#there is a thin line between hate and dislike

[girlinterupptedsblog]

Rafe hates condoms

Warnings: Smut, unprotected sex, Rafe being a whiny brat, slight breeding kink, dirty talk, mild choking, praise/degradation, established relationship, toxic tendencies, possessiveness, explicit language.

Summary: If there’s one thing Rafe Cameron hates more than anything, it’s condoms. He doesn’t just dislike them—he despises them. The thought of something being between you two, even a thin layer of latex, makes his blood boil. But on the nights when you know you’re fertile, you insist—just to be safe.

Rafe was already worked up, eyes dark, hands rough as he dragged them down your body. His shirt was long gone, his jeans undone, your legs spread open on the bed where he had been kissing and touching you for what felt like forever. He was desperate—aching to be inside you.

But then you said it.

"Condom."

And just like that, he was pouting, pulling back like you’d just ruined his whole night. His brows furrowed, lips twitching in frustration.

“Are you serious?” His voice was laced with irritation, but beneath it, there was something else—pure, undiluted disappointment.

You sighed, already knowing this was coming. “Rafe, it’s just for tonight. Just in case.”

He flopped onto his back beside you, dragging a hand down his face like this was some unbearable punishment. “I don’t even wanna fuck anymore,” he muttered dramatically, throwing an arm over his eyes.

You rolled your eyes. “You’re such a baby.”

“I don’t care.” He turned his head toward you, lips set in a stubborn line. “I hate them. Hate them. Why do you wanna put something between us?” His voice was softer now, more genuine, like the thought truly upset him.

“You know why.”

“I’d pull out,” he argued, but even he knew that was a weak excuse. You’d had this conversation before. Rafe didn’t pull out. Rafe buried himself deep inside you every time, groaning about how you were meant to take him. And honestly? You weren’t strong enough to stop him when he got like that.

“That’s not a risk I’m taking.”

He let out an exaggerated sigh, rolling onto his side to face you. His fingers found your hip, tracing slow, lazy circles. “You don’t trust me?”

“I don’t trust us.”

That made him smirk—because you were right. The second he was inside you, all sense of logic went out the window.

“I hate this,” he mumbled, nuzzling into your neck like a sulking child. “It’s not the same. I wanna feel you.”

“You still will.”

“No, I won’t.” His teeth grazed your jaw. “I need to feel you, baby. Need to be inside you, just like this.” His hand slipped between your thighs, fingertips teasing your soaked folds. “You want this too, don’t you?”

You did. God, you did.

But you stayed firm. “Condom, Rafe.”

His jaw clenched. He was fighting himself, torn between his desperate need to be inside you and his absolute hatred for anything separating him from you.

Then he sat up, running a hand through his hair with an exasperated groan. “Fine. Whatever. Give it to me.”

You reached for the nightstand, grabbing the small silver packet. But before you could hand it to him, he snatched it from your fingers and tossed it across the room.

“Rafe—”

“Oops.” His smirk was downright devious. “Guess we can’t use it now.”

Your eyes narrowed. “You think I don’t have more?”

“I think,” he murmured, rolling back over you, pinning your wrists above your head, “you don’t really want me to.”

Your breath hitched as he ground against you, his cock heavy and hard against your thigh.

“Tell me to stop,” he challenged, lips brushing against yours. “Tell me to put one on.”

You swallowed thickly, pulse racing. You should. You needed to.

But then he rolled his hips again, pressing against your entrance, teasing you, taunting you—

And all logic disappeared.

“Fuck it,” you whispered.

His grin was victorious. “That’s my girl.”

Then he was pushing inside, bare and deep, groaning at the feeling of you wrapped around him with nothing in between.

[f1goat]

roommates ; lando norris + part two

In which you have to live with your brothers best friend who you really don't like, Lando Norris, and his many 'girlfriends' for a while, but there's always a thin line between love and hate.

masterlist - playlist

lando norris x fem!verstappen reader tw: nothing much yet expect that Lando is a player + i don't proofread + smut will come next chapters!

That night you find out why Lando was dressed this nicely. Al though, Lando texted you before hand so maybe you could have guessed it before. He texted you to let you know that he was heading out to a club, not wanting you to startle you when he came back late in the night. At first you thought you would sleep right through it, but when he unlocked the door you are wide awake. And if that didn’t awake you, it would be the stupid giggles of some girl that would wake you up. You’re going to kill Lando. 

When you hear the girl moan, you’re pretty sure that you want to kill Lando. He annoys you so much right now. You hear the girl moan again, it almost makes you sick. They stumble and you hear the door of Lando his room opening. He really didn’t lie about the walls being thin. Are you suppose to listen to everything now? You don’t want to, that’s for sure.

You let out a soft annoyed groan. What do you do now? You already turned around in the bed multiple times. You’re not going to fall asleep again when Lando is fucking a girl right next to you and you can hear everything. Frustrated you grab your phone from the nightstand and open your messages to send Lando a text. 

Then you notice the fresh flowers again. You think about earlier, Lando told you that there is in fact a cleaner and that she’s coming tomorrow. Once a week and always on the same day. That means she didn’t brought the fresh flowers. Could that mean that Lando put them here? 

You discard those thoughts when you hear the girl moaning again. It surprises you that you don’t hear Lando. For a few seconds you wonder what he sounds like during those moments, but you try to forget about those thoughts quickly. You can’t think about him like that. Quickly you focus on the text you’re about to send. 

Y/N: I really don’t want to hear some random girl moaning the whole night 

It’s not like you expect a response from Lando. He’s probably balls deep in the random girl right now, so the it’s not like he will look at his phone. You do hear his ringtone on the other side of the wall. 

Lando does however read your text. He even has a special notification for you programmed in his phone. So when he hears it, he directly grabs his phone. It earns him a nasty look from the girl underneath him. Oops? When he reads your text, he doesn’t know what to do at first. He thinks about texting you back and teasing you if you’re jealous. But eventually he just puts his hand on the girls mouth. 

“Be quiet,” he tells the girl. 

She shows him an annoyed look, but he doesn’t pay attention to it. Harshly he fucks her. In the mean time he only thinks about you. It’s going exactly as every other time. Some random girl is laying underneath him. He’s fucking with a fast pace and wants to be done soon, not taking his time for the girl. Every time it seems like a good idea to bring someone home, but when his dick is inside of them he can only think about you. This time his mind is focused on the way you looked in only that damned towel. It helps him to orgasm rather quickly, to the disliking of the girl. 

When he’s done, Lando is quick to tell the girl to fuck off. He never lets them sleep over. There has never slept a girl in his bed before. Normally he gives them a bit more time to calm down or to talk, but he feels ashamed about himself and wants nothing more then this girl to leave. 

You’re more then surprised when you hear Lando telling the girl to be quiet and to walk her out only minutes later. Is this the way he’s treating those girls? You think about giving Lando a piece of your mind, but you’re not in the mood for an argument. He can do whatever he wants. 

“Do you want a midnight snack?” Lando asks you while softly knocking on your door. “I know you’re still awake babygirl,” he adds when he feels himself getting impatiently. 

You let out a soft sigh and get out of the bed. When you open your bedroom door, Lando is almost in shock when he looks at you. You’re dressed in only his shirt and a pair of panties. He can almost see them. The shirt is just long enough to cover your ass. He reminds himself to give you a smaller shirt next time. 

“So, midnight snack?” You ask Lando when he doesn’t say anything after you appeared in front of him. He is quick to nod and to take you to the kitchen with him. 

A couple minutes later you’re eating ice cream. Lando is joking about how his trainer is going to get mad at him for having a cheat day like this. You can’t focus. You keep thinking about how Lando treated that poor girl. He literally used her to orgasm and send her home afterwards. It makes even less sense that he’s eating ice cream with you now. He could have done that with her and then send her home. Right? 

“Do you always treat girls like that?” You ask Lando suddenly. You can’t withhold the question anymore. 

Lando lets out a soft sigh. “I don’t expect you to get it,” he tells you, “but those girls use me as well.” 

“They use you as well?” You ask confused. In your eyes Lando is the one who uses them. 

“Yeah,” Lando agrees, “Every girl that I bring home comes up to me and asks me if I’m the Lando Norris. After that they will flirt with me, try to take pictures for their Instagram story for more followers, keep asking me to buy them and their friends drinks.. and more like that.”

“So you take them home for a quick fuck and tell them to fuck off?” You ask.

Lando doesn’t know what to say. He knows you’re right, but he doesn’t want to say it like that. He watches you take a spoon full of ice cream inside your mouth. It almost feels like you’re looking at him with disgust. He realizes that he’s a massive player and doesn’t treat those girls right, but he doesn’t know how to change. And what will distract him then. He can’t keep thinking about you the whole day. 

“Maybe,” he eventually confesses, “I know it’s bad.” 

“Really bad,” you agree.

“I know,” Lando sighs. 

“You know, if you would have eaten some ice cream with her and then made her leave, it would be better,” you tell Lando, “I don’t even know why you just didn’t do that. Like why call me over for a midnight snack if there was someone around?” 

“It’s more fun with you babygirl,” Lando says without thinking about his words. 

“Liar,” you laugh. 

+++

The following night, the exact same happens. Lando texted you beforehand that he was heading out again, a small three hours later you hear him stumble back into the apartment. You hear something fall and how Lando is stumbling to walk around. The noises are followed by a high pitched giggle. Great, another girl. When you hear the room door next to you open and close, you’re already annoyed. 

“I can’t believe you’re the real Lando Norris,” you hear the girl say. Is this what Lando meant yesterday night? “I’m going to have sex with the Lando Norris,” she continues. You wonder if anyone knows him at all, instead of knowing him like ‘the Lando Norris formula one driver’. Slowly you start to understand what Lando actually meant last night. You start to feel sorry for him. 

When you hear the girl moaning loudly, your earlier feelings are quick to dissolve. Why do they have to be so fucking loud? It surprises you when you hear Lando softly moan as well this time. This girl must be better then the one from yesterday. 

Lando can’t focus on anything else then you. He knows it isn’t you who’s moaning underneath him, but still. His mind if full with images of you. He can’t stop thinking about the way you looked yesterday night, dressed in only his shirt and a string. Fuck. If he keeps thinking about you like this, he won’t even last a minute anymore. 

In the mean time you’re sending annoyed texts to your brother. Complaining about Lando of course. Not that Max can do anything about it, but you want him to know how annoyed you are with this whole situation. When you hear Lando moan again, your attention stays focused on the sound in the room next to you. 

You almost don’t hear what happens next. The unknown girl is moaning loudly, but suddenly stops. 

He can’t stop thinking about you. When Lando remembers how you looked in only that fucking towel, he almost loses it. He thinks about fucking you. Would you feel nice around his cock? He is pretty sure that you would be the perfect fit. He tries to imagine how it would be to have sex with you. He knows for sure that it would be a lot more pleasurable. He suspects that you’re a bit bratty, but he wants nothing more then to fuck that out of you. 

“Fuck, y/n,” Lando whimpers when he feels his orgasm getting close. 

Fuck. The girl underneath him is quick to move away from him. Lando almost slaps himself for being this stupid. It isn’t the first time that he says your name, but now you’re sleeping in the room next to him. What if you heard? 

You doubt if you heard it correct, did Lando really moan out your name? Your doubts are quick to disappear when you hear the girl yelling at him. Now you’re pretty sure you heard it right. Lando moaned out your name. What the fuck. 

Within a couple seconds you hear how Lando his door is opened, only to be closed again with a loud sound. Is this girl slamming doors? You want to get out of bed and to look at everything that is going on, but it can’t be smart to do so. In the mean time, there are multiple questions spooking through your head. Why did Lando moan out your name? Could it be that he was thinking about you while fucking that girl? Curious you get out of bed.

Lando sighs when he follows the girl. He needs to do some damage control. You can’t find out what just happened. Although Lando is afraid that it’s already too late for that. “Who’s she?” The girl asks him angrily. 

“No one,” he is quick to react. 

“So you’re just moaning out a strangers name?” She asks him even more annoyed then before, “I’m not fucking stupid Lando.”

“I’m sorry,” Lando eventually says, he doesn’t know what else to do. It’s always a mess when this happens. 

“Do you even know my name?”

Lando almost laughs when he realizes that he doesn’t even know the name of the girl. God, he’s such an idiot. Before he can apologize again or make up a lie, the girl is already walking out of his apartment. He sighs. What a fucking mess, he can only think. Another reason to stop fucking with all sorts of random girls. 

When he walks back towards his room, he is quick to notice you. This is making things only worse. You’re dressed in Lando his shirt again, this time paired with a short bottom. Lando can’t stop looking at you. He notices that you want to say something, but he’s quick to interrupt your tries. 

“Not now babygirl,” he says tiredly. 

“Why not?” You ask him with a soft tone of annoyance in your voice. Who does he think he is? He can awake you in the middle of the night with some random girl for two nights in a row? And you can’t even say anything now?

“I’m not in the mood,” Lando reacts. 

“I was’t in the mood to hear that girl,” you throw back annoyed, “but it still happened.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Lando sighs, “I’m sorry for her loud moans.”

“I’m not talking about her moans,” you state. 

Lando knows exactly what you are talking about right now, but he really doesn’t want to hear it. He walks towards his own bedroom and quickly opens the door. 

