pressing a soft, deliberate kiss to the tip of his length, causing him to hiss sharply at the sensation. "I just might," she purred, her green eyes flashing with mischief.

Before he could respond, she took him fully into her mouth in one swift motion, silencing any retort. Aemond's hand flew to her brown and silver curls, fingers tangling in her hair as he held her in place, groaning deeply as the warmth of her mouth enveloped him. Her lips wrapped tightly around him, and she sucked harshly on the tip, sending jolts of pleasure coursing through his veins.

Her tongue moved expertly, swirling around the head before she began to take him deeper, inch by inch, her throat relaxing as she swallowed him whole. Aemond's jaw clenched, his knuckles white as he gripped her hair tighter, overwhelmed by the intense pleasure that threatened to undo him. Maera's mouth was relentless, her rhythm deliberate, and she could feel his legs tremble beneath her as a loud, guttural groan echoed through the grand hall.

“Gods be good.” With a low growl, he tightened his grip on her hair, guiding her movements as he took control. He brought her up slowly before lowering her mouth back down onto him, over and over again, his body shuddering with every pass of her lips. She whined softly against him, the vibrations of her voice sending shocks of pleasure through his already overstimulated body, intensifying the experience.

Her knees ached against the cold, hard stone floor, the discomfort biting into her skin, but she paid it no mind. To please her King, to show him the depth of her love and devotion, she would endure far more than this. Aemond's temper, his rage-he needed this, needed her, and she would gladly serve him in this way.

Maera's thoughts were abruptly interrupted when Aemond yanked her head off his throbbing length, a sharp gasp leaving her lips. His face was flushed, his violet eye dark with desire and need. Without a word, he pulled her forward, making her climb onto his lap once more.

In a swift, almost desperate motion, he hiked her skirts high above her hips, exposing the smooth skin of her thighs to the cool air of the room. His rough hands gripped her bare flesh, fingers tracing the soft, rounded curves with a possessive touch. Maera's breath hitched, her heart racing as Aemond's hands moved with purpose.

Without warning, he tugged her smallclothes aside, and before she could catch her breath, his fingers plunged deep inside her. A sharp gasp escaped her throat, her body instinctively arching against him. His thumb found the bundle of nerves at her center, pressing down firmly, sending waves of ecstasy through her core. Her hips rocked against his hand, her body moving of its own accord as he expertly teased and tormented her.

"Aemond," she whined, her voice breathless as her fingers clutched his shoulders for support. He chuckled darkly at her reaction, the sound rumbling deep in his chest.

"Not so nice to be teased, is it?" he murmured, his voice low and dangerous.

His words sent a shiver down her spine as his thumb pressed harder against her, circling with maddening precision. Maera gasped again, her grip tightening on him as the familiar sensation began to build low in her stomach, her body responding to his every touch. The pressure grew and grew with each deliberate stroke of his fingers, the coil inside her winding tighter and tighter, leaving her at his mercy.

Her nails dug into Aemond's shoulders, her body squirming in his lap as she rocked her hips against his hand. Each movement sent another jolt through her, her breath coming out in ragged pants. Desperation clawed at her, the tension in her body building to an unbearable peak as his fingers thrust in and out of her, each stroke more agonizing than the last. The pleasure was almost too much to bear, her mind clouded with the need for release.

"Please..." she gasped, her voice shaky and broken, pleading for mercy as the coil within her tightened to a breaking point. He responded with a dark, satisfied smirk, his single violet eye glinting with control.

"Peak for me," he growled, his fingers curling inside her just right, his thumb pressing firmly against her sensitive bundle of nerves. "Then, I'll give you what you want."

With a choked gasp, the tension inside her snapped. A wave of euphoria crashed over her, and she came undone on his fingers. Maera's hips bucked, grinding down against his hand as she rode out her high, her entire body trembling with the intensity of her release. She moaned loudly, her grip on his shoulders tightening as her vision blurred, her mind lost in the overwhelming sensation.

When her climax finally subsided, Aemond slowly withdrew his fingers, his gaze locked on her flushed face as she tried to steady her breathing. He wasted no time, grabbing his length and running the flushed tip teasingly through her slick folds. Maera whimpered softly, her body still sensitive from the peak he had just given her.

