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#the royal series
vampmoby · 10 days
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forgot to post this here last night
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saintobio · 1 month
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LONG LIVE THE VILLAINESS !
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amidst the tale of sweetest love and bitterest revenge, the fallen empress is cast back ten years into the past to correct her sins and avoid eternal damnation, even at the price of betraying her once husband, the very cause of her downfall.
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♱ pairings. gojo satoru, fem!reader
♱ genre. enemies-to-lovers, period piece, medieval au
♱ tags. ooc, regression, crown prince!gojo, noble lady!reader, politics, classism, clan wars, religion (catholicism), misogyny, violence, war, rebellion, suggestive, smut, gore, double life, explicit language, more to be added
♱ notes. this fic draws heavy inspirations from the webnovel ‘sister, i am the queen in this life’ and manhwa of the same name. it’s basically a fanfic of that series bc i am obsessed with it :’D
♱ status. on-going (slow updates)
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♱ THIS SERIES WILL SERVE AS THE THE SECOND TIMELINE -> READ HERE FOR THE FIRST TIMELINE (ORIGINAL STORY) ♱
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PROLOGUE.
ACT I. THE LADY
ACT II. THE CROWN PRINCE
ACT III. THE KNIGHT
ACT IV. THE STAR CROSSED LOVERS
ACT V. THE BLESSED
ACT VI. THE SIN
ACT VII. THE REVELATION
ACT VIII. THE ENEMY
ACT IX. THE LOVER
ACT X. THE EMPRESS
EPILOGUE.
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PROLOGUE 
Like plunging beneath the surface of water and then, abruptly, breaking through to the air above—your body jolted as if awakening in a new world altogether. You drew in a long breath, your eyes fluttering open to reveal the ceiling, both familiar yet unfamiliar in its greeting. Swiftly, you surveyed your surroundings, noting with growing recognition the confines of your old room within the De Roma estate. The estate! 
You were not in the palace of Caelum, but in the estate of House De Roma. A surge of realization flooded through you as you dashed towards the nearest mirror, confronting your reflection with wide, startled eyes. 
No... could it be... that you have returned to your body, ten years prior?!
In the mirror, the reflection staring back at you was not that of the notorious wife of the tyrant Emperor Satoru, but of a 20-year-old maiden, the eldest daughter of Duke de Roma, with fuller cheeks and a more youthful appearance. You could not shake the feeling of disbelief, wondering if this was all just a dream, so you reached out to touch your arms and felt the flesh beneath your fingers, trying to convince yourself that this was an unexpected reality.
Oh, you were back. You found yourself returned to your former self, a decade younger, but now armed with the knowledge of your past life's actions and their consequences. Alongside this newfound understanding, the gift of clairvoyance had also been bestowed upon you.
And for what? Why had the heavens above returned you to your body? Was it for revenge, a second chance, or perhaps punishment?
Suddenly, a loud, deafening sound pierced your ears, and a blinding white light enveloped your vision. Your body became as still as a statue, and it felt as though your soul was transported to a fourth dimension where divine intervention seemed a lot more plausible to exist.
As your soul hovered in the liminal space between life and death, you found yourself standing before a figure cloaked in billowing robes, her presence commanding and her gaze piercing. This figure was Fortuna, the ancient Caelan goddess of fortune and fate, her visage austere and unforgiving.
“Are you aware of the sins that stain your soul?” 
“Have you felt the weight of your transgressions, the consequences of your actions that have wrought suffering upon your people and brought ruin to your empire?”
Her voice echoed through the realm with the divine judgment that weighed upon your conscience, while her gaze penetrated to the core of your being and demanded honesty and accountability in the face of your past misdeeds.
“Will you atone for your sins?” 
“Will you seize this opportunity for redemption, or will you squander it in self-pity and remorse?”
As you stood in the presence of the ancient goddess, grappling with the heaviness of your sins and the daunting task ahead, a brilliant light had all of a sudden illuminated the space around you. From the heart of this radiant glow emerged the figure of Archangel Raphael, his presence heralded by a chorus of angelical voices and the stirring of celestial winds.
Clad in robes that seemed to shimmer with the intensity of celestial light, Archangel Raphael's presence commanded attention, his wings unfurled behind him in a display of resolute authority. If Goddess Fortuna was intimidating, the archangel was fearsome all the more. His gaze, intense and penetrating, swept over you with a gravity that left no room for evasion or deceit.
“Empress of Caelum,” he spoke, his tone firm and unyielding, and his voice carrying a billion years of heavenly existence, “You stand accused of grievous sins, crimes that have shaken the very foundations of your empire and brought suffering upon your people.”
There was no trace of softness in Archangel Raphael's demeanor, no room for mercy in the face of wrongdoing. His presence was a testament to the uncompromising nature of divine justice, his strictness a reflection of the solemn duty entrusted to him as an Archangel of the Almighty. This, no doubt, was the face of a true and formidable executor of justice.