“I heard you as well.”

Your words follow him in his bedroom. Fuck, of course you heard him. Lando sighs and starts to feel ashamed for himself. 

+++

The following day, Lando takes every chance to avoid you. His morning consisted of doing a lot more training then normal, then he went out for groceries and now he’s meeting with your brother, Max, for lunch. 

“So, is your plan already working?” Max asks him jokingly. 

Lando sighs annoyed and shakes his head as a no. Max softly chuckles. Lando still doesn’t know why Max is this okay with him crushing on his little sister. Max even encourages it and tries to help Lando the best he can. Something he really doesn’t understand either.

“Come on mate,” he tries to uplift his friend, “you knew it wouldn’t change that fast.”

“I know,” Lando confesses, “but I think I fucked things up a bit more instead of making things better.” 

“You’ll find a way to fix it,” Max continues, “Maybe you can impress her with dinner or something as an apology?” 

Lando softly nods. It’s not like he can cook, but maybe he can try. He thinks about the groceries he bought earlier and tries to think of a nice home cooked meal with them. Maybe he should head back to the store later. 

“I don’t get it,” Lando sighs, “Normally I can take home every girl and fuck them without any effort, but with Y/N I can’t even think straight while talking. Can’t I just fuck her instead of trying to flirt with her?” 

Max laughs. “You’re an idiot,” he tells Lando, “If you’re going to fuck with her, you’ll probably only fall harder for her.”

a/n ; a bit short, but things will get better & longer later on :) thanks for the positive comments on the first one everyone!!

part three

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[glamourscat]

DELPHINIUM | FEM! KAISER X READER X FEM! NESS

schönes mädchen = beautiful girl | liebling= darling | SMUT | You hate Kaiser. You want her just as much. And when she and her little pet corner you in the locker room, there’s no running from the inevitable | 1985 words | PT 2 | PT3 | PT4

You disliked her. Hell, even hated her. Michaela Kaiser. The thorn in your side. That itch that you can’t scratch away. And yet, the object of all your desires. That haunting figure who torments your dreams, leaving you sleepless, burning, as you wake up panting from visions more erotic than anything you’ve ever known.

You couldn’t comprehend it. How someone so atrociously beautiful could be so poisonous. Like a delphinium. Gorgeous, tall blue flowers that, on appearance, are delicate, majestic. But only the more experienced can recognize the toxicity of the plant, preferring to stay away from it. And you could, as a self proclaimed expert, recognize the signs.

Her overconfidence was nothing more than a way to overcompensate for her deep rooted insecurities. That hint of narcissism hidden beneath charisma. And an ego the size of the Sahara Desert. But between recognizing the signs and wanting to fuck her senseless, there was a thin line. A line that was slowly crumbling away with each day spent in her presence.

Her and that damned girl she keeps around, following her like a pet, so damned hot too. Her and that stupid blonde hair, cut in a weird wolf cut that suits her too well. Her and her perfect height. Her and that perfect face, straight out of a magazine. Her and those eyes that leave you captivated, drawn to her like a fly to a source of light.

You were so desperately and stupidly in need of Michaela Kaiser and that damned pet of hers.

“Ness, look at her, she wants me so bad…”

That irksome, annoyingly smug voice, one you knew all too well, snapped you out of your thoughts. Your eyes focused on the tall girl in front of you, her head tilted in such a mocking way it physically hurt restraining yourself from punching her.

“There you are. Thought we had lost you for a moment there.” Kaiser said with a fake smile. The first sun rays of the morning lit her body from behind in such a majestic way that she looked straight out of heaven. More like a devil in disguise, the cunt.

“Shut the hell up, Kaiser,” you said between gritted teeth, eyes narrowed. Even the chilly wind of a Friday morning on the football field couldn’t stop you from clenching your fists. And Ness noticed.

“Ok, ok, c’mon now. It’s barely 7:30 AM. No fight. We agreed to meet here after breakfast to try our new technique, yeah? Let’s get to work,” the shorter girl said, moving herself between you and Kaiser out of habit now.

Or rather, awfully close to you. Nothing new. You two were somewhat civil with each other. You didn’t mind Ness, as on most days she was tolerable. Or at least when she wasn’t sucking up to Kaiser. Still, nowhere near being called friends. Not with this closeness, at least. As her surprisingly soft and delicate hand gently squeezes your upper arm.

A small huff of annoyance left your lips, and before that fake blonde could retort anything else, you decided to walk off.

“Let’s just get this over with. I don’t have all morning for this shit.”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶

The cheering from the stands still rang in your ears. The opposing team won fair and square, yet you had no idea how it even happened. Your eyes were wide as you stared off into space. Wide in anger, because once again, Kaiser and Ness, but mostly Kaiser, made football a one woman kind of sport, rejecting the rest of the team. Mad because, for once, you believed she was a changed woman. Instead, once again, she fucked you over right in front of your parents and friends who came to see the big game. A game that could cost your career. Everything you had worked for. That stupid—enough. No purpose frustrating yourself over such an incompetent piece of trash.

What made you even madder, though, was yourself. Because despite the anger against Kaiser, and Ness a bit, you still found both of them dangerously attractive. Especially now, all sweaty after the game. What am I even thinking, for heaven's sake?

Entering the changing room was even worse than being on the field. The air was tense, so damned tense you could cut it with a knife. Most of the girls had already finished changing and washing up, ready or just about to leave. Leaving your unfortunate ass with Kaiser and Ness alone. Your eyes met theirs, unable to conceal the scowl on your face. For someone so pretty, they could be so vile.

“What are you staring at?” Kaiser said with narrowed eyes, her jaw clenched, yet that smugness was always present. Even after a defeat.

“Don’t tell me you’re sad that we lost?” you said mockingly. “We lost because of you—you two. Your little fucking act. Do not dare act so pissed off now.”

You could have sworn you saw her eyes change color for a split second. You had never seen her so angry as she stood up and rushed to size you up, her height overpowering you already. That did not stop you from keeping eye contact, though.

“Alright, alright, enough. Please,” Ness panicked, standing up to pull Kaiser back.

“Shut up, Ness,” both you and Kaiser said at the same time.

“But please, by all means, go ahead, shithead. Show me, tell me, exactly why we lost. We all know why it happened,” you snapped, eyes still on Kaiser. “You know what your problem is? You think you’re all that, all this, and then can barely do shit. When that girl… Isagi, or whatever she was fucking called, literally clowned your ass—”

“You really got a mouthful, don’t you?” Kaiser snapped. In an instant, she was on you, hands fisting your jersey, dragging you chest to chest, her breath against your lips.

Ness was still beside you two, trying, and failing, to stop whatever was going on.

“I fucking hate smartass wannabes,” she hissed as your back suddenly hit the tiles of the shower. She had walked you into it.

“Kaiser—” Ness’s voice was cut off by the blonde.

“You shut the hell up too,” she snapped at Ness. Now, both girls found themselves pressed against the damp shower wall by none other than Kaiser. Heavy breaths ghosted against your cheeks, and you weren’t sure if they belonged to Kaiser, Ness, or yourself.

The way you were sandwiched between the two girls, the water dripping from the previously used shower head onto your shoulders. You weren’t exactly sure what prompted this, but when Kaiser’s plump lips touched yours and Ness followed, you found yourself unable to stop…

Your mind swirling and falling into place, finding and following a tempo that was so natural, almost scaringly natural, for how in sync you three are. 

Kaiser’s lips open, leaving a rather obscene moan and at their place Ness immediately fills their absence. You can feel slowly slipping into a state of euphoria, as your mind brings you back to those sinful dreams of just a few weeks prior. This cannot be happening now. And yet, Kaiser’s hand finds your breast while her lips leave warm bites along your neck, each one as a way to coax more sound from you. Ness is nonetheless, as she pushes herself against you more and more, deepening the kiss further and further and you aren’t even sure at this point if you’re breathing or just going through the motion of it because you can barely think.  

“We– shouldn’t–” you managed to gasp out as their lips are bruising your neck on both sides.

“Yeah?” Kaiser says in a more huskier voice, more low and calm from earlier. “Make us then” she whispered in your ear, making her lips touch your earlobe, slowly and huntingly drawing them down your neck again to find your pulse point as her hand went to the edge of your jersey. 

“We have been wanting you for so long.” Ness murmurs against your neck before moving up to steal a peck from your lips once more. “Are you– do you want this too?” 

Both her and Kaiser look at you with a hunger that is impossible to describe. Ready to pounce at any given moment once you will say the magic words.

“I—”

“You are not fooling anyone with the good girl act,” Kaiser said, rolling her eyes as she pushed her hair back. “You have been eyeing fucking me since forever–”

“Kaiser!” Both you and Ness say at the same time. Though, Ness was calling her out while you were flustered. 

“What? I just said the truth…” the taller girl says side eyeing the both of you, though, the small hint of amusement was impossible to ignore in her tone. 

“You didn’t have to be so explicit…” you huff staring at the ceiling of the shower room, a moment of anxiety going through your body. “Yes. I want this now. I want both of you.” 

Kaiser grins and she doesn’t waste a moment as her manicured hands go to remove your and her jersey at once. Ness follows with her own, while taking care to strip away everyone of their bras. 

The moment was so intense that you can barely register what’s happening. Is one thing, seeing them naked on a daily basis in the changing room as you three are on the same team. But that’s it, you know? There’s nothing sexual about natural nakedness. But this? This, as their hands and mouths explore your body so hungry. So… possessive… was driving you insane- 

“So full… aren’t they Kaiser? They are so beautiful” Ness murmurs as she squeezes your breasts. 

“Yeah, well, I certainly cannot disagree with you there.” Kaiser laughed quietly, as she pushed her voluminous chest against yours. The cold of her nipple piercing caressing your skin. Rubbing against your own nipples as an unholy moan left your lips, making both girls laugh softly.

“Open your legs for us, schönes mädchen” 

Never words have been spoken so dangerously. The way she said it, so tantalising. Like she was playing, messing with your head. A dangerous game of power and control where you were so badly losing as Kaiser’s slender and long fingers kept curling deep inside you, leaving you unable to talk. To stand. To think. Only to whine and moan, as Ness’s tumb plays with your clit as if she was intending to cast a magic spell on you. 

“S’too much–” you whined, head back against the wet tiles as the water, earlier turned on by Ness, has by now soaked your and their body. 

“Too much?” Kaiser says with a mocking concerned tone. “I am sure you have one more in you, liebling. Keep your legs open for us, you have a third one in ya no?” 

No… Well, yes. But you were drowning. Maybe literally. 

As her fingers keep exploring, keep pushing, until they are out of you. A small huff leaves your lips as you open your eyes in protest as Kaiser steps back and Ness steps in front of you. 

Before you could fully understand the mechanics of what was going to happen, Kaiser moves behind you, holding your legs open and spread as Ness’s core presses against yours. Moans leave both of your mouths at the same time as she starts to grind against you. The feeling of her hard clit, your wetness mixing together was new and surely not unwelcomed by any means. Kaiser chuckles against your neck, leaving a soft bite near your pulse point, as she whispers against your warm skin. 

“See? I did say you had one more in you” Kaiser hums, pressing a kiss to your temple. “But don’t think we’re done just yet.”

pt2… PT3

© GLAMOURSCAT (all rights reserved. do not share, modify, translate and re-upload my work outside of tumblr)

[mixolya]

ᓚᘏᗢ — unspoken !

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ᯓ★

pairings﹕rin itoshi x gn!reader

contents﹕one shot, fluff, academic rivals to friends to ???, wc: 1257, proofread

the steady hum of bright lights filled the lecture hall, a faint undercurrent to the low chatter of students settling into their seats. you flipped through your notebook, barely glancing at the professor as he outlined the term’s schedule. your attention was elsewhere, fixed on the boy sitting three rows behind you, rin itoshi.

you hated the way he carried himself, so calm and detached, like the world revolved around his perfectly measured strides and unbreakable confidence. and yet, every glance his way was a betrayal of the very dislike you clung to.

“it’s always him,” you muttered under your breath, staring at the list of rankings on your phone. of course, there he was again - top of the class, a position he had claimed since the first semester. your name followed closely behind, second place. always second.

as if on cue, rin’s gaze flicked up. those sharp teal eyes locked onto yours for a brief moment, and you felt your stomach twist. you quickly looked away, heat creeping up your neck. it was maddening how someone so infuriating could leave you feeling like this - off-balance, exposed.

by the time you reached the library that afternoon, your frustration had bubbled into determination. if you wanted to beat rin itoshi, you needed to outwork him. and if there was one thing you knew, it was that effort always triumphed over talent.

you spread your notes across the table, highlighting passages in your textbook with mechanical precision. hours passed, and the sky outside darkened to a soft navy. you were deep in focus when you felt it, a presence. familiar. unmistakable.

“you’re here late,” rin said, his voice low but distinct.

you looked up, meeting his impassive stare. he stood across the table, hands in his pockets, a textbook tucked under one arm.

“so are you,” you replied, forcing nonchalance into your tone. “what do you want?”

he shrugged, his expression unreadable. “this table has the best lighting.”

“there are other tables.”