Aemond's other hand found her hip, his grip firm as he held her in place. Without warning, he began to slowly lower her onto him, inch by agonizing inch. Maera gasped, her mouth falling open as he filled her completely, the stretch of him almost too much to handle all at once. She felt every inch of him as he sank deeper inside her, her body trembling as she adjusted to his size.

The pressure was exquisite, and as he bottomed out inside her, Maera bit her lip, her body molding perfectly to his. Aemond groaned lowly, his hand gripping her hip tighter, his restraint palpable as he held her still for a moment, savoring the feeling of being buried inside her.

Maera began to rock against him with fervor, her movements fluid and desperate. With each roll of her hips, his length brushed that perfect, spongey spot within her, sending pleasure through her body like lightning. A moan escaped her lips, breathy and uncontrolled, as she rode him with determination.

Her green eyes never left his, locked in an intense gaze that mirrored the hunger they both felt. Their mouths hung open, panting and gasping for breath as a thin sheen of sweat glistened on their flushed faces. Each thrust seemed to pull them deeper into the shared bliss, their connection unbreakable upon the throne of Dragonstone.

Aemond gritted his teeth, the muscles in his jaw tightening. Planting his feet firmly on the stone floor, he seized control, bucking his hips upward to meet hers with a force that made her cry out. His hands gripped her hips tightly, guiding her down onto him with each powerful thrust. The rhythm they created together was frantic, filled with heat and a desperation that consumed them.

Aemond's voice was thick with lust as he murmured, "You’re perfect. Fuck, my perfect Queen," his words shooting straight to Maera's core, adding fuel to the fire already burning deep within her. His praise sent a wave of heat through her body, tightening the coil of pleasure that wound tighter with every thrust.

He began to pound into her with an almost brutal pace, chasing his own release. Each rough movement caused her to gasp, her body trembling under the force of his desire. As he thrust into her, Maera reached out with a trembling hand, carefully straightening the Conqueror's crown upon his head with a small, playful smile. The sight of him wearing it, regal and powerful, only spurred her on, reminding her of the kingly man beneath her.

Aemond's grip on her hips tightened, and he groaned as he sped up, his thrusts becoming erratic and desperate. Maera could feel him swelling inside her, her own pleasure building to an unbearable peak once more. With a guttural moan, she leaned closer, her breath hot against his ear, "Please, my King. Cum deep inside of me," she commanded, her voice low and full of desire.

Her words were his undoing. Aemond's hips jerked up into her one final time as he groaned loudly, the sound vibrating against her skin. His release came in a hot wave, filling her completely as his body trembled beneath his wife, her second orgasm following moments after. He buried his face in her neck, their breath ragged, bodies slick with sweat as they clung to one another, the intensity of their shared pleasure leaving them both breathless.

For now, the war seemed distant and unimportant, its looming shadow momentarily forgotten in the intimacy of their shared embrace. The tension and bloodshed that had consumed their days and nights melted away, leaving only the warmth of their bodies pressed together, hearts still racing in the aftermath of their passion.

As their breaths began to settle, the frantic energy that had fueled them ebbed, replaced by a soft calm. Maera and Aemond remained tangled together upon the stony throne, her fingers lazily tracing the lines of his jaw as his arms tightened around her, unwilling to let go. The flicker of candlelight cast soft, flickering shadows over their entwined forms, the grand hall silent but for the occasional crackle of the flames.

They sat in the darkness, wrapped in each other's warmth, savoring this fleeting moment of peace, knowing the chaos of war still awaited them. Yet, for now, they allowed themselves to simply be.

Notes: little smutty diversion 😍 and an interesting development next week 🖤 (also I hate writing smut! I’m an over perfectionist and it stresses me out 🤣 I hope y’all enjoy it at least, been a while since she sucked his dick)

Tags: @0eessirk8 @magicseahorse @blue-serendipity @abecerra611 @saltedcaramelpretzel @marvelescvpe @watercolorskyy @shesjustanothergeek @thelastemzy @kckt88 @darylandbethfanforever9

Thank you so much for reading! Comments, feedback, likes, and reblogs are greatly appreciated 🖤

[livwritesstuff]

The first pair of shoes Eddie purchased for himself when he started rebuilding the life he’d lost when his trailer was destroyed was a pair of Doc Martens.