And you, the subject, had angered the divine beings that guarded the Caelan Empire, so much so that God himself sent the goddess of the land and one of his archangels to mitigate your rightful punishment.
“By the decree of the Almighty, you are granted a second chance to amend your sins and redeem your soul. You shall return to the mortal realm, to live your life anew and correct the sins that have stained your soul.”
“Should you fail to rectify your past transgressions, should you stray from the path of righteousness and succumb once more to the temptations of darkness, know that the consequences shall be severe and eternal.”
“For those who squander the gift of divine mercy shall be cast into the deepest depths of hell, where they shall endure a punishment of unending torment and suffering.”
In the presence of Archangel Raphael and Goddess Fortuna’s equally stern gazes, you were keenly aware of the magnitude of your transgressions and the severity of the judgment that awaited you. But even as you trembled beneath the weight of their scrutiny, you knew that their presence also offered you the opportunity for redemption, with your only task to prove yourself worthy of divine mercy.
Indeed, it was by your very hands that hundreds and thousands of Christian souls shed their blood. Innocent lives, both young and old, were cruelly taken at your command. The citizens of Caelum who fell sick from the spread of the plague. The esteemed Caelan advisors of your husband’s primogenitors, skinned alive and speared in pikes by the Tiber River. The wrongly accused maid who suffered the indignity of serving your husband, paraded unclothed through the streets and subjected to the brutality of the pear of anguish. The gallant and dignified knight, tortured mentally and physically in the atrocious dungeon. Now, you find yourself thrust back into the horrors of your former life ten years hence. A life of a noble lady who ought not to be blinded by her destructive love for the empire’s crown prince. 
Yet, could you truly navigate this life without ascending to the position as his empress?
As you tried to commune with the divine beings afore you, a haze in your vision transported you away from the heavenly space, realizing that you were already drawn back into the reality of your chamber, inhabiting the youthful frame of a twenty-year-old daughter of a duke. You found yourself too astonished to move, too shaken to speak, and too afraid to take any action in this new lease of life blessed upon you. At that very moment, your state of reverie was disrupted at the arrival of your maid, who entered your chamber in a humble servant garb.
Milena. The maid whose life was cut short by your hand in your past existence due to petty thievery. “My lady,” she spoke with a hint of respect and urgency, unaware of the ill-fate you had given her in your past life, “A visitor has arrived at the gates and requests an audience with you. Shall I show them in?” 
Too soon? Need it truly be so soon to engage with the people from your past life immediately after awakening to your old, yet younger body? Gazing upon your maid through the mirror, you asked, “Who is that intruder you speak of?” 
She bowed her head, her stance shifting into one of apologetic deference. The way she firmly stood by your door was a message to you that the intruder was not someone you could easily reject the presence of.
“The visitor is His Highness, Crown Prince Satoru.” 
⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊶⊶⊶⊶⊶♱⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷
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gzeidraws · 1 month
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*motorcycle noises*
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driaswrld · 5 months
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🪷 — A ROYAL AFFAIR . . . THE SCANDAL OF THE CHILDHOOD CONSORT
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LADY DRIA WRITES . . . ˚ ༘ *
🪷 dearest gentle reader, what is a princess to do when she's caught between two dashing princes, both of which are her childhood friends? — one her betrothed and the other her past love... 4.7k words.
🪷 prince gojo x reader x prince geto jjk regency/royal au, use of regency era terminology, longing and more longing.
🪷 taglist : (lmk if you want to be added or removed!) @angelshimaa @yunymphs @todorokies @satocidal @maeby-cursed @rinniessance @cinnabooonn @shegetsburned @starry-grace2 @selfishdoll @shuuennovirche @wishmemel @riaki @yazzzmints @aphroditisxc @gojorbit @izakyun @satoruoo @irisxyphium @zwtari @/lollipop974 @r0ckst4rjk @softgirlgonehaywire @lilvampirina @brianmaysclog
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CHAPTER ONE. . . ˚ ༘ *
L'INCOMPARABLE.
Talks of betrothal began in the last Spring of your youth.
Under the cherry blossom trees, you sit in silence, fuchsia petals decorating the length of your hair in messy scatters.
Satoru Gojo, crowned prince and heir to the Gojo throne, picks the fallen remnants of flowers from your hair one by one as the nobles watch on.
Whispers of ‘they would make such a beautiful match’ and ‘look how the Prince dotes on her’ echo in the brush of the gardens, women whispering among themselves and the men chortling between swings of their mallets — in a near deathly game of pall mall.
“Don’t hide from me,” Satoru dips his head, breath fanning the shell of your ear. If possible, the whispers intensify, cutting past your ears and you bite back a giggle, stifling down the thought that crosses your mind, attention whore.
“I’m not hiding, your highness.” You counter, shifting to the side, your smile hidden behind a porcelain teacup, swift sips of ginger warming your cheeks.
“It’s improper, you know.” The words linger in the air between soft wisps of wind, flurries of foreign fabrics and bright layers of skirts pass your vision — and yet, all is drowned out by him.