“but this one’s the best,” he said simply, sitting down across from you without waiting for permission.

you scowled, shifting your focus back to your notes. his presence was intimidating, but you refused to let him see how much it rattled you. the two of you worked in silence, the air between you thick with unspoken tension. every so often, you caught him glancing your way, and each time, your heart betrayed you with a quickened beat.

the rivalry between you and rin was silent yet persistant. every assignment, every exam, every project; it was a silent battle for supremacy. and yet, there were moments that blurred the lines between competition and something else entirely.

like the time you caught him watching you in class, his expression difficult to read but his gaze intense. or the fleeting conversations that felt heavier than they should, words tinged with a meaning neither of you dared to acknowledge.

it wasn’t hatred, but it wasn’t friendship either. it was something in between, something risky and fragile, like a thread stretched too thin.

the turning point came when the professor announced the midterm project.

“you’ll be working in pairs,” he said, scrolling through a list on his tablet. “i've already assigned partners to ensure a balanced workload.”

your stomach dropped as the names were read aloud.

“y/n l/n and rin itoshi.”

the room spun. of all the people, why him?

you risked a glance at rin, whose expression remained confident. if he was annoyed by the pairing, he didn’t show it.

“guess we’re stuck together,” he said after class, falling into step beside you.

“don’t make it sound like a death sentence,” you retorted, though your voice lacked its usual bite.

he smirked. “i’ll try to survive.”

the first meeting was awkward, to say the least. you met at the library, your usual spot by the windows now shared territory. the air was awkward with unspoken rules - boundaries neither of you dared to cross.

“let’s just divide the work,” you said, pulling out your laptop. “i’ll handle the research, and you can focus on the presentation.”

“why not the other way around?” rin asked, arching an eyebrow.

“because i said so,” you snapped.

he leaned back in his chair, studying you with that annoying calm expression. “fine. but don’t complain if my part overshadows yours.”

you glared at him, your pulse quickening. “don’t underestimate me, Itoshi.”

“i wouldn’t dream of it,” he said, his voice low, almost teasing.

as the days passed, the initial tension began to shift. you fell into a rhythm, your conversations less antagonistic and more collaborative. but the underlying current of competition remained, fueling your mutual drive.

one night, as you worked late in the library, rin surprised you with a rare moment of vulnerability.

“you’re always so focused,” he said, breaking the silence. “it’s impressive.”

you looked up, startled by the compliment. “thanks?”

he hesitated, his gaze dropping to the table. “i mean it. you push me to be better.”

for a moment, you didn’t know how to respond. the weight of his words hung in the air, a fragile truth neither of you had acknowledged before.

“you do the same for me,” you admitted quietly.

his eyes met yours, and in that moment, something shifted. the rivalry, the tension, the unspoken yearning - it all formed into something unquestionable.

the night before the project deadline, you found yourselves in the library once again. the work was done, but neither of you made a move to leave. instead, you sat in companionable silence, the weight of the past weeks settling between you.

“do you ever wonder why we’re like this?” rin asked suddenly, his voice breaking the stillness.

“like what?” you asked, though you knew exactly what he meant.

“this constant thing between us,” he said, gesturing vaguely. “rivalry. tension. whatever you want to call it.”

you looked down at your hands, your chest tightening. “maybe because we’re too similar.”

he shook his head, a faint smile playing on his lips. “no. it’s because you’re different.”

your breath caught, and you risked a glance at him. his beautiful eyes were softer than you’d ever seen them, filled with an emotion you couldn’t quite name.

“you make me want to be better,” he said quietly. “not just as a student. as a person.”

the vulnerability in his voice was shocking, and for a moment, you forgot how to breathe.

“rin,” you began, your voice trembling.

but he shook his head, cutting you off. “you don’t have to say anything. i just needed you to know.”

the silence that followed was heavy, charged with the weight of unspoken feelings. and yet, in that silence, there was a sense of understanding, a shared truth neither of you could deny.

when the project presentation ended the next day, your professor praised your work, calling it the best in the class. but as you stood beside rin, the usual rush of victory felt different. this time, it wasn’t about beating him. it was about standing with him.

as the class filed out, rin caught your arm, his touch sending a jolt through you.

“walk with me,” he said, his voice low.

you nodded, your heart pounding as the two of you stepped into the crisp afternoon air. the campus was quiet, the golden light of the setting sun casting long shadows on the ground.

“what happens now?” you asked, breaking the silence.

he glanced at you, his expression thoughtful. “i don’t know. but i’d like to figure it out.”

© mixolya 2025. do not copy, remake or edit any of my works.

[pedriache]

Boyfriend Pau head canons !

Nobody's promised tomorrow / So I'ma love you every night like it's the last night — Die with a smile.

⌗ Boyfriend Pau who . . . when you first started dating, was extremely shy. It took a week for him to make the first move. He’d gingerly intertwined your fingers while watching a movie on his couch. You’d tried to suppress a smile, worried it would make him get nervous and pull away, but he didn’t. A faint blush had spread across his cheeks when you lean over to press a kiss to his cheeks.

⌗ Boyfriend Pau who . . . is super clingy. Not even just in private. He always has a hand resting somewhere on you, places kisses anywhere he pleases no matter who’s around. Your cheek? Kissed. Lips? Kissed. But he still gets shy, not because of the people seeing it, but because when he does it, you give him a sweet smile that never fails to leave him flustered.

⌗ Boyfriend Pau who . . . love’s when you ramble. He’s more on the quieter side, so he prefers when you do most of the talking. He likes to sit back and listen to you talk about whatever makes you happy. He’s very caring when it comes to the little things.

⌗ Boyfriend Pau who . . . loves to spoil you. Sometimes you get insecure about it, but Pau always assures you it makes him happy. He wants you to show you how much he loves you in multiple ways, and buying you things that makes you happy, well, it makes him happy. Just seeing the way your face lights up when he buys you a necklace could satisfy him for the rest of his life.

⌗ Boyfriend Pau who . . . is very attentive. He notices the slightest shift in your mood and will do anything to make you feel better. If he notices something upsets you, he remembers it and actively avoids doing it. He is in some ways, a perfect boyfriend because of it.

⌗ Boyfriend Pau who . . . despite being gone a lot, still somehow always has time for you. He will call you while on a trip for an away game at least twice a day. He misses you and isn’t afraid to express that.

⌗ Boyfriend Pau who . . . is one hundred percent a cuddle enthusiast. He almost prefers cuddling with you in the comfort of your own homes than going out and doing something. He gets to rest from a rough match or training session and be near you at the same time? It’s his own personal heaven.

⌗ Boyfriend Pau who . . . when he gets jealous, it’s very obvious. His lips will pull into a thin line and his jaw will tick non stop. His hold on you will get more firm, not so much so that it hurts, but to make his presence very clear. Sometimes, when the person doesn’t get the hint, he’ll just stare at them with clear annoyance. Angry Pau is rare, only ever seen on the pitch… that is unless someone finds themselves too touchy with you. Though, it’s rare he ever gets that annoyed, he knows you love him and he is very secure in your relationship.

+ Pau will tell you when something upsets him. He doesn’t like tension between you two. If he feels like you were being too close with someone or vise versa, he’ll talk to you about it.

⌗ Boyfriend Pau who . . . giggles at your jokes. He finds you to be the funniest person ever. Even when you say something hardly considered funny, he will slap his knee when he laughs or clutch his shirt. Those small actions make you laugh and eventually you are both in a laughing fit. People call you two childish, but hey, technically you were still children, right?

⌗ Boyfriend Pau who . . . loves to annoy you. He will press your patience in a way that has you rubbing your temples, but at the same time, suppressing a grin or a chuckle. He loves when you two bicker. You were always so quick witted it left him in a clutching his stomach from laughing too hard when you say something particularly baffling.

⌗ Boyfriend Pau who . . . loves the things you love and hates the things you dislike. A piece of furniture you stubbed your toe on? Pau’s least favorite thing in the house. A kid in school that made fun of you once when you were kids? Pau despised them. You found a new perfume you liked? Pau buys it for you the second it’s running out because it’s suddenly his favorite scent.

likes , comments , and reblog’s are all appreciated. lmk if you’d like to be tagged in future posts, specific or all.

DTS , @halfwayhearted @spidybaby @unx100to !

[eriace]

strictly professional ; kyoya ootori

oneshot & fluff ↪  in which y/n, a sharp-tongued rival from another elite school, and kyoya ootori agree to a fake relationship for mutual gain—until spite turns into tension, and tension turns into something neither of them can logically explain. ↷ kyoya ootori ; ouran high school host club

↳ an order of black coffee + cappuccino from anonymous in the comeback cafe event !

Y/N NEVER LIKED Kyoya Ootori.

He was meticulous to a fault, charming only when it benefited him, and the only person in the school circuit who could outwit her on a budget proposal. She hated that smug glint in his glasses when he caught her bluff. He hated how she always had a counterstrike before his checkmate.

Their rivalry was legendary among elite academies. Two board members' children with brains too sharp and egos too high.

So when the Ouran gala season approached, and both their fathers demanded they behave—work together—and present a united front for future partnerships…

They did what any enemies forced to cooperate would do.

They faked a relationship.

For appearances, of course. Strictly for social leverage. Not because Kyoya’s hand brushing her back in front of investors sent her heart into minor cardiac arrest.

Not because Y/n’s teasing smile when she whispered, “Try not to look like you're suffering, sweetheart,” made him forget his next three sentences.

-

“You’re late,” Kyoya said, adjusting his tie as y/n breezed into the ballroom, dripping in elegance and disdain.

“You’re uptight,” she replied, looping her arm through his with practiced grace. “Shall we?”

They smiled—beautiful, fake, and blinding. Their fathers watched from across the room, satisfied.

“You don’t have to grip so hard,” he muttered under his breath as they walked.

“You don’t have to smirk like you enjoy this,” she shot back.

“Who says I don’t?”

She faltered—just a bit. Enough for Kyoya to catch it. That smirk deepened.

Touché.

The arrangement worked. Too well, almost. They made headlines as a golden couple of two powerful families, were invited to private meetings together, posed for magazines.

And somewhere between whispered insults and shared glances across crowded rooms, the line blurred.

She stopped calling him insufferable with her usual venom. He stopped correcting her posture at galas with the same icy tone.

He noticed when she preferred black tea over green.

She noticed when his smile was real and when it wasn’t.

One night, after another successful event, Y/n leaned against the back of the limo, tired but electric.

“You know,” she said, “for a fake boyfriend, you’re not completely intolerable.”

Kyoya didn’t respond immediately. He removed his glasses, cleaned them slowly.

“And for someone I was supposed to dislike, you’re incredibly distracting.”

That silence stretched thin—taut between them. Y/n glanced at him sideways.

“You’re not going to analyze this, are you?”

“I already have,” he replied, cool as ever. “We’ve passed the threshold of practicality.”

“…What does that mean?”

He looked at her directly now, dark eyes unreadable but intense.

“It means I’m not pretending anymore.”

It was her turn to go silent.

Then, dryly: “Took you long enough, Ootori.”

She leaned in. He didn’t stop her.

Kyoya Ootori didn’t believe in frivolous emotions.

But as her hand slid into his and their lips brushed in the quiet of the car, he decided some things weren’t meant to be logical.

Just inevitable.

© eriace ;; don’t repost my works.

[sevasey51]

The new chief of trauma dr Lanik doesn’t know your Connors wife and one day he gets a little bit too aggressive at making passes towards her( he puts his hands on her). Connor just happens to see it this time. It has been going on for awhile and she never told Connor because she knows Connor hates him and doesn’t want to cause anymore issues. Connor goes into full protective husband mode.

Crossing the Line

Summary: When Dr. Lanik gets too aggressive with Y/N, Connor steps in and protects his wife, confronting the new chief of trauma and making it clear that no one will disrespect her under his watch.

Y/N had always been professional, sharp, and more than capable in the trauma bay. As one of the senior surgeons in the hospital, she’d learned how to handle difficult situations with composure. Her expertise was well-respected by her colleagues, and she prided herself on keeping things strictly professional—especially when it came to her coworkers.

One person who seemed to take an uncomfortable interest in her, however, was Dr. Lanik, the new chief of trauma. He had an air of confidence that bordered on arrogance, and while most of the staff tried to avoid his more flirtatious remarks, Y/N couldn’t help but notice his increasingly persistent behavior towards her. At first, it was the casual comments. “You’re looking extra beautiful today, Dr. Halstead,” he would say with a grin. But it didn’t stop there. His praise for her skills started to feel more like a way to get close to her. He would find reasons to stand next to her during trauma cases, his breath a little too close, his shoulder brushing against hers as he passed.

Y/N knew what he was doing. But she wasn’t the type to make a scene, especially with how much tension had already been in the hospital since Dr. Lanik’s arrival. She didn’t want to cause trouble for Connor either. He was protective, and she knew how much he disliked the new chief. But at the same time, Y/N couldn’t bring herself to tell him. She didn’t want to make things worse for herself, for him, or for the department.

Today, however, things took a turn. It had been a busy shift—trauma after trauma came through the doors, and the team was stretched thin. Y/N had just wrapped up an intense case and was making her way to the break room when she saw Dr. Lanik standing near the door. He gave her a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

“Dr. Halstead,” he greeted, stepping into her path, “we need to talk about the procedure we’re doing tomorrow. You’re doing great work, but I think we could refine things a little.”