They were new (well, not new – he’d still thrifted them, but they were barely worn, probably surrendered by some yuppie who liked the style but couldn’t handle the pain of breaking them in) and big and black and heavy with steel toes and thick woven laces.

Those boots went everywhere with him – navigating those first few years of recovering from all the trauma he’d suffered in ‘86, finally leaving Hawkins in 1990, his move to Washington in ’94 to live with Steve while he finished out his psych program, their joint move to Boston a couple years later, his first book release in ‘95 and his second in ‘99, not to mention all the countless big and small adventures that filled in all those gaps.

When Eddie and Steve’s daughter Moe was born in 2001, Eddie temporarily retired the boots.

There was a period during those first few years of her life when she was both very small and always underfoot, a combination that meant concerns about tripping on her were high enough without Eddie adding steel-toed boots larger than his kid into the mix.

So for a while, the boots sat on the floor in his and Steve’s closet collecting dust.

Then Moe got a little bit older and the boots started collecting other things.

“Ed, come look at this,” Steve snickers.

He’s in their closet, trying to tackle the cataclysmic mess that has accumulated over the last year and a half, because trivial things like cleaning had kind of taken the backseat the second they met Moe – as they should; Eddie maintains that there is literally nothing he’d rather do than spend time with his daughter, bar none. Alas she does need to nap sometimes, and he supposes that’s when all the other shit gets done.

He joins Steve in the closet to see that he's holding one of Eddie's Docs.

“Look what Moe did,” Steve continues, holding out the boot.

Eddie takes it, immediately noticing that it’s even heavier than usual. He peers inside to see that it’s filled to the brim with stuff – a small wooden car, a travel deodorant from his last trip to New York for work, a pair of socks, sunglasses, several loose bandaids, one of Steve’s combs, a roll of Smarties (it’s a wonder she didn’t eat them), a veritable cache of treasures in the eyes of their eighteen-month-old. 

The other boot is pretty much exactly the same.

“Oh my god,” Eddie beams, “She’s fucking incredible.”

“She’s inheriting your raccoon behavior," Steve replies with a wicked grin.

“Alright.”

[octuscle]

I want to turn myself into a twinky fuck toy for a wealthy man. Can chronviac help me with that?

Well, as they say, everything's bigger in Texas… I'm a junior partner in a large New York asset management firm. We take care of the high net worth clients. To get into our client file, you have to have over USD 100 million in free liquidity. Our clients are demanding. But we are the best. And we do everything for our customers. Really EVERYTHING!

When I took over the clients of a colleague who had retired a month ago, I thought Chuck Tex was a stage name. Until I had my first appointment with him. His record was more than impressive. Heir to old oil and cattle nobility. Classic career of the Texas oil barons. School in New England, studied in Paris, Oxford and Zurich, founded his first start-up company at the age of 20. And sold at 25 for USD 500 million. Now in his mid-30s, he had not yet inherited a cent from his family, but thanks to his excellent education and connections, he had already amassed a fortune on a par with that of his old man. I expected… Actually, I had no idea what I was expecting… But I certainly didn't expect this:

Chuck looked like a porn star. Or a marriage fraud. Or just like a man who I couldn't wait to throw me on the bed and fuck me mercilessly. His handshake was firm, but finely dosed just before the pain threshold. His gaze could certainly cut through steel plates. But I was a professional, I kept my composure. After I asked him what I could do for him, he got straight to the point. First of all, he needed some cash for his stay in New York. USD 10,000 would be enough. Gladly 100 dollar bills. But hot off the press, please. That was no problem. I sent a short memo to my assistant and she would take care of it. But the real reason for his visit was a project in Greenwich Village. He had bought a few buildings there that he was renovating. His aim was to restore the Village to its former charm. That's why he wanted to create cheap apartments, studios and stores and eliminate expensive office space. The whole thing was not intended as an investment, more as a hobby. A kind of gay and creative Disneyland. I briefly wondered why I wasn't actually a billionaire… And then I asked Chuck what my role was. Whether I could help with the financing or with saving taxes.