Your anointed Prince, the attention whore.
“Improper to gaze upon my companion?” Satoru scoffs, grinning wide, toothy, dimples.
Childhood found you both tethered like bee and nectar, always close, always coming back.
At first, it was through duty, sharp tongued ten year old Satoru Gojo, a prince born with a halo and the title of the realm’s strongest to his name, meeting you, the humble princess of the Western kingdom, born in valor and sprouted in pride, a warrior’s code.
It was a disastrous first few encounters—
(—but then he was your bestfriend, and you his. )
His dear mother, bless her soul, had taken the time out to host this marvelous garden party to welcome the newest maidens into their debuts – moreso, to marry Satoru off quicker than he could leave for another battle, chasing another war – and yet, he cared not to meet with any of the women or entertain them beyond an inch of his being.
Not around you, at least.
“You shouldn’t jest about these things—!” A snort leaves your mouth, and whereas the ever uppity ladies of the palace court gawk at you in utter disbelief and mild disgust, Satoru finds himself bellowing a boyish laugh.
That was the last time he’d laugh like that with you, before a warm spring of youth turned to a burning summer, hot with passion, scorched with lust.
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THE SCANDAL OF THE CHILDHOOD CONSORT.
Dearest gentle reader,
As all royal scandals do,
It started with an invitation.
We cordially invite you to the Gojo palace grounds to celebrate the betrothal of our crowned prince Satoru Gojo and his bride to be [name] [name].
This author finds herself compelled and rather . . . intrigued.
What a match made in heaven! Our beloved Prince Satoru and his most dearest childhood friend!
Your fingers tremble at your sides, the aura that is the strongest permeates your very being. The soft hum of piano keys coupled with string and bow becomes near inaudible – the power Satoru Gojo has on you is like a moth to a flame, lamb to slaughter.
But I assure you,
When it comes to matters of the heart —
Carefully, your feet carry you across the crowded ballroom, mass of bodies parting the instant they catch a glimpse of your eyes – that desperation is familiar in young women like you – and they pity you.
You, who should be above them, who should be the next Queen, the current Princess consort to be.
And yet.
“I’ve told you endlessly, I will take no wife!” Satoru’s voice is a staccato, bouncing off the walls of the vacant corridor adjacent to the ballroom, echoing past your ears.
Dare I say, our beloved crowned Prince
Is not the strongest.
“Some nerve you have, boy.”
Satoru’s father, the King, is a stoic man.
You’ve come to know this well in your youth. He rules firm and his word remains law. By no means is he the strongest or possesses any more battle capacity than that of any other noble, but he remains a political stronghold.
And his grip over his family — his subjects, remains unwavering.
“I don’t care for your affairs or your crown,” Satoru’s gaze remains hard, even as he meets his father’s ire in tow, and in such a barely secluded place too. “Let one of your bastards have it, my place is on the battlefield doing what you are too cowardly to.”
Your mind runs rampant, palms pressed against the cold wall concealing your presence.
You wonder what Satoru might be thinking — if he’d be so foolish as to forsake his lineage and do away with his duty, if he’d give up simply because his fate was not his choice — he wouldn’t.
No, Satoru is good and kind, and he would see this kingdom to a new realm of peace just with his bare hands alone.
“And that is all? You wish to do away with it simply because it does not suit your childish desires? I have given you everything! And the one thing I ask of you—”
You still yourself at the near animalistic growl that leaves Satoru’s lips.
“She will never be Queen.”
It cuts through you like blades of grass, familiar, scratching at your skin softly, pinpricks of green drawing blood from your calves.
It reminds you of when you were younger, more naive and susceptible to the follies of men and matters of the heart.
“Who’ll marry you if you spend your days swinging a sword and broadening your shoulders?”
“Aren’t there girls your age you can follow around? I don’t care if you’re a princess, we’re not friends.”
“I don’t know why you’d believe he’d ever want to court you.”
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Three months, thirteen days.
Your betrothal has long exceeded and broken the record of engagement wait time.
Most women would be married within the same month of betrothal, the longest and most respectable wait time being a month and a half, only due to cases of overdue dowry payments.
Three million dollars was your reverse dowry.
Paid directly from the royal treasury to your father, and four million dollars paid in return. That was how much yours and Satoru’s hands were worth to your families, a testament to the weight you’d both bear by wearing a crown.
Except, you hadn’t been crowned yet. Or married for that matter.
“—summer solstice hunt!” It’s Yuji who exclaims, voice filled with childlike wonder. Recently knighted by Satoru himself and a renowned protege of the Kingsguard, the boy is eager to please. “Who will you cast your bets on, your grace?”
The confines of Satoru’s private study function as a meeting room for idle chatting — he leaves the letters to his advisors when they are of little importance.
Or discards them entirely when he has company, like now.