Y/N gave him a polite smile, already tired from the shift. “I’m sure we’ll have time to discuss it tomorrow, Dr. Lanik. I’m off for the day.” She tried to move past him, but he blocked her path.

“You know, I’ve always admired women who are both intelligent and attractive,” he said, his voice dropping to a tone that made Y/N feel uncomfortable. “It’s a rare combination.”

Y/N’s stomach churned, and she instinctively took a step back, trying to put some distance between them. But before she could react, he reached out, placing a hand on her arm in a way that felt far too familiar.

“You’re not just a great surgeon,” he continued, his voice almost a whisper. “You’re something special.”

Y/N froze, her breath catching in her throat. She knew she had to get out of this situation, but his hand on her arm was like a vice, holding her in place.

That was when she heard a voice—low, commanding—behind her.

“Get your hands off her.”

Y/N turned her head quickly to see Connor standing at the end of the hallway, his face hard with anger. His eyes were locked onto Dr. Lanik, and Y/N could see the tension in his posture, his fists clenched at his sides.

Dr. Lanik quickly withdrew his hand, a forced smile pulling at his lips. “Connor, I didn’t realize you were here. Just giving y/n a little praise.”

But the way he said it made Y/N’s skin crawl. It wasn’t genuine—it was condescending. And she knew that Dr. Lanik had crossed a line.

Connor didn’t flinch. His eyes stayed focused on Dr. Lanik, his voice low but full of authority. “You don’t touch her. Ever. And you don’t speak to her like that.”

Dr. Lanik, sensing the growing confrontation, tried to deflect. “Relax, Connor. It’s nothing.”

But Connor wasn’t having it. He took a step forward, closing the distance between them. “It’s not nothing,” he said, his tone colder now. “You’re crossing boundaries, and I’m done letting you disrespect my wife. Keep your hands to yourself, and keep your comments professional. If I see this again, I’ll make sure you’re out of here.”

Y/N stood there, her heart pounding in her chest as she watched the two men, feeling a mix of relief and guilt. She knew that Connor was angry, and she hated that he was having to deal with this. But she also couldn’t help the wave of gratitude that flooded her. Connor was always there to protect her, even when she didn’t ask for it.

Dr. Lanik’s smile faltered, his bravado crumbling in the face of Connor’s steely resolve the realisation hitting him. He knew he couldn’t push it any further with Connor standing there. He quickly backed off, his posture defensive. “Fine. But don’t make a scene about it.”

“Next time, I won’t be so nice,” Connor warned, his voice cold and sharp.

As Dr. Lanik walked away, Connor turned to Y/N, his expression softening instantly. He reached for her, his hand gentle on her arm, pulling her close.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice full of concern.

Y/N nodded, though she felt the weight of the situation hit her all at once. “I’m fine now, thanks to you. I didn’t want to make things worse for you. I didn’t want to cause more trouble.”

Connor shook his head, his hand gently cupping her face. “You don’t have to protect me, sweetheart. I’m the one who should be looking out for you. You’re mine to protect.”

Y/N swallowed hard, her eyes filling with tears as she looked up at him. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. I just… I didn’t want to make it harder.”

Connor pulled her into a tight embrace, his arms wrapping around her protectively. “You don’t have to apologize for that. But I want you to know that no one gets to make you feel uncomfortable or unsafe. Not him, not anyone.”

Y/N held onto him tightly, feeling a rush of relief and love. She was so grateful for Connor’s support, for the way he always had her back. And for the first time in a long while, she felt truly safe—knowing that no matter what, Connor would always protect her.

[biscuitboba]

Prepare for a very long wordvomits from yours truly (or just ignore)

The thing about me being so frickin obsessed with luffy and zoro's relationship is that... i just think they really are that compatible and perfect for each other in a way that they just, makes sense 

Like yeah i think one or two ships involving zoro and luffy (other than zolu/luzo) are cute or at least ok, but like the amount of love i have for them is like dust compared to my love for zolu:"D And if i'm being reallyy honest, personally i can't really imagine zoro being with someone else that's not luffy IF luffy is present in his life and vice versa?, like for example i think *insert other luffy ship* is cute, but like zoro can't be present in luffy's life for that ship to actually work for me?? So it's gotta be an alternative universe where they don't meet... I can appreciate the fanarts of the other luffy and zoro ships though, as long as they are not insanely wayyy too out of character?? (i just don't actively seek out content of ships that i'm not crazy about)

Not to state the obvious but luffy is my favorite character in one piece:) and right after him, unsurprisingly it's zoro (zoro used to be my number one when i was younger but now he is number two, but i'm sure zoro is fine with me loving his captain just a little bit more, haha)

When it comes to the ships involving my favorite character(s)... i am actually suuuper picky about it? i have to think very deeply about it, like i only want what's best for them, but also the best for the other person too cuz it can't be one sided! And i literally love both luffy and zoro almost equally? (actually i always love the two characters that i ship cuz i can't ship my favorite character with someone that i dislike) With zoro and luffy i've done a lot of thinking. Like, a lot. I thought about all of their potential love interests, every single one of them, but always arrived at the same conclusion that no one completes them the way they complete each other. Proof? Plz just scroll through my tumblr #zolu or #luzo i literally only talk about their relationship😭 They really are the most perfect person for each other. It's almost like they were made for each other? Everything about them, their principles, their personalites, they just fits

Like they are so insane, because at a surface level they can be interpreted as just platonic (which is a completely fine interpretation for the non zolu people out there!), but when you try to look more into it, on a deeper level, looking at every part of their interactions while considering their characterizations, motivations et cetera, like everything just clicks. Their devotion towards each other, all the little things they say and do relating to each other. They are best friends, they are the captain and the first mate, and maybe they are also something a lil bit more? Sometimes i don't even think i can label their relationship, cause from the outside… their relationship looks so simple, yet not without depth (so much depth!) and nuance. With zolu, you either get them or don't get them at all. One thing for sure is that they work really well together!!

Also, everytime i think about zolu as just friends.. but then i compare my relationship with my best friend(s) to luffy and zoro's relationship... and i don't know, if my best friend treats me the way zoro and luffy treat each other? I fear i will have to drop the "what are we?" question. I'm so serious, like that man? zoro?? He is enamored. Completely whipped- bewitched, body and soul. While on luffy's side, his way of expressing love is more subtle, but i've talked about that before here.

They say there's a thin line between love and hate... but there's also a thin line between platonic and romantic love, and maybe that's why one of my favorite tropes in ships is the one where they start out as friends... (harurin from free, bakudeku, pegoryu, fluri, soriku, cloti, cleon, kimron, percabeth, kataang, lumity, appledash, katyana, korrasami, harlivy, etc #friendstolovers ftw!)

Like luffy and zoro... The god personified and the non believer. Oda is literally so insane for that..

One is very carefree and easy to put his trust in others. And the other is the more rigid one and needs to slowly build his trust. One is the more emotional one. The other is the stoic and more composed one. They share the same values, the same braincells, they can communicate and understand each other even without having to say much.

Their colors complement each other, their zodiac signs are compatible, their personalites can be quite contrasting but they actually blend perfectly. They are different but also the same. No one makes zoro smile as much as luffy, no one else luffy likes to lean on as much as he likes to lean and rely on zoro. No one makes zoro worry as much as luffy, even though luffy himself is very strong. No one luffy trusts with his crew as much as he trusts them with zoro, and his nakama means everything to luffy. They are the happiest when they are together.. fighting side by side, laughing with each other, talking with each other... They respect and understand each other the most. They are just so insane and i am also insane and-

They are the only two strawhats with twin numbers for their birth dates and months. The only two strawhats with CoC. The only two strawhats fighting for the greatest titles (pirate king and world's greatest swordsman respectively) they are the only two strawhats with a lot of parallels (let it be between each other like the hero talk in fishman island, or with the other captains and their first mates, which i kinda(?) have talked about before, here).

Zoro's the only member of his crew that luffy actually tries to find (he doesn’t stumble upon him like how he does with the rest of the strawhats) Zoro is the first person in canon that we see luffy enthusiastically feel it's okay to share his meal with. The first person outside of his family (i consider shanks and his crew, dadan, and makino as part of his found family!) that he cries and worries for (baratie arc). Zoro is the first person that he mentions when he splits up with his crew and the first one he calls whenever they meet again (alabasta, skypiea, punk hazard, zou, etc)

Zoro is luffy's anchor especially during difficult times (e.g. water7), he is luffy's voice of reason (e.g. pre-egghead), and luffy often listens to him (like when zoro gives luffy his assessment of a situation and how he thinks they should handle the situation and luffy immediately agrees to his plan)

And kinda random but meat is like the perfect food for beer! luffy's perfect for zoro!! Meat paired with the right beer can amplify each other's flavors. Even their favorite food (luffy) and drink (zoro) complement each other, like oda are you serious?? and the crazy thing is i'm pretty sure i haven't written down all the things that make me crazy about them

From their deal in shells town, then BOOM! zoro's sacrifice in thriller bark, all the way to luffy's blush, the iconic hug, and whatever tf that "if you're gonna invite our captain to hell, i'll come along as well" // "sorry... now you have no reason to die" bs in wano

Like how can i be normal about the two characters whose dreams have already merged into one that they can no longer achieve their dreams without each other by their side? i'm on my knees crying thinking about the bond between luffy and zoro-

[dovesdreaming]

Marked by fate

Summary: you and Harry shared soulmarks, you were destined to be soulmates but that might be tricky when you too have a strong dislike for each other. However, when the barrier comes down and you’re reunited you see each other differently.

Requested

Masterlist

-

Soulmates. A concept that felt like a cruel joke on the Isle of the Lost. With the magic stolen and the barrier keeping everyone trapped, soulmates were nothing but a fairytale, a whisper from stories about Auradon, where life was good, perfect, and where people actually believed in destiny. But on the Isle? Destiny didn’t exist. Or at least, that’s what you had tried to tell yourself. You glanced down at the tattoo on your wrist, the thin lines forming a hook, identical to the one Harry Hook wielded. It was a symbol that bound you to him, a mark of fate that had linked the two of you since childhood. You’d known what it meant from the moment you noticed it, but instead of bringing you closer, it only fueled your rivalry. You hated the idea that you were tied to someone like Harry. The very thought was infuriating. And Harry? Well, he felt the same.

Growing up, you and Harry had been enemies. The son of Captain Hook, and you (Y/N), daughter of Rasputin, the sorcerer. Rasputin, who had nearly mastered the art of death itself. While your father was obsessed with dark magic and curses, Harry was all about chaos and control. The two of you had clashed constantly, and the rivalry between your parents only made it worse. The tattoo, the soulmark, felt like some twisted joke. For years, you and Harry pretended it didn’t exist, battling with each other whenever your paths crossed. Sometimes it was a smirk exchanged in the streets, other times it was full-on combat, using words sharper than any blade. Then, Auradon happened. You were chosen to leave the Isle, along with a few other “reformed” kids. You didn’t have much say in the matter, Ben had seen something in you, something worth redeeming. So, you left the grime and chaos of the Isle behind for Auradon’s golden shores. It felt strange at first, living somewhere so bright and peaceful. For the first time, you were free from the cutthroat world of the Isle, from its darkness and from Harry Hook.

The mark faded, barely a whisper of its former self. But that didn’t mean you’d forgotten. When the barrier came down, you could feel it. It was subtle at first, a twinge in your wrist, like a small pulse just under the skin. You stared at the hook tattoo, the one you had almost convinced yourself was a mistake, a glitch in the universe. But now, as the Isle’s barrier fell, the tattoo seemed to come alive, humming with energy. You knew what it meant. Harry was close.

For days, you tried to push it aside, to ignore the way your heart sped up whenever you walked through Auradon’s streets, knowing that somewhere out there, he could be watching you. But that wasn’t Harry’s style, he didn’t lurk in the shadows. No, if he was going to make his move, he’d do it boldly. He’d make sure you knew he was coming.

It happened on a day that started out like any other. You were walking through the bustling market, admiring the fresh air, the sound of laughter, something that was so rare on the Isle. You almost felt…normal here. But then, you felt it again. That pulse in your wrist, stronger this time. The mark felt hot, almost burning. Your breath caught in your throat. He was here.

You spun around, eyes scanning the crowd. And then you saw him. Harry Hook, leaning against a market stall like he owned the place, that cocky smirk plastered across his face. His pirate coat billowed in the breeze, and his signature hook gleamed in the sunlight. But what caught your eye wasn’t the smirk, or the hook, it was the way he was looking at you. Like he’d been waiting for this moment. “Well, well, lass” Harry drawled, pushing himself off the stall and sauntering toward you. His accent was thick, his voice low and teasing. “Fancy meetin’ you here”. Your heart was racing, but you forced yourself to stay calm, crossing your arms as he approached. “Harry”.