Chuck just grinned. No, saving taxes wouldn't fit in with his understanding of patriotism. And he would have financed it all with his last start-up exit. But he would need someone to take care of the real estate. Someone to ensure the right tenant mix. Someone to give his studio apartment the right finishing touches. I briefly went through my network in my mind. I had a gay acquaintance who owned a number of bars and restaurants. And I also knew a good project developer. And one of my school friends was a hip interior designer. I smiled and said I probably had just the people he needed. Chuck smiled back. It made my heart stop. He didn't want anyone from my network. He wanted me. I was about to say that I was flattered, but that I wasn't available for such projects right now. But instead I said "Of course, Daddy". Did I want to accompany him to the construction site? "If I may, Daddy!" At that moment, my assistant came in with a bundle of freshly pressed banknotes. Chuck smiled and said he needed me for the rest of the day. Please cancel all my appointments. I nodded to her and followed Chuck like a dog to its master.

In his limousine, Chuck asked me if I had ever been to Texas. I answered in the negative. But the boots I was wearing looked authentic. Yeah, they were my pride and joy. But I wouldn't have ridden a bull yet. I shook my head and giggled like a schoolgirl. Chuck kneaded the bulge in his pants and said that I would definitely be fucked by a bull today. I only got out a "Thank you, Daddy". Chuck let me sit on his lap. He undid another button of his silk shirt and exposed his right nipple. Like a puppy on its mother's teat, I began to suckle. Chuck kneaded my bulge and said that I was a good boy.

The car came to a halt in the second row in front of an old brick building. The walls were covered in high-quality graffiti. There was a closed table dance bar downstairs and some kind of jewelry store upstairs. Some kind of jewelry on display. Made of stainless steel. On closer inspection, piercing jewelry, cock rings and stainless steel dildos. I looked in the shop window like a child in the window of a candy store. Chuck took my hand, pulled me into the stairwell and told me that I could choose something later if I was good. He stroked the long hair on the back of my neck. I love my Mullet. I look a bit like the young cowboys on Daddy's Daddy's farm.

We had just arrived at Chuck's empty apartment when I got down on my knees in front of him and unbuttoned his pants. "First you strip for me, boy," Chuck ordered. He tossed me a cowboy hat that was in a closet. "Everything but your briefs, boots and hat!". Eagerly awaiting the reward, I did everything I was told to do. "And now lube yourself up". He threw me a bottle. And I did as I was told. I could feel my hard-earned muscles disappearing. I felt younger and younger. Although it was hard as steel, my cock was getting smaller and smaller. "I think you need a little more decoration, boy," Chuck said and put a chain on me. Satisfied, he looked at me as I sat on the floor and could hardly wait for my reward.

Chuck took his boner out of his pants. And I leaned back in anticipation. I wanted to be a good houseboy. And today was the housewarming party.

Chuck's pic found @mensuited, yours @hellishin

[polutrope]

I am Aranrúth, the Ire of Elu Thingol King of Doriath. I do not forget the injuries the Enemy hath done us.

“From what I could find,” Maglor says, “the Dwarves of Belegost made it after the First Battle.”

His sweet voice drones on. Elros is not listening. Holding the mighty sword crosswise, he sees himself reflected in the steel, tarnished from long neglect in one of Amon Ereb’s deep storerooms. It twists Elros’ scowl into a menacing snarl, splotches his youthful skin with marks that might be dirt, or blood. He almost believes himself dangerous; almost believes himself mighty enough to wield such a weapon.

He looks up and catches Maglor’s eyes, so pitying, so apologetic, and he hates them. The sword tip gashes the wooden floorboards as Elros lowers it. “This was my mother’s. Her guards brought this out of Doriath. You took this out of Sirion.”

“Brother,” Elrond soothes. Elros jerks away from his hand.

Maglor’s face falls; but in an instant gathers again like a wave drawing back. “We did not realise it was—”

“No, of course not, for you plundered without regard for the culture you had erased, without thought for our heirlooms.”

“Elros, please, you were not meant to find it this way. I was keeping it for you.”

“Keeping it? As you have kept us?”

“I have never—”

Elros does not need to hear the rest. “Good.” He heaves a breath, summoning courage. “Then you will not object when I ride North with Elu Thingol’s sword at my side, to join what kin remain to me in their war against the Enemy.”

The true Enemy, Elros thinks, even as his hands tremble with anger at the one before him, the one he called father, who has kept his inheritance from him.

No longer.