You sink deeper into the cushioned seat, Satoru’s arm draped over the back of your chair. A tuft of snowy hair falls over his forehead and he breathes a chuckle, your weight curling in on itself with every rise and fall of his chest.
why don’t you want me why don’t you want me why don’t you want me why don't you want me
“It’s out of question to bet on one’s self, no?” Satoru chuckles and it earns a cackle from Yuji, who, despite himself, has already casted his own bet on his annointed Prince. “I wouldn’t want to make anyone’s head bigger than it ought to be.”
The summer and winter solstice brings with it two separate ceremonial festivals — the hunt being the most anticipated due to its cutthroat competition among nobles and peasants alike.
That, and the prize.
The winner of the hunt, the man or woman to capture the famed primordial stag — which is really a regular stag trained and bred to elude even the most skilled knights — would be rewarded a grand jewel from the Queen’s vault.
Gentle reader,
The famed jewel for the taking
This summer, is none other than—
“I’ve placed my bet on you,” you comment plainly with a shrug and Yuji beams.
It isn’t unlike you to root for one of Satoru’s proteges, the ones fairly skilled and new to knighthood – you’ve always found yourself cheering for the peonies in a garden full of roses — the underdogs full of potential . . .
Satoru glances over to you, and for a second you miss how his gaze lingers.
“You’re too kind, Princess…” Yuji sighs, near dreamily. “I will no doubt do well now that I have your favor on my side.”
( losing dogs, satoru wants to say. all you ever do is bet on losing dogs. )
“You have her bet, not her favor.” Satoru scoffs dramatically before you can even think to lend Yuji your well wishes. “It isn’t something given, it’s something won. And from a maiden, not a Princess consort.”
She’s spoken for, is all you hear though.
There’s an air of uncertainty that passes between you and Satoru that only thickens with your closeness.
A pale palm curls around the cross rail of the back of your chair and you lean into his touch subconsciously – it’s warm, secure – he’s saying, I have your favor, don’t I? Tell me I do.
—The champion’s jewel,
A wraith necklace fit for a Queen.
The L’Incomparable.
“Nevertheless, you have my good faith.” You interject, followed by a sharp inhale, and you stand abruptly from your seat. Satoru’s hand falls to his side. He knows what you're thinking.
Three months, thirteen days.
You’ve sat by and watched Satoru deny you marriage – his excuse, that he’s waiting for his coronation first – you’ve watched him continue to entertain the women around him like he’s done since he was merely a squire, plastering a smile on his face from this glass castle he calls home.
He’s close, but never too close. Stringing you on then letting you loose— it’s routine.
It’s eerily similar to your childhood.
“Yuji,” Satoru speaks, soft yet firm. The young boy is on his feet immediately and offers a swift bow to his majesty, handing his service in tow to the call. “Leave us.” Satoru commands, and just as swiftly as he came, Yuji is bowing to you and exiting through the study doors.
L’Incomparable.
The largest internally flawless diamond in the kingdom and the most expensive chain sitting in the Queen’s vault currently, worth eight billion dollars alone.
Allegedly, it was handcrafted as a gift from an ancient Gojo king to his mistress — whom he had knighted and sent off to fight in the war at her wishes once their affair had been brought to light and scrutinized.
A gift he only got to place on her corpse.
Even in death, he loved her. More than he loved his own wife and Queen.
And though many attempts had been made to destroy the necklace, it remains near indestructible.
“Something troubles you.” Satoru murmurs the moment the door clicks shut. His gaze remains strained forward on your form, from where you fiddle with the frayed hem of your gown, back turned to him.
“I simply think of the prospects of the hunt,” you retort. “There are many promising young competitors traveling to partake— I fear my Prince would simply be. . . thwarted, is all.”
L’Incomparable is not a jewel of love.
It's a sickening story of a woman who loved a man who could not love her back in the way she deserved.
A woman who took what she was given, secret meetings, hushed whispers and fleeting gazes.
And when he did, finally love her back wholly and ardently, unable to bury it behind a locked door in the dungeon he called a heart — she was already gone.
“You doubt me?” Satoru’s voice is closer now, and you wonder when he even stood up – if he'd been taking small steps toward you the entire time.
“No.” It leaves your mouth like a prayer, an oath, worship. Every ounce of confidence you have is in him. He has protected you, kept you, safeguarded your sanity and treated you with grace— “Never that.”
( —he is your friend. nothing more than that. )
He exhales, and you hear the faint sound of a swallow, the click of his tongue. Your ear feels hot with the proximity, yet, he inches closer still.
“Will you give this to me, then?” He whispers, faint, uncertain — almost desperate.
And you turn, faces inches apart, breath mingling. “What is it you wish of me, my Prince?” Your pupils dilate.
“Your Prince,” Satoru repeats, like it knocked the wind out of him. It's a common way to address the monarch, you’ve said it before as have others. “. . . asks for your favor in the upcoming hunt.”
He keeps his hands folded behind him, curled into fists and trembling. Your Prince. Yours. Yours.
He’s a gentleman. He was raised right.