He stopped just a few feet away, his eyes flicking down to your wrist where the tattoo was still pulsing, glowing faintly. His own wrist bore the mark of a small, dark potion bottle, the symbol that represented your heritage, your tie to the dark magic your father once wielded. You hadn’t known what Harry’s mark looked like before, but seeing it now made your breath hitch. “You felt it, didn’t ye?” he asked, tilting his head with a wicked grin. “That’s how I found ye”. You didn’t answer, but the look in your eyes was enough. “I knew the second that barrier came down, lass. Felt it burnin’ through me veins, like fire”. He stepped closer, his eyes dark and piercing. “But I’ll admit, I didn’t think ye’d still be here. Thought ye might’ve run off, pretendin’ ye didn’t feel it too”. You scoffed, refusing to let him see how much his presence affected you. “What do you want, Harry?”.

“What do I want?” His voice was dripping with amusement. He tapped the hook against his chin, as though thinking. “Now, that’s a good question. What does a pirate want? Treasure? Power?” His gaze locked onto yours, and his smirk faltered just for a second, replaced with something more serious. “Or maybe it’s somethin’ else entirely”. You swallowed hard, feeling the tension between you. This was Harry Hook, your enemy since childhood. The one person you’d fought against, the one you had sworn you’d never let close. And yet, here he was, your soulmate. The one person fate had chosen for you, as twisted and unfair as that might be. Harry took another step forward, closing the gap between you. His voice dropped, low and almost dangerous. “I spent years hatin’ this, ye know. Hatred burned hotter than anythin’. But now?” He raised his wrist, showing the tattoo. “Now, I’m wonderin’ if there’s more to it than just hate”.

Your breath caught in your throat, but you refused to back down. “What are you saying, Harry?”. He chuckled softly, though there was no humor in his eyes. “I’m sayin’ maybe we stop runnin’ from what we are”. Your eyes widened, and for the first time, you were truly at a loss for words. There was something raw in his voice, something real that made your heart ache in ways you hadn’t expected. But could you trust him? Could you trust the boy you’d once called your enemy? “I don’t know if I can” you whispered, staring at the mark on your wrist.

Harry’s gaze softened, just for a moment. “Aye, I don’t blame ye. I don’t trust easy either. But this?” He pointed to the matching symbols on your wrists. “This doesn’t happen by accident”. You hesitated, torn between everything you knew about him and the strange, undeniable pull that connected you. The soulmark burned hotter now, urging you forward. Finally, you let out a shaky breath. “So… what now?” Harry’s smirk returned, but there was a flicker of warmth in his eyes. “Now, lass, we see where this takes us”. And with that, he extended his hand, his real hand, not the hook. You stared at it for a moment, your heart pounding in your chest. Slowly, you placed your hand in his, the connection sparking between you like lightning. And for the first time in your life, you didn’t feel like running. Maybe fate wasn’t such a cruel joke after all.

-

Thank you for reading!

[genderqueerdykes]

Is it bad if I don’t care about the community infighting anymore? Like before I did, wholeheartedly, but I’ve been in the community for 9 years and I’ve seen and been involved in “discourse” for 9 years and I’m tired. I don’t care who is or isn’t a lesbian, who’s “really trans,” if someone “belongs” in the community, or literally whatever the fuck. There are actual issues out there beyond who you like and dislike idk I’m just tired. The world hates me, the community hates me, and I’m tired. I don’t care.

no that's not dumb that's where im at too

my physical therapist's office is 45 min away and i like him so im okay with that. i talk to my drivers and to him and ive met very smart people that agree with things we talk about here (outside of gender that is). my PT is so smart and i like talking to him agrees with me on a lot of things. says things that people here would be delighted to see from a random cishet doctor. there's really cool people out there in the world who wanna have constructive conversations. and the topic that came up between all of us has been how thin skinned people are anymore

it's just the truth. people refuse to have actual conversations it's so easy to trip people off into a frenzy and it's exhausting. i understand having and feeling emotions but we have to do that on our own time and then talk to someone. like criticism is good but i don't see much of that outside of my community here. i get genuine criticism from a lot of people but then other people just freak the fuck out and it's like. jesus y'all. you gotta talk to people. like you gotta push past unpleasant conversations. i have bad takes, you do, everyone does. when we point them out and allow the other person to grow, they stop having them. if someone has a bad take tell them why it's bad. they will stop if you let them. if you kill them the second they make a mistake they won't learn. that's not the way to go about it

it sucks because there's not even conversation happening anymore. i've noticed people are just talking over each other and that's really it and it's not in the way people think it is. it's just arguing and i'm not erntaining it anymore. people throw insults faster than they actually read the message. i've had people just lose it because of a mistake or a thought that didn't line up with what i normally believe in like it's stupid people won' teven let you form a wrong opinion and then correct it anymore

i honestly just dont fucking care about it anymore either and you're allowed to say fuck that and just do whatever. live your life. arguing over this shit doesn't matter. it's dumb. people just wanna hurl insults and do mental gymnastics and it's so exhausting i don't think anyone cares anymore. just be yourself. thanks for stopping by

[seravphs]

Act One, Chapter One: half agony, half hope

Knights are bound by duty and honor, but Gojo is more devoted to his princess than he ever was to his oaths.

Main Masterlist | AO3

wc — 10k

tags — royal au, knight gojo, princess reader, forbidden love, ballroom scene, dancing, court politics, blood, minor character death, period-typical misogyny, complicated relationships with fathers, secret meetings, flouting social etiquette by sneaking out to meet your childhood best friend who is also your loyal knight, title from Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen

Next: the beginning of devotion (coming soon)

He was so still Shoko almost mistook him for a dead body. It was a common misunderstanding in her line of business, but not one she was usually startled by. As a poisoner, legally and officially a herbalist, the occasional corpse on her table wasn’t such an unexpected occurrence. A lord, on the other hand, was. 

Especially if it was him.   

Gojo Satoru wasn’t just a lord. He was the son of the former Hand of the King, the greatest swordsman in living history, and connected to the princess. There wasn’t a man alive who didn’t know the Gojo name. It was synonymous with the royal house itself as the clan that had produced scores of advisors to the king. In nearly every generation, the heir to the throne was accompanied by a Gojo, acting as a living sword and shield. 

But even with that storied history, this one was special. A young man who had risen to prominence during The Silent War, he returned home from hell as a knight unlike any other. The bards would adore him. They already did. 

Most generals earned their titles by leading campaigns. Gojo hadn’t needed one. He turned the tides of the war as a single man army. They had started calling him a grim reaper, a god of death. 

Shoko disliked him on principle, but she couldn’t kill a man like that. They’d have her head on a pike. She didn’t mind the idea of dying so much. What she did shrink from was the idea of dying painfully. 

The princess was known for abstaining from most decisions involving the crown despite being in line to inherit it, but Shoko somehow doubted that she would remain so passive if her favorite knight was murdered. Thankfully, Gojo let out a soft breath to show her that he did remain among the living. 

“I thought you died,” she remarked. 

“Sorry to disappoint you.” 

She said something else, but Gojo wasn’t listening anymore. He was floating through a shapeless world again, chasing that moment. It slipped away from him despite his redoubled attempts to capture it. He remembered the tang of iron in his mouth. Blood spraying in the air, a mist that he could smell and taste. The leather grip of his sword in his hands, slippery with sweat. 

He was trying to win back enlightenment, briefly attained and lost again just as quickly on the battlefield. A feeling of deep and solid peace had settled over him as he hacked through bodies, as if that was what he was meant to do. It should’ve concerned him. He already confused the ever thinning boundary between man and monster. That bloodshed brought him such euphoric tranquility could only mean it was growing worse, but he hated things he couldn’t understand. 

He needed to experience it again. Just one more time, so he could make sense of it. The smell of blood. Wading through the dead and the dying, thigh deep in gore - it was no use. Frustrated, he let it go. 

There was something soothing about the cracks in the ceiling. He stared up at it, letting his breaths come as shallowly as they had while he had been immersed in his meditative state. Shoko’s basement was chilly and dark, but it was necessary for the illegal autopsies she performed at his request. Those, and the poisons she crafted for him, were its primary purpose. It was only a stroke of luck that these qualities were also helpful for his attempts to recover his short-lived state of grace. 

He was tempted to try again, but not today. There was someone too precious to keep waiting if he delayed any longer. He wouldn’t impose upon her the way he often imposed on the elder lords who tried to remind him of his place by pulling rank. While they deserved his spite, she didn’t. 

Even Shoko was surprised by his sudden desire for punctuality. “You’re not going to stay?”

“I have a princess to rescue,” he said. “Dragons to slay, things of that nature.” 

Shoko scoffed. “You are the dragon they have to save princesses from.”

Well, Gojo thought as he hurried down the corridor, she wasn’t wrong. He was sure others agreed with her. He didn’t waste his time with children’s tales anymore, but he remembered his mother’s voice whispering to him in the dark, curled around him in his bed. A dragon was a tool to lock princesses away. His presence deterred anyone from coming too near to his princess, so by that definition, he was most certainly a dragon. 

Gojo found that he was a little proud of himself for that. Thinking of his mother had made him nostalgic. He thought she might be proud too, that he had taken such good care of the princess she herself had looked after. A dragon might trap, but it also guarded and hoarded. He had polished his princess like a treasure, lavishing her with attention until she had become a gem. 

She was beautiful. 

He was a soldier, so he had long since rid himself of the ability to lose his breath, but if he still could, he would’ve choked at the sight of her when he broke past the doors. She was seated so that the eye of anyone who entered the ballroom would be drawn to her first, but he would’ve found her regardless. He had promised. 

Wherever you were, he would always find you. 

It’s difficult to hide, being as tall as he is, but Gojo managed. He didn’t want you to see him coming. Already, he has to bite his lip to fight down his smile as he draws closer and closer. A few more steps, a detour to duck behind some random noble, and he’s in front of you. 

“May I?” You don’t have a chance to speak before he’s already dragging a chair closer. 

The smile on your face doesn’t match the harsh delivery of your words. “The next time you leave me alone with these miserable fools, I’ll order you to fall on your sword.”

Gojo laughs, unfazed. “Good choice. You’re too pretty to get your hands dirty. Although, you are a bit more murderous than expected for a princess.” 

“You try putting up with Naoya’s simpering gibberish for an hour.”

“I don’t have to.” He slips into the chair beside you, avoiding you neatly when you try to trip him. “Watch your feet, my lady. People like me don’t have to put up with Naoya.” 

People like you shouldn’t have to, either. You’re both higher ranking than he is, a princess and a lord each, yet Gojo’s the only one who gets to escape his painful-to-witness affections. 

It’s only natural. A royal dowry comes attached to you. Any eligible man would have to be an idiot not to fight for your hand, but really, they’re vying for a chance at kingship. You can’t go one day without someone reminding you that you’re a physical embodiment of the crown, something to want and own. 

Gojo pours himself water with a heavy hand, bypassing the wine. Watching him sip at it, you realize you’ve actually never seen him drink.

“Come now,” he says, a little softer. “Don’t look so desolate. What will I do if everyone sees you pouting? You’ll ruin my reputation.”  

“You don’t have a reputation to ruin.” 

“Don’t underestimate the things I’d do for the smallest sign of joy from you. Shall I procure one right now to destroy for your amusement?” 

You know he wants you to smile, but you can’t. Even if Gojo can usually pry laughter from you with the ease of a trained jester, this time, your sadness weighs over you like a heavy wool cloak. It’s your birthday, but it’s not a happy occasion. Every passing year tightens the noose around your neck. 

You’re a princess, and that means your life was arranged for you before you breathed your first breath. There’s nothing you can do about it. You’ve never had a choice. 

“Don’t,” he whispers. 

“Don’t what?” 

“Don’t make that face,” he says. “I’d marry you. If it came down to it, I’d take care of you.” 

His words nearly cause you to spill your drink all over your finely embroidered dress. If it set in, it would never come out. He grasps your hand just as the cup begins to tip, saving you. 

“Did you mistake your water for wine?” It’s a genuine question from you. 

He waves his goblet around carelessly. You’re worried he might be actually drunk, but you smell no alcohol on him. He couldn’t get inebriated from just a sip, anyway. Whatever wild whims have overtaken him tonight are entirely of his own design. 

“Better me than Naoya, no? I’d keep you safe.” He cracks a crooked smile in your direction, like you’re sharing a secret. “Admit it. I’d be a good husband. If I were around, you’d be untouchable.” 

He’s telling the truth. If Gojo Satoru was your husband, no one would dare anything with you, but you chase the idea from your mind as quickly as Gojo plants it. You’re your father’s daughter, raised on his practicality. You don’t waste time on pipe dreams. Better the hideous truth than a lie costumed in beauty - the bite of thorns was infinitely preferable to the impermanent fantasy of petals. 

Instead of answering him, you push your plate in his direction. You don’t even have to ask. Gojo dutifully takes your knife and fork in hand to cut up your meat. “Not even going to consider it, princess? I’m hurt. That was a serious offer, you know.” 

“You’re insufferable. Be quiet and eat.” 

Gojo’s mother used to say that the more adamantly someone denied something, the closer to the truth it likely was. You can only hope Gojo doesn’t remember, because she was right. The reason you won’t give him even an inch on the topic of marriage is because a proposal from him is the only thing you want but can’t have. 

Predictably, he ignores you. He’s never known when to quit. With so little that can genuinely stand in his way, Gojo has difficulty understanding the concept of a limitation. You’re both spoiled in that sense, noble children who had never been told no. 

“Think about it,” he says casually. “We’d be invincible. What other house could stand before our union?”

“I said- hello, father.” 

“A little early to be calling- oh, hello, Your Majesty. You look well tonight. Is that a new ring?” 

Your father cuffs Gojo around the ears. “Brat.” 

He’s in a good mood, then. 

“My little girl,” he says to you. “How pretty you look. I’m surprised no one has stolen you away from me yet.” 

You’re not so little anymore, but you forgive him. It’s just the two of you, ever since the queen died. He’s the reason you are what you are, as cultivated as a rose in a greenhouse. The climate that nurtured you is one carefully tailored by his own hand. 

“Not for lack of trying,” Gojo says brightly. 

“Boy,” your father calls him, despite the fact that Gojo isn’t a boy either. A deep sigh escapes his lungs. He looks truly sorrowful for a moment. “You look just like your mother.” 

Gojo’s smile freezes on his face. It’s true, he does. Through him, the king’s former hand lives again, but you know Gojo doesn’t want to be seen as an extension of her, even if he misses her more than anything. 

You’re familiar with the way your father knows exactly what to say to make you feel small again. The king is someone who exudes power. His uncanny ability to pick out what you’re most sensitive to and exploit it makes even the most proud of noblemen revert to children in his presence, as if they’ve been scolded by a nanny for stealing tarts from the kitchen. It’s strange that you feel the need to protect Gojo, the strongest person you know, from that. 

He reaches out and pats Gojo’s cheek now that he’s reduced him to silence. “Enjoy the night, my dear child.” 

When he leaves, Gojo slumps back in his chair with a tick in his jaw. Even if the king is your father, he can’t help himself. “Nasty old man,” he mutters. 

You pinch his thigh beneath the table. “Smile and look pretty.”

“Ugh, who is it now?”

“Lord Zenin and his son haven’t gotten their fill of tormenting me.” 

“Hm,” Gojo says. “I wonder.” 

“If you have a plan to avoid them, hurry. They’re nearly here.” 

“I don’t know,” he teases. “I don’t think you’d like it very much.”

“Yes, well, I don’t like conversation with Sir Zenin very much either.” 

He grabs your hand. “Then you’ll forgive me for anything that happens tonight?” 

“Anything is questionable, but do as you please.” 

He tugs you from your seat, pulling you through the crowd of people. Caught in his wake, you float past faces familiar and unfamiliar until the patriarch of House Zenin and his infernal spawn fade behind you. 

When you turn to face him again, he’s dipped into a bow. His smile is sweet, boyish. It’s as if you’re children again, and he’s stolen you from your lessons to waltz in an empty ballroom, motes of dust that you’ve stirred up floating in the sunbeams. 

He extends his hand, a sapphire burning on one finger. A dragon curls around the silver band of the ring, a nod to his heritage. Though the Gojos are a powerful and ancient house, in this moment, Gojo looks young, foolish, and all the better for it. 

“May I have this dance, my lady?” 

You giggle, wishing you had a fan to pretend to hide behind. You’re playing pretend again, acting as if you’re characters from a storybook.

“I’d be delighted to, my lord.” 

The music swells. Gojo takes your hand and presses a kiss to your bare knuckles. His lips are soft against your skin, temptation incarnate. In his grasp, your fingers tremble slightly, torn between wanting to seize him and wanting to run away. 

You’re terrified by how much you want him. 

If you let him in for one second, you can imagine how easy it would be to never stop. He’s every one of your desires and hopes made manifest, tied up in a single person. Although it’s impossible, you still feel the heat of him. The warmth of his lips linger on you, a stolen moment before he sweeps you up in his arms.

This is how you remember he’s a boy no longer. The breadth of his shoulders is wide. He’s lost the roundness of youth, his face growing angular and cunning. There’s solid muscle underneath your hands as he pulls you with him, his feet beating a steady rhythm that you have to fight to keep up with. 

He’s doing it on purpose, you know, testing how much you still retained all of those years of tutoring. You’re determined to show him they weren’t for naught. 

When you catch your breath and master the music once more, gliding with him rather than being tugged along, he smiles like he always expected you to. He’s been like this since you were young, dangling challenges in front of you that he’s equally as excited to see you pass as fail. 

The music slows. All around you, the frantic steps melt into slow swaying. You’re feeling brave tonight, so you step closer. You allow the arm curled more tightly around your waist, the tender look in his eyes. When you steal a glance around, no one is watching the two of you, but how far can you go before you lose it all? 

“Don’t talk to Naoya again,” he murmurs against your skin. It tickles, and you squirm until he presses so close it petrifies you. “I don’t like the rumors around him.”

“What rumors?”

“Bad ones. He tumbles girls and leaves them with nothing. Hurts them, takes whatever he wants, and ruins their lives. I don’t trust him, and especially not with you.” His hand smoothes over a stray ruffle on your petticoat, the gesture impossibly loving. “Never with you, princess.” 

You shudder at the way he says princess, feeling cut open, exposed. What has gotten into him tonight? You don’t understand. It feels like drowning, your brain always three steps behind, struggling to break the waves of your confusion. 

You know you’re weak. It’s your name that protects you, the threat of your father and the royal house behind you. Alone, you’re a lamb to slaughter. You’ve been spoiled your whole life, leaving you naive and helpless. 

Gojo is someone you trust implicitly. He’s always protected you. You’ve relied on him for as long as you’ve been alive, but perhaps that’s conditioned you to feel comfortable putting your hand into the mouth of the beast. Even at the chance of exposing how poorly you’ve been trained for the court’s schemes, you don’t hold back when you’re with him. He makes you feel at ease to speak freely without fearing how much you’ll reveal of your own vulnerabilities. 

“I can’t,” you tell him honestly. “House Zenin is one of the Three Great Houses. I can’t refuse Naoya without good reason.” 

“Then marry me,” he says softly. “Marry me and be done with all of this. They don’t deserve you, anyway. They won’t treat you like I will.” 

You close your eyes, feeling the telltale hotness of incoming tears burn behind your eyelids. Why did he do this to you? He was so gentle it hurt, even though you knew he was capable of terrible things. Somehow that made it worse, the knowledge that he was choosing to be kind. 

“You should go,” you say instead. 

Marriage between you and Gojo would never happen. Forget your father. An alliance between the strongest house and the royal house? It would be akin to tyranny. There would be blood in the streets before any of the other nobles would allow it. It’s better not to dream about impossible desires. 

Thorns, not petals, you remind yourself. You can suffer the truth. 

“Why?” He says. “I want to stay with you. I want to be good to you.” 

“This isn’t something to joke about, Satoru.” He looks like he’d rather you have slapped him. “Never talk to me about this again. Find someone else to dance with.” 

There. Your brain snags on something to distract you. You’ve been dancing with him for too long. It’ll reflect poorly on your reputation to give an unmarried man so much of your attention. 

“Pick another partner,” you urge him. 

His brow creases. Stubbornly, he holds onto you even tighter. “Don’t want to.” 

“You have to. Everyone will whisper. I’m surprised they aren’t already.”

“Then let them,” he pleads. “It doesn’t mean anything to me.” 

Regretfully, you pull away. Darkness clouds his beautiful face. It’s unnatural. When you remember him, he’s always smiling. The instances when he directs a genuine frown at you are few and far between, but you’ve already made your decision. 

Gojo stalks off in search of a new partner. Somehow, even though you were the one who forced him to leave, your heart stings to watch his back fade into the distance. If you didn’t want him to go, you shouldn’t have said anything. This is what you hoped for. Still, it’s painful. 

You want to find somewhere to rest after your spat, drained from a rare argument with him, but nowhere is secluded enough for you to let your guard down. Suddenly, you feel a wave of hatred for your stupid, glittering palace and the stupid, glittering fools infesting it. You just fought with your best friend and you’re tired, but you still have to keep up appearances. 

Somewhere nearby, Gojo is spinning another girl, her skirts flaring out around them. You wish you could press your palms to your eyes, letting the pressure relieve your headache, but you’ve shown enough weakness tonight. Instead, you tilt your head back and breathe, trying to appear calm and in control. 

It’s a good thing you restrained yourself, because Naoya is the one that finds you. His shoes are the first thing you see, black leather with steel accents. Steel, not silver, because he wants it to hurt when he kicks. 

You know. You’ve heard the stories. 

“Abandoned by Satoru, my lady?” You hate the way it sounds coming out of his mouth. Gojo makes it sound so intimate, like it’s for you and him only. Naoya’s version is a bastardization, much like the man himself. 

You’re too tired to deal with him, and yet, you’ll have to. House Zenin is important to your father and thus, important to you, especially when you inevitably replace him. “What are you insinuating about your princess, Sir Zenin?”

You use the proper address, the way he should’ve spoken about Gojo. They’re not close enough for him to be calling the other man by his first name. 

“Nothing, nothing,” he says. “Don’t get defensive now.”

You want to tell one of the knights stationed around the hall to drag him away. Instead, you smile and let him prattle on. Court politics. If you ever want to prove to your father you deserve everything you’ve been born into, you have to play the game. No matter how terrible some of the players are. 

“Since you graced Satoru with one, I hope you wouldn’t mind another dance.” 

Turning him down isn’t an option, but when you see that everyone’s watching, you realize even more how much it really isn’t an option. He probably arranged it that way too. Demonspawn. You’d curse his house if you could, instead, you offer him your hand, cringing internally when he tries kissing it. 

You can’t help but compare the two. Gojo did it better. 

Like any son of a high born house, Naoya’s a good dancer. It’s the one compliment you’re willing to grace him with, as everything else about him, especially his personality, is hideous. His hand is solid against your upper back, the other leading you as you spin around the room. It makes you want to scrub yourself clean, even under the layers of clothes. 

You’re doing this for your house. Your throne. This is nothing. None of your mantras diminish your desire to shove Naoya’s head in the cake waiting at the banquet table. 

“I’ve been waiting for this for a long time,” he tells you. 

“Forwardness is unbecoming in a man,” you say with a smile, as if he’s telling you the sweetest nothings. “What would my father say?”

“Don’t play coy, princess. We both know how this ends.” 

“Please excuse me,” you say as soon as the song ends. One is enough. “I find myself rather dizzy.” 

Naoya’s lips whiten with anger. He tries to grab your wrist, but someone steps between you. “Watch your hands with Her Royal Highness, Zenin. I won’t tolerate your disrespect.” 

Naoya’s eyes flash, but the interloper is sweeping you away already. His hands hover above your dress, never actually touching, as he guides you in the opposite direction. 

“Sir Getou, what are you doing?” 

Getou looks down on you in amusement once you’re a safe distance away. “Satoru sent me to rescue you, of course. I didn’t think he was serious when he said you would get into trouble without him.”

“Trouble finds me,” you reply archly. 

“Yes, yes,” he placates, sparking annoyance even though he just saved you from Naoya. “Are you tired of dancing yet, or do you have room for one more? I’m hoping to make an impression on potential wives by dancing with the princess.”

You’re smart enough to know that one more is rarely truly one more, but Getou did save you from Naoya. Besides, if you’re busy with him, no one else can ask for your hand. 

“I suppose I can spare you a dance.” 

Like Gojo, Getou is an adept dancer. He is, after all, a trained court noble, and the sons of House Getou are unusually predisposed to the arts in any case. If the Gojos are known for their strength, the Getous are known for their crafts. 

Getou doesn’t flinch from your unwavering gaze. If anything, he seems to find it amusing, although in the way one would find a puppy amusing. Gently, he leads you around the ballroom. 

“Stay alert, my lady. Someone’s watching you,” Getou warns. 

You follow his gaze to Gojo. There’s a beautiful woman in his arms that takes you no time at all to place, so infamous is her notoriety. Yuki of House Tsukumo is second only to Gojo in her blatant disrespect for everything the elders held dear. 

They make a striking couple. Everywhere they go, heads turn to watch them pass. Her gold to his silver, her lion to his dragon - it would be a powerful match. They would be perfect for each other, if only because no one would be able to challenge each other like they could. 

Excellent dancers each, together they become an instrument for the music to shine through. Getou is gentle with you, each movement as delicate as lilies floating across the surface of a pond. In contrast, Gojo and Yuki dance like they’re fighting, each trying to gain an advantage over the other. They’re magnetic, drawing every eye in the room to watch them. 

Everyone else may be entranced by the pair of them, but the pair itself seems disinterested in the crowd around them. Yuki’s eyes are closed but Gojo-

Gojo’s looking at you. Your cheeks heat with his attention. His stare is intense, eyes half-lidded. Every move is prowling, almost predatory. His eyes remain fixated on your face as he and Yuki move in a complicated, sinuous series of circles. There’s something impossibly filthy about his gaze. It borders on indecency, combined with the way he barely seems to be paying attention to dancing, giving you all of his focus instead.

“We can’t let them steal all the attention,” Getou says. He really is Gojo’s brother-in-arms. “Let’s give them a show.” 

You’ve never been trained in statecraft, but you’ve been given the very finest of tutors in the elegant manners of the court. A show, as Getou puts it, is more than within your capabilities. You close your senses to the rest of the world, focusing on the shift of your skirts and Getou’s quiet voice as your steps weave intricate patterns across the floor. 

He’s a naturally friendly man. It’s easy to talk to him, whispering between each peak in the music. Although he’s friends with Gojo, your social circles rarely overlap enough for you to spend much time in Getou’s company. You’re almost surprised by how much you enjoy it. 