This urge—
( you’re his friend. his advisor. his confidant. this is not what he wants. )
The urge to strip you down to nothing but your chemise, lay you on his desk and hike your legs over his hips, show you things you’ve only seen in dreams or read in books — like he’s done to so many women before — he promises himself he’s not a rake, he’s just a man, but when you look at him like that and say his title so softly—
( it will pass. )
“Then,” your breath slows as he steps forward, so easily leaving you pressed back against the hardwood desk, caged by him. “I will grant my Prince my favor.”
Satoru watches in earnest, places his hands on either side of you on the desk as you remove one of your gloves.
Pure white, pearl decor, lace trim.
He would've laughed if he wasn't so enthralled by such a simple thing. Satoru wants to pull the other glove off with his teeth.
“I’ll return it to you,” he says, a promise. He takes the glove as you hand it to him, leaning forward and chasing the remnants of your fingertips against his once you pull away. “When I win.”
( and maybe then, you’ll understand i am devoted to you, wholly and utterly, if only in these moments and never again. )
There's a knock at the door, brief and soft. A maid, come to drop off another stack of letters.
And just as quickly as Satoru had found himself against you, he’s across the room, opening the door.
As if you had never been there.
The only evidence that he had even touched you is the lace cupped in his palm, middle and index tracing over a minute pearl.
L’Incomparable is a jewel of longing.
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Morrow brings with it the beginning of joyous festivities.
You woke to another trousseau. This time, from a distant cousin in the Easternmost kingdom.
Attached was a letter of the newest development in her love life – said development being a defected knight nonetheless.
It made you giggle.
The palace corridors are bustling with life.
Servants and attendants eager to welcome early visitors who have come for the summer solstice, robust back and forth on decorations and food and gossip and many a’ things outside the realm of possibility to be discussed in one sitting.
Your lady in waiting, Areta, whom you’ve known since your youth, creeps into your room with a grin as wide as a war banner – you immediately assume the worst, mischief is your pastime but you fear the poor girl takes ‘eavesdropping on court gossip’ to another level.
“My lady, you would not believe—” Areta huffs, journeying to sit with you on the balcony, wiping an imaginary bead of sweat from her brow. “The things I’ve heard today!”
“You hear things everyday, I fear.” You indulge her, as always. And she begins to talk your ear off, all in good faith of course.
Down below in the courtyard, is the sound of smacking wood and the occasional chorus of baritone conversation.
Satoru, who should be attending treaty meetings with his father, bides his time sparring on the cobblestone with the other men of the Kingsguard – the noise wakes you most mornings.
“—talking to Julietta, you know? The girl who attends to the countess? And she said—”
You hum along to Areta’s words, eyes peering over the edge of the balcony, gaze fixed on the crown Prince.
His snowy hair is damp with sweat, Victorian style dress shirt rolled up at the sleeves, every swing of his wooden sword causes a commotion — muscles in his back flexing under the sunlight, so easily seen beneath the thin white fabric.
“—that her lady told her that she heard from a cousin-in-law who works at the docks that—”
You wonder what expression Satoru has as he pummels through his underlings playfully, hardly sparring but more play fighting. You imagine he’s grinning wide, crystalline blue eyes shimmering with glee—
“—that Prince Geto is coming for the hunt!”
You choke. Audibly.
Areta is quick to shut her mouth and lend you a concerned gaze. “Princess, are you—”
“I’m alright.” You wave a hand, catching your breath. Prince Geto. If you think about it too hard, you fear your chest might burst open and spill out your insides.
Oh, fair reader, it seems
Our dear protagonist has come upon
A treasure trove of memories.
“You were, ehem, saying?” You twirl your index finger in the air as if to prompt a rewind. “About. . .”
Areta raises an eyebrow, but nods slowly. “About Julietta’s lady’s cousin-in-law?” The girl questions, dim.
“No!” You interject immediately, twirling your finger in the other direction. Fast forward. “The other thing— the thing you heard!”
“Oh, about Prince Geto!”
Dearest reader,
Suguru Geto enters.
A man of great mystique,
the northern Prince.
And striking opposite of
our beloved crowned Prince Satoru.
“Yes! About him—”
Suguru Geto.
In many ways you could say he was Satoru’s best friend, his greatest rival and worst enemy all at the same time.
Through solstice events, formal gatherings and other royal duties, the same way you met Satoru, you met Suguru through him.
“Well, Julietta’s lady’s cousin-in-law works at the docks,” Areta begins again, regrettably. “You know? The private harbor where all the spirit and wheat shipments come in, but that's besides the point—”
( suguru was your bestfriend too. in every way it counted. )
“Areta.” You coo, coaxing her to get back to the main point. Why was Suguru coming for the summer solstice hunt? After being away in the North for so long, why now?
The only correspondence you’d had with him was a few letters years ago. And then he stopped writing.
“So, Julietta’s lady’s cousin-in-law saw the Geto family's ship dock in the private harbor!” The girl exclaims hushedly and you hum to yourself, curious.
Rightfully, you’d hold a grudge about never hearing from Suguru.