“I think it’s time to change partners,” calls a familiar voice.

As Getou takes the hands of Lady Yuki, her eyes still closed as she sways, someone takes his place. Gojo’s hand slides from where Getou’s were placed appropriately on your upper back down to your hip. You drag them back up, ignoring his pout. He’ll be your last dance of the night. 

“Should I be worried about being replaced?” He murmurs. 

“It was only one turn,” you tell him. 

“And I never want to do it again,” he says. “The other girls don’t dance like you do.” 

He’s an unrepentant liar. You might have been tutored by the best dancers your father could find, but at this level, first and second place might as well be interchangeable. He’s only saying it so you know that he wanted to come back to you, despite the fact that you forced him away. 

Gojo’s a contradiction wrapped inside a paradox, at once sadistic and merciful. No one’s capable of making you feel as much as he does. Without the guidance of formal tutors to give you the education of a prince, you have no idea how to navigate the dangerous world of alliances and betrayals, war and peace. Once, you clumsily blundered through diplomacy, watching your father’s disappointment grow by the hour. You’ve since learned that complete silence is preferable to gaucheness. At least that is something your education as a princess has taught you. 

But Gojo knew you before you grew into the woman you are now. He still remembers how to pull smiles and tears from you, how to push you to the brink of exasperation and coax you into brilliant happiness. He has a key to all the gates you’ve erected. No matter what you do, he always slips past your defenses. 

If you keep letting him do as he pleases, you’ll be the only one who loses. Gojo is a man. If he’s rumored to be attached to the princess, it’ll elevate his reputation. He’s already the best swordsman in the entire kingdom. Being thought of as a profligate would only make them worship him more. People love a little hint of degeneracy to their heroes - not too much to make them immoral, but enough to make them attainable. 

A princess is not a hero. You’re not someone to attain, you’re someone to obtain. When people look at you, they only see the crown. If you’re thought of as a ruined woman, it would prevent you from finding a husband. It would destabilize the entire kingdom. 

It hurts to realize that you’re that selfish. Gojo would’ve chosen you over anything, but you’re letting something as empty as reputation displace him. 

Not that it’s exactly a choice. Your life has been forfeit since you were born. You don’t belong to yourself, but to the royal house. As the only child of the king, you can’t allow yourself any mistakes, not when even the barest twitch of your fingers is scrutinized. 

When Gojo offers to escort you back to your chambers at the end of the night, you swallow down the desire to agree. His eyes are hopeful, mirroring your own expression. It could be like back then, when you were children, running through the halls of the grand palace without a care in the world. Except you know you can never return to the halcyon days of your childhood, before your mother died, before his mother disappeared, before everything went wrong. You try not to let the disappointment on his face bother you when you allow the knight your father sent to bring you back to your rooms instead. 

You attribute the strange feeling you get in the morning to the leftover melancholy of last night. Sunlight trickles across your face lazily, not enough to raise you from your bed but just bright enough to remind you that morning was here. 

You’ve never slept long enough for the sun to warm your face while you were still entangled in your sheets before. The window faces your bed at such an awkward angle that the sun has to be high in the sky before it can light across your pillows. 

Usually a maid wakes you by now if you aren’t up already. Where were they? 

A gentle knock at the door only makes you more apprehensive. It can’t be Utahime. You know the sound of her steps. The pacing is stilted, awkward, as if whoever was behind the door was nervous. 

“Hello?”

“Oh, princess!” Definitely nervous. Not a voice you can recognize. A new maid, perhaps? But why would they-

The door bursts open. You scream as a cloaked figure lunges at you. She throws herself on top of you, trying to pin you to the bed so she can run you through with the knife she has raised in her left hand. 

She’s crying. “You weren’t supposed to be awake!”

Crying and angry. Fluffy white down bursts into the air, obscuring your vision as she stabs a pillow so brutally it vomits its contents. She’s not very good, which explains her terror. Unfortunately, you aren’t very good either, and you’re pinned underneath her. Thrashing doesn’t work - at the very least, she’s stronger than you, if badly trained. 

When she finally immobilizes you, she has a growing bruise over her arm from a terrible punch you had thrown, trying to mimic the way Gojo does it. Keeping your thumb outside your fist was all you remembered, and it went wide. You barely managed to hit her, and it came with a cost. She snags your wrist and pins it down. 

The knife plunges towards you. It’s rusty, which terrifies you almost as much as the implement itself. If by some miracle you survived, you’d be at risk of infection. 

Blue eyes flash before you. In this moment, an inch away from death, you wish you had gotten to say goodbye to him. Fear robs you of rationality. You don’t know anything but that you want to see him one more time and feel the warmth of his embrace. 

“Princess, it’s okay. I’m here.” 

You crack an eye open. The girl is no longer visible. The only person leaning over you now has white hair and the characteristic Gojo eyes, impossible to fake. You decide you must’ve died already. This is heaven, where your wishes have been granted. 

Gojo pulls you up. His hands are warm and solid. Vaguely, you realize that you’re trembling with the same nonchalant distance that you would use to catalog the color of the pillows. 

“You’re not dead yet.”

“Did I say that out loud?”

He chuckles. His thumb is rubbing soothing circles into your palm. “No, I could just tell by the look in your eyes.” 

“The girl…”

“Dead.” 

You scramble to the edge of your bed and peek over. Sure enough, she’s lying in a pool of her own blood. Her throat has been cut so surely her head is nearly separated from her body. 

You gag. 

“Wait,” Gojo says. He kneels to tear off her cloak and holds it in front of you. “Here, princess.”

You don’t want to give in to your queasiness, especially not when he himself is so stoic, so you shake your head. More insistently, he pushes it towards you. 

“It’s only natural,” he soothes. “I’m used to this. You’ve never seen a dead body before.”

“Just come here,” you say weakly. “No, actually. I’ll come to you.” 

“Give me a second,” he says, dropping to his knees. Under the bed, he retrieves your silk slippers. He slips them onto your feet gently, standing when he’s finished with his task. 

Obligingly, he waits as you gingerly step over the girl. When your slipper threatens to dip into the red stain spreading across your floor, he simply grabs you underneath the armpits and lifts you over it. 

Even though it’s a horrific scene, you can’t look away. Her face is frozen in a still mask. Bile fills your stomach. Gojo gently turns your head in another direction with two fingers, the touch delicate. “Don’t look.” 

“I think I’m going to be sick.” 

“I told you not to restrain yourself,” he says disapprovingly.

“You’re not- you’re-“ You can’t figure out the right way to finish your sentence. “Does it really get that easy?” 

His laugh is short and brutal. “Easy? I didn’t even think about it. All I know how to do is kill. I don’t mind it, for you.” 

You shake your head. There’s nothing to say, with a body between you and blood pooling around both your shoes, but still, your heart aches. You had known him when he was a boy. It would always be hard to see him with calluses where once his hands had been chubby and soft. 

He chucks you under the chin, the gesture fleetingly affectionate. “Don’t be so despondent, princess. I’m glad to do it. That’s what knights are for.” 

Knights and maids, all meant to lay down their life or other lives for you at your convenience. Utahime was too loyal to have let an assassin into your chambers by choice. Your breath catches. It concerns him that you’re teetering into upset again, just when he’s calmed you down. 

“Satoru, is Iori-“ The thought is too horrible. You can’t finish it. 

“She’s not dead,” he says. 

Noticeably, he doesn’t say that she’s alright. 

Utahime will be scarred forever. They found her slumped at the bottom of the stairs, her body dumped unceremoniously after they stole her from outside your bedroom. A massive gash opened her right cheek up, crossing just slightly over her nose bridge. 

You almost can’t bear to look at her. Not because her scar makes her hideous - far from it. Utahime will always be beautiful to you. The scar is only a reminder of how you’ve failed her. 

You’re a princess without any power.  All you can do is fuss over her after the fact, unable to change the past. 

“Princess,” she hisses, jerking away from you for the third time in as many minutes. “You must stop! I’m your lady-in-waiting, not the other way around.” 

“You got hurt for me,” you say, hands balled helplessly at your side. You refuse to touch her more aggressively, for fear of aggravating her wound. The bandages wrapped around her cheek are an ever present reminder of how much she’s sacrificed for you. So are the whispers. The looks. She holds her head high, acting as if it doesn’t bother her. 

“I was glad to do it. I didn’t want to be shipped off to some far away baron anyway. Be grateful,” she cracks a smile you don’t feel. “I certainly am. At least I could still join the church, if anything.” 

Why do the people around you insist on destroying themselves for your benefit? 

“You don’t need a baron.” Loyally, you vow, “I’ll take care of you for the rest of your life.”

“Be careful, my lady. Some would take that as a marriage proposal, and then I’d have twice as many death threats.”

“I’d protect you.”

“You, princess? I doubt that,” Gojo calls. 

You’ve been watching the knights move in and out of the arena from your vantage point on the royal balcony, but very few of them have dared to address you, much less speak to you so casually. They’re all too focused on the tourney you’re set to watch this afternoon. Only he would be so familiar with you and so unconcerned about the sparring, knowing his chances. 

Utahime lets out an aggressive sigh with no regard as to whether or not Gojo could hear her. In fact, she’d probably prefer it if he had overheard. Gojo, for his part, ignores the chance to antagonize her for once in his life in order to focus on you.  

“You know, my lady, I’ve heard an interesting rumor going around.” 

You walk to the edge of the balcony and peer over the railing. Utahime gasps in fear and grabs onto your petticoats, afraid that you’ll tip over the fencing. “Go on, Sir Gojo,” you say. 

“If a fair damsel grants a knight her favor, he’ll fight ten times as well. Twenty, even. And all the more so if it’s the princess, who everyone knows is the fairest in the land.”

Unwillingly, a smile twitches to life upon your lips. “Is that so?”

“Won’t you grant your most loyal knight a token of your affection?”

“Don’t,” Utahime gripes. “What has he done to deserve it?”

A scrap of pale blue fabric flutters in the light breeze, reminiscent of doves. Gojo catches the ribbon you’ve loosed from your hair, his fist enclosed in armor. He brings it to his lips for a chaste kiss he can’t place upon you. The entire time, his eyes are on yours, searching. 

“I’ll win this whole thing,” he says. “I’ll defeat every knight here for you.” 

The trumpets blow, calling the contestants. He’ll be wanted. Utahime shakes you lightly as he leaves your sight. “Get yourself together,” she says sternly. 

“But mama, I love him!” You joke. 

Her frown can’t last in the face of your teasing smile. She fixes the lace on your sleeve and collar, though they’re hardly ruffled. She can’t help herself. It’s her second nature to dote on you. 

“Ah, my princess,” she sighs. “You worry me.” 

You poke her uninjured cheek, trying to get her to smile. “It’s not me. You worry too much.”

Another voice cuts in. “I feel the same way sometimes, my dear Lady Utahime, but I trust no one more than you. Her mother left her to your capable hands, after all.” 

Your father has arrived. Utahime smiles as the king kisses her cheek, but you can’t. You know he means it lightheartedly, but it galls you all the more that he says it so blithely. When your mother fell ill, Utahime had been the one who took charge of looking after you. 

Not your father. 

Not your only living parent, the man who was supposed to feel all the closer to you for your loss. Instead, he pushed you away. 

You knew you weren’t being fair. 

The king had been wracked with grief over the passing of his beloved wife. Along with his other royal duties, he couldn’t possibly have been expected to watch over an infant as well. You know better than anyone the toll the crown takes on a man. Stewardship of this land asks a heavy price. It’s not an easy role. 

No, you can’t blame your father for choosing the country. It’s his duty, as it is yours.

You only wish it hadn’t been Utahime’s burden to carry instead. She was just a few years older, a child still when she had raised another child. In many ways, she had been a mother to you. Only now that you’ve grown older than she had been back then do you understand how much responsibility she had accepted at such a young age. 

Your father turns to you. “Are you enjoying the tournament?”

“It’s barely started. Only the squires have been jousting. We haven’t seen any of the real knights yet.” 

“Those squires will become knights themselves one day. Watch carefully, and you may discover a treasure worth keeping.”

As he speaks, you finally find someone worth watching, as if your father only had to say it to cause it to happen. A boy with rosy hair lunges towards his opponent. He disarms him and forces him to the ground - only to offer him his hand in exchange.  

The other squire hesitates. Doubt crosses his face. Finally, he accepts the proffered hand like someone expecting an attack at any minute, but all the other boy does is pull him to his feet and dust him off. He’s more honorable than most of the knights of the realm you know, too focused on humiliating their opponents to flaunt their own glory. 

Your father doesn’t notice your distraction. He’s still speaking. You bring yourself back to the conversation just in time to hear him say, “Sukuna, the King of the Curses.”

“Sorry?” You laugh. 

“It’s no laughing matter, I’m afraid,” your father says gravely. “He’s the ruler of the Western Kingdom, the land where the sun never sets. Perhaps he’s grown tired of his arid land and seeks gentler climes, for his invasions have earned him the title ‘King of Curses’.” 

Utahime’s lip curls in disgust. “King of Cruelty is more like it. I’ve heard of what he’s done to his prisoners. That man has no honor.”