But in this moment, you feel no resentment or hurt. Instead, excitement that you might see your old friend once more.
And maybe, you, Suguru and Satoru could spend the summer solstice together— just like old times.
( and that’d be enough to get rid of the heat in your chest when satoru gets too close to you. )
Faithful reader,
she could not have been
more wrong.
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Four days remain until the summer solstice hunt.
Satoru is scarce around the palace in preparation for his coronation coming soon and treaty arrangements.
You, on the other hand, have exhausted all your hobbies, biding your idle time helping the other ladies at court pick their gowns for tomorrow's feast — the first of seven nightly ones during the solstice.
Another trousseau is delivered to your chambers when you wake.
This time, you’re taken aback.
Instead of an elaborate stack of gifts, a box of jewelry or even a scandalous collection of seductive corsets and nightgowns to remind you of your predicament—
There's a long wooden box, coupled with a sealed parcel.
Inside the box is a beautiful gown, deep burgundy and shapely. Fitted with a low bust cut and short sleeves. It's a mouth watering dress, one you would've bought yourself if you even knew it existed.
But you've never seen a dress designed like this before, down to the intricate details of the underskirts and the hemming.
It's almost intimate.
When you finally open the parcel, you expect a note, but there's none. Instead, inside is a pair of black silk gloves, so smooth it melts in your palms – your mind immediately goes to Satoru and the glove he still holds hostage for you.
You don't think twice before telling Areta that this is what you’ll be wearing to tomorrow’s feast.
( you ought to thank satoru for this gift by wearing it, no? )
˚ ༘ *
The lights in the dining hall are dimmed perfectly to match the moonlight.
When you slip in from the adjacent corridor, greeting visiting nobles and residents of the palace court alike, a sense of nausea floods the pit of your stomach – what will Satoru say when he sees you? Will he like how the dress looks – or rather how you look in it?
Wait, why do you even care?
You’ve never really cared for these things— it must be the tea you had earlier. You nearly feel faint.
Darling reader,
it was in fact,
not the tea.
Your thoughts don't get the chance to linger very long, as the soft hum of music slows to a halt, and everyone begins journeying to their assigned seats.
Naturally, you fiddle with your gloves, not wanting to sit down at the second table yet.
One, it would be very impudent of a lady of your caliber to be seated without a proper escort by a gentleman.
And two, even though you did decline the few men who asked to escort you, you can't help the anxiety that floods your veins when you begin to realize that so many people are sitting already and you're not!
Sure, you're a Princess, but can't a girl be a little shy?
( not that you were waiting for satoru or anything of course. )
Devoted reader,
our protagonist
is in denial.
“It pains me to see such a beautiful lady left unaccompanied.” A voice flits past your ears, so close you can taste it on your tongue — incense, sandalwood.
( oh god, no. )
Your body turns in an instant, almost too quick, and your underskirts almost trip you as the weight sends you wobbling forward.
“Easy—” Suguru Geto’s arm darts out to curl around your waist, steadying you.
“You're here—” “You’re still clumsy—”
The both of you lock eyes at your shared unison of speech, then chuckle to yourselves.
You let your eyes wander over his features, how much he's grown over these past years.
He’s still as ethereal as the royal painters would describe. Prince Geto, the joy to paint, once in an era type beauty, born to be depicted in art, they’d say.
You don't doubt that.
“You look well,” you say. Suguru glances down at you and shakes his head, as if that is too much of a compliment for him to take. “No, honestly— I don't tease, you look very. . . stately.”
“Are you trying to call me old in a polite way, my lady?” He feigns offense, tilting his head to the side a little. You cover your mouth to laugh.
You don't miss the way his eyes linger on your gloves.
( oh, the gloves ! )
“Your highness,” leaves your mouth in a whisper, half teasing, half regal, and you give a brief curtsy, which he counters with a swift bow. “Would you do me the pleasure?” You grin, extending your hand to him.
Suguru — never Prince Geto, not to you at least — had been your solace, your comfort and your refuge.
The greatest friend you could have asked for in your youth.
“The pleasure is all mine.” Suguru whispers, taking your hand in earnest, escorting you over to the table and pulling your chair out for you — settling himself in the seat across from you, on the other side of the table.
( what a coincidence. )
˚ ༘ *
Time passes in waves.
People are whispering, no doubt. As they always do about you. No matter how hushed, you always hear them.
‘Look at the poor Princess consort, sitting beside an empty chair.’
‘You’d think she’d refer to herself as Lady now instead of Consort—’
‘To think even a Princess is not immune from such things. . .’
‘These things happen when you're sold off to a future King.’
“Bitter.”
Your head snaps up at the sound, dessert fork halting mid stab into your slice of cake.
Suguru’s eyes meet yours, as if he’d been looking at you the entire time, like he reads your thoughts as his own.
The people sitting at the table alongside you both fix their attention on him, the whispers halting.
“The cake,” he leans back in his chair, shrugging strands of his hair out of his face, looking down the length of the table at the spectators, nonchalant. “It's terribly bitter.”
You think you’d open your mouth to scold him a little, to not joke about what people say, royals should never engage in such petty gossip – but instead, you smile in gratitude.
( bitter. everybody's so bitter in this place. )
“That's quite unfortunate.” A familiar voice rings out, your fork sliding out of your hand to rest on the edge of your plate. “I hoped it would be rather sweet tonight.”
When you look over your shoulder, Satoru is already at your side, bending a knee and outstretching an open palm to you. “My Princess.”
He looks. . . disheveled.
Not completely out of order, it's something so small — so minute that only those who know him well would be able to point it out. From the crease of his vest to the shaky rasp in his voice—
And the woman in your peripheral stumbling back into the dining hall from the garden entrance on shaky legs. . .
( so that's what he was doing. )
“Your grace,” leaves your lips in a whisper and he kisses the back of your palm before sinking into his seat.
The way he presses his middle finger against his bottom lip like he’d been burned by the silk makes you raise an eyebrow. Does he not even have the common courtesy of pretending to like the gloves he gifted?
“I’m pleased you took time out of your busy schedule for us regular people.” Suguru chuckles, and Satoru’s mother, sitting near you all at the head table seems far from pleased.
“Well, a small act of kindness goes a long way.” Satoru parries and you force a smile, stabbing your dessert once more. “Especially for someone as regular as you, Prince Suguru.”
If you had initially thought this would be a quaint rekindling of an old childhood friendship, you never felt more wrong than in this moment — the air settles thick between you three.
“Isn't the future King Gojo just so kind?” Suguru addresses you, and you swallow, stifling your laugh.
“I pray for your marriage. . .” One of the Dukes seated at the table jests, to which you fiddle with the hem of your dress, the burgundy falling over your palms as a chorus of laughter ensues.
Marriage.
Suguru notices your gaze on him – or rather far away – and he smiles to snap you out of it. “Lady name?”
Just then Satoru’s hand reaches for yours under the table, halting your fiddling with the fabric, his grip steady and soft.
“Princess Consort.” Satoru interjects with a flat lipped smile, which could be perceived as kind, but to Suguru. . . “She changed titles.”
When was the last time someone called you by your name and not Princess consort? Always that. Not even Princess name.
“Pardon me,” you mumble beneath your breath, your grip on your dress going slack. You shrug your hand free from Satoru’s grip, abandoning your seat in an instant.
Satoru rises from his chair only four seconds afterward.
“Name—” he calls to you, following you out of the dining hall and down a vacant corridor.
Your footsteps evade him as he chases after you wide steps.
But he stops dead in his tracks when he hears you slam the door to an empty side room shut.
My dearest reader,
brace yourself for the
next publication.
Your kind author
bids you farewell.
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mafuwara · 3 months
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hona-hona · 3 months
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time to start the show! (i really like this game)
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vaniillamyk · 8 months
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THE CLOCK STRIKES MIDNIGHT
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kreideprinzu · 1 year
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encounter
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v-3-rdure · 2 months
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futaber..
(aka a style appreciation post .howd they nail her so hard when everyone else looks atrocious,,)
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greeenchrysanthemums · 3 months
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Gem and Etho are from the same snowy mountain village, and it was his footsteps she followed in when she left her home behind to join the royal army in search of something greater.
Etho never wanted to be a solider, he only did it to protect his home and his family.
For as long as she could remember, all Gem has ever wanted was to be a knight, to be the strongest and the greatest.
Gem has no idea that Etho is the same knight that inspired her when she was young, his appearance and mannerisms much too different for her to make the connection.
Etho knows exactly who she is. All he can see when they cross paths is the little girl who followed him around the village with a wooden sword. He hates what she has become.
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senblades · 4 months
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Royal trio waiting to kick Maruki's ass, colourised
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annoyingvoidzombie · 8 months
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The Best Thing I Saw, Enjoy It 💙
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mafuwara · 14 days
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Comic gift for @swerveysilks's fic Marvel at Flowers You'll Have Made!
It was a challenge to do because it's pretty much my first comic in years but I had a lot of fun!!
B&W version ↓
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I tried to do the thing on those soulmate au when people don't see color until they see their soulmate but it ended up pretty cheesy so it's there as a second option lmao
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wen-kexing-apologist · 7 months
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A Must Read
So glad @waitmyturtles brought my attention to this Teen Vogue article about purity culture. This is the start to a very good conversation about queer sex on screen, and as your resident “writing academic papers about sex in Only Friends” enthusiast I say everyone who watches queer media and BLs specifically should read this.
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buckrecs · 1 year
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Hello! Do you perhaps have recommendations for Alpha!bucky?
Alpha!Bucky
masterlist | req masterlist
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ONESHOT
Crave by @harrylovex
you realise that you can’t survive your heat without bucky.
intensional by @noctumbra
alpha!bucky sends you a shirtless pic and then offers to spend your heat with him. feelings ensue.
scent by @noctumbra
“you’re one eager and hungry kitten,” bucky whispered in your ear as he licked over your scent gland, where his bite situated perfectly.
vanilla by @noctumbra
his scent was the other thing that made you go stupid other than his eyes: leather, a bit of vanilla, oranges and wet wood.
wet by @noctumbra
your mating sessions are always intense with bucky.
butterfly by @idy-ll-ique
bucky's going into rut. y/n volunteers to help him. feelings come out.
Let Me Love You by @slothspaghettiwrites
When an Omega is feeling very anxious or nervous their Alpha will hold them close while gently crooning and scenting them until they calm down.
Dating apps are stupid by @buckylattes
You decide to download this dating app, well….Natasha persuades you into it. You make a profile and agree to just have it for a week. If nothing becomes of it then you can delete it. But….you swipe right on this handsome man who’s description shows him out to be a gentleman like you’re looking for. So…what happens when he matches with you???
make you mine by @bonky-n-steeb
Bucky keeps his distance from you thinking you can do better than him. but he loses all his restraints when he sees you with another alpha.
to love is to burn by @bonky-n-steeb
You go into heat at the worst moment in the history of time, maybe ever.
took one hit and I was gone by @bonky-n-steeb
after the rise of hydra, your entire life turned into a living nightmare. you lost everything you held precious, your job, your house, your degree, even hope. but then you’re assigned as a mate to him, your enemy and your only ray of hope, James Buchanan Barnes.
little red riding hood by @bonky-n-steeb
your big bad alpha chases you across the woods.
Break Lights by @boxofbonesfic
his omega by @bucksfucks
bucky helps you through an expected heat.
ever since by @syntheticavenger
Bucky Barnes finds his center in a late night subway ride.
By Chance by @green-eyeddragonfanfiction
Female!Reader is an Omega. Alphas and Omegas are rare, and Reader’s been able to avoid alphas through sheer force of will and luck in equal parts.
Feral by @bucknastysbabe
And You’re Mine by @winterarmyy
In which Bucky, the big, scary, 'undesired alpha' was tricked into a blind date where he met his precious little omega.
Protector by @rookthorne
After an eternity of being held against your will, and just as long having been forced to watch your alpha suffer at the hands of the wicked, an opportunity arose. An opportunity so rare, so unique, that it would never be offered again. It was time to escape, and it was time to bathe the halls in their blood – never again would you be held by the bars of a cell, not if he could stop it.
SERIES
Heart and Soul by @all1e23
Alphas only brought trouble. The only thing they are good for is bringing their Omega’s pain and forced submission. They were dangerous, reckless and cruel. There wasn’t an ounce of kindness in any of them.  She didn’t need an Alpha, and she certainly didn’t believe in that True Mates fairytale. That was just some fabricated fable Alphas made up to trick innocent doe-eyed Omegas. She wasn’t going to fall for that.  Not again.No Alpha would ever get her to believe that love truly exists. And then, James Buchanan Barnes walked into her life.
Better Like This by @simsadventures
You are the newest addition to New York’s elite team of Detectives concentrating on domestic violence and rape, which everyone calls the Avengers.  You are an Omega, very bubbly and open to everyone around you, and everyone is super sweet to you, except one person- Bucky, your true mate.  Will you be able to destroy the walls he has been building around his heart for years, or will he reject you and break your heart forever? 
Some Alpha by @ofstarsandvibranium
Bucky is an Alpha, but can never seem to find someone who wants him to be their Alpha. Until he finds you, a Beta, who’s as firey as an Alpha, yet also tender-hearted like an Omega.
Heal by @chucksfavouriteprophet
For months you managed to distance yourself from Bucky Barnes, the alpha you long for. But one night you have no choice but to comfort him, something which brings out emotions in both of you. Except it also brings out emotions in the Winter Solider, which results in a devastating turn of events that neither of you might be able to come back from.
All The King’s Men by @nastybuckybarnes
Your father always said that if it weren’t for your presentation, he’d think you were an Alpha. There’s a reason for that. Growing up in a world where Omegas are treated like garbage, you’ve fought for the respect that you have. Until you’re sold off to an old King desperate for a bride. But you will not lay down and present for your new husband. No, you will fight back.
Mr. Grumpy by @holylulusworld
Bucky hates omegas. You change his mind.
knife play by @helvonasche
They're on the run and Bucky goes into rut.
Knight In Rusty Armor by @revengingbarnes
For the sake of politics and to get rid of you, their omega daughter, the King and Queen of England marry you off to the King of France. Settling into an unfamiliar monarchy is a tedious process all by itself, but a new problem arises soon after your arrival at your new home.One of the Knights turns out to be your true mate. Your Alpha. The one you are meant to be with. But you’re mated to someone else. And that someone else is the King of France.
Masterlist by @angrythingstarlight
Masterlist by @holylulusworld
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coconuts-are-mammals · 8 months
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gays, claim your "I survived the summer of 2023" tokens here
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