“None,” your father agrees, “and yet it is necessary not to antagonize him. We are small if prosperous. We can’t afford it.”

Utahime looks as if she wants to speak, but she holds her tongue. She’s always been good at navigating the court. Trained under her, you wait as well. Taking your cues from her is something you’ve done since you were a child.

“Yes,” your father says, his eyes distant. He’s ruminating over something he won’t share. “He can’t be provoked. The representative he sent us for this tourney must be carefully attended to.” 

That representative, Uraume, doesn’t fight like any knight you know. Their sword is wider than most of those found in your country, and half as tall as a man. Precision is lost in favor of brutality. They wreak havoc with the brutality of a butcher, tearing through the ranks of your best and strongest. Of course, he’s not the only strong fighter. There are other knights to watch as well. 

“That Lady Tsukumo is doing quite well for a woman,” your father notes in surprise. “What prodigious talent. I don’t think her house has produced a fighter like that in years.”

“She’s better than half your knights,” you remind him. “Lady Tsukumo already defeated most of her bracket.” 

“Yes, yes,” your father laughs. “You know I don’t mean it like that. I’m simply admiring her.” 

As the day progresses, clear victors emerge in each division of the tournament. Uraume is one of them. Gojo is another. 

They placed him against Getou for his penultimate match, knowing the crowd would go wild for a contest between not only two of the best knights of the realm, but sworn brothers. Although Getou is better than most, Gojo is more of a natural disaster than a real, human adversary. At the end of their round, Getou smiles even as Gojo brings him to his knees. 

The next round is even more hotly anticipated than Getou and Gojo’s. 

Gojo strides into the center of the arena with the classic arrogance he’s known for. He delights in riling the crowd up. They cheer louder and louder on each circuit he laps around the arena on his silver stallion, pale as moonlight. By the last, they’re nearly delirious with passion for him. 

Uraume has no such pretenses. They’re a cold creature, as frigid as they come. 

It matters not. Gojo beats them so easily that it can only be described as disrespectful. He rides past Uraume and thrusts the hilt of his sword into their stomach with such force they fall off their horse. Gojo dismounts casually. He hadn’t even used his blade. He flips Uraume onto their back with a boot and steps onto their breastplate, pinning them in place. His sword hovers underneath their chin, a whisper away from death. “Yield,” he says pleasantly. 

You, remembering your fathers speech about Sukuna’s chosen representative from that morning, glance to the side. He’s smiling as gently as ever. Underneath his cloak, where only you and Utahime can see, his hands clenched so tightly his knuckles have turned white. 

After the match, you recognize one of the men rushing Uraume off to be one of your father’s most trusted advisors. He must be doing damage control, but then again, when is he not when Gojo’s around? 

Your father stands, as composed as if he had never been upset in the first place. You envy that self-control. You’ve always aspired to your father. In your eyes, he was the perfect ruler - perhaps because he was the one who taught you what a ruler should be. 

Gojo waits in the center of the arena. He’s beautiful as always, as fierce as an avenging angel. There’s a fine sweat beading at his temples in a way that makes you want to wipe it off with your handkerchief, but you abstain, knowing thousands are watching. 

Gojo has no such scruples. 

When it’s time for him to be awarded his laurel crown, he kneels - not to your father, but to you. A gasp rises from the crowd. You stifle your own shock. Here, where every sign of weakness is clearly visible and easily taken advantage of, you can’t reveal that this wasn’t planned. The royal family’s control over its retainers must appear immaculate - even if Gojo had always been uncontrollable. 

Wordlessly, your father passes you the laurel. You know something is brewing. He can only tolerate Gojo’s outlandish behavior so many times. But this isn’t the place to worry about your father’s incumbent wrath, so you take over the duties of honoring the victor. It’s easy. You’ve seen your father do it enough times to be able to replicate it in your sleep. 

Gojo rises from his knees, a hungry smile on his face. “I told you I’d win.” 

“That you did,” you reply noncommittally, trying to figure out how you’re going to discreetly get him out of the arena without your father attempting to try him for treason. 

He frowns. Knowing him and the type of maneuvers he’s likely to pull, you put a respectable amount of distance between the two of you as you mark his brow in gold paint. 

When you grasp his hand to lift his arm into the air, he presses something into your palm. Years of sharing secrets and playing pretend at espionage have trained you not to flinch. When you lower your enjoined hands, you slip the shred of paper he’s passed you into your pocket. 

People are cheering. You notice with warmth that he looks heroic, like he’s stepped right out of an old legend. Your father doesn’t seem to agree. 

Arguments between the two of you used to be few and far between, but lately it seems like you can’t do anything right. You’d forgotten what it was like to retreat to your parents’ bedroom for a scolding. It hadn’t happened since you were a child, yet here you were again, studying the fabric of the draperies to avoid eye contact with your father, just like you had when you were younger. 

“He wasn’t trying to be disrespectful,” you start. But that’s not true, and you know it. So you try again. “He wasn’t trying to cause problems. He cares about the kingdom, father. He was just trying to show off his - our - strength.” 

“Gojo is a liability.” How easily your father casts him off, marks him as defective. He’s always been like that - clinical in his appraisal. You lacked that precise, indifferent ruthlessness. You’ve tried. 

“He’s a good man, a good knight. House Gojo has always been loyal to us, father. Remember his mother? Remember Sorashi? She wouldn’t want you to treat her son like this.”

Your father flinches. First comes sorrow, then, anger. “Don’t speak to me about Sorashi.”

“You can’t just pretend like they never existed! Sorashi, my mother-“

“Child, you are testing my patience dangerously.” 

You fall silent, hating yourself for it. Always a child. Never someone worth listening to. 

“You don’t understand anything,” he says more gently. 

“I don’t understand anything because you won’t tell me anything!” 

“You’re a princess,” he snarls. “You’re not supposed to know anything!”

You reel back, stunned. You had always been afraid that this was how your father truly felt. 

“You have no sons, so it’s me or no one else.” Disgust fills you at the fear in your own voice. Weak. Pathetic. After all these years, the lessons your father gave you still haven’t sunk in. Perhaps he’s right, and you’re not fit for the throne after all. You’re still begging for what you want instead of demanding it like it’s what you deserve. A prince wouldn’t act like this, but you’re not a prince - only a girl who was never taught how to rule. 

He throws up his hands in exasperation. “I didn’t say anything about sons. See, you’re too young and inexperienced. This is why I won’t let you in yet. You’re not ready to rule.”

“But I will?”

He gives you a wan smile. He’s tired. Guilt seeps through you. These days, all you do is fight. You miss the times when it felt like you had worked together. At the end of all of it, you love your father. You hate that it’s been like this. 

“All in time, my child. I love you, I really do. But you’re not ready.” 

Mutiny curls under your tongue. You’re not ready because he waited too long, hoping for a male heir until your mother died. By then, it was too late for you to catch up on years of lessons you should’ve had. Regardless of what he says, you know how he feels. You were never the one he wanted but-

He’s still your father. When he reaches out to stroke your cheek, a peace offering, you close your eyes against his hand and don’t give voice to your treasonous thoughts. It’s nothing to suffer the humiliation of your status for a while longer. You have all the time in the world to earn your place. 

Your father is right, in the end. You can be patient. 

Back in the privacy of your room, you unfurl Gojo’s note. Gojo’s mother had him trained in elegant cursive that he uses for formal documents and letters. In his messages to you, it degenerates into chicken scratch. It’s a lucky coincidence that it’s all but unreadable to anyone else, making it a code only you can decipher. 

The gardens at midnight. - S. 

Only a place and a time. Is he trying to tempt fate? 

You indulge in the idea of not going, especially since things are already tense with your father. All the way up until the hour you need to leave, you let yourself believe it’s not happening. It’s too risky. People are already suspicious of you as it is. The minute passes, and if you go now, you’ll be late, so you won’t. 

You grab your shawl with a huff of annoyance. You’re going. You were always going to go, from the very moment you got the note. 

You aren’t used to sneaking through hallways you usually glide through. There are several close calls as you make your way closer and closer to the gardens. Multiple times, you’re forced to make a run for the nearest door or drape to hide behind. 

You’re barely two feet away when you’re finally caught. A hand slaps over your mouth before you can scream as someone tugs you into a dark corridor. You kick and lash out, forgetting everything Gojo has taught you in favor of blind violence. 

“Shh,” comes a voice in your ear. “It’s just me.” 

You bite him. 

He hisses and pulls back, shaking out his hand. “What’s wrong with you?” 

“Why would you do that? You scared me!” 

“You’re not careful enough, princess. Did you even notice the maid coming up the left hallway?”

Admittedly, you hadn’t. It’s lucky that he was there to save you. 

Gojo has always been there to protect you. The tension bleeds from your body. You sigh and lean into him. You can’t help it. 

He laughs. “Are you that happy to see me?” 

“If you don’t be quiet, I’ll show you exactly how happy I am.” 

“Come on,” he tugs you out towards the gardens. It’s dangerous, but you follow him anyway. Being with Gojo is so threatening not despite his strength, but because of it. You rely on him too easily, trusting him to see you safely through any peril. His very presence is the promise of security. It makes it too easy to relax when he’s with you. 

You expect him to tell you why he called you here, but he remains silent when he tugs you down on the bench next to him. “Satoru?” 

“Here,” he says, opening his hands. A single crushed violet sits on his palm. You raise it to your eye. It’s all the more fragrant because it has been mangled, the delicate petals bruised to release the scent into the air. 

Gojo’s mouth lifts in a smile. “Sorry,” he says. “I didn’t realize.” 

“You really know how to win a girl’s heart,” you tease. 

“Hopefully I know how to win over her father’s too.”

You freeze. 

“If not marriage, then knighthood. Let me be yours, in whatever way I can have you.” 

“You have me,” you tell him. “You always have.”

You don’t know how to answer such devotion. Besides the obvious political ramifications of being wedded to Gojo when your marriage is meant to be a bargaining chip used for the sake of your kingdom, you don’t want it. Not like this. 

Gojo has been your dedicated shield for so long, the two of you have forgotten a life where he wouldn’t give up everything to protect you. He’d do anything for you - even that which he should hold sacred for himself. His very body is littered with scars that he’s received on your behalf. How much more can you take from him? 

Does Gojo really want to marry you or does he want to protect you? Will he play the part of the devoted servant for the rest of his life? 

“You don’t have to…” You realize you don’t know how to say it. Or that you don’t want to. Selfishly, a part of you can’t bear to release him from the oath he gave you when you were children, though he couldn’t have known. Neither of you could have understood what it meant for him to kneel at your feet and swear his life to you. It had all been in good fun, the way children understand things. “I don’t want you to- Oh, Satoru. You don’t owe me anything. You’ve done enough for me.” 

For a second, your imagination plays tricks on you. The cobalt of his eyes kindles into a terrifying flame, like the lightning in the town he hails from. It’s as if the draconic blood his ancestors claimed still lives within him. 

He continues as if he hadn’t heard you. “I’m going to ask your father tomorrow. I want to be your dedicated knight; I won’t wait any longer. I’ve waited enough.” 

His pushiness feeds your annoyance. You cling to it, preferring it to the dreadful hopelessness inside of you. The right thing is not always the easy thing. Gojo deserves his freedom after wasting his youth on keeping you safe, yet letting him go feels as difficult as willingly driving a nail through your hand. You want to cling to him forever, reassured by his strength. 

“Don’t,” you say, trying to sound firm. 

“At the ceremony,” he says determinedly. “When he gives me captainship in the army. He’ll have to say yes if I ask him then.” 

“Satoru, please-” Your voice wobbles embarrassingly, and you have to pause. Silently, you beg your tears not to fall. The way he disarms you is humiliating. You turn away, but Gojo understands. Years of watching after you has taught him a lot. He bandaged the scrapes that you refused to cry over and avenged your honor after you pretended your pride hadn't been hurt. He can see right through you. “Please don’t.” 

You see the frustration on his face. He’s not a man used to holding himself back, and yet he does. 

“It’s alright,” he says. “We can wait.” 

It’s just another number to add to the tally of favors you owe him. “It’s not that I don’t want you to be my guard,” you say in a small voice. “I just-” 

“I know. Though I do think the king will ask me anyway, so this is all pointless.” He looks away. “I just wanted you to- Nevermind.” 

“Really?” Doubt colors your voice. 

“I’m the strongest. Who else would your father ask to protect you but me?” 

“He doesn’t like you,” you point out. “No, he does, but it’s a very begrudging like. I don’t get it.” 

It makes you smile, thinking about the way your father can’t stand Gojo but won’t allow anyone else to speak poorly of him. He’s still a Gojo after all, no matter how much trouble he causes your father, and your father loves Gojos. The royal house has always held their house dear. They had been close for decades. Always, they were something to the other, no matter what form that something took. 

“There you are,” Gojo murmurs. His fingers trace the arc of your mouth. “So pretty.” 

You glare at him through tears. “And whose fault is it that I cried?” 

“Your father’s?” 

You scoff. “You see? This is why he doesn’t like you.” 

Gojo looks at you seriously. “I’ll get down on both knees and beg him for it if I have to.” 

“Don’t do that,” you gasp. 

“I don’t care,” he says. “You’re what’s most important to me. More than pride, more than honor.” 

You look at the crushed violet in your hand. 

Who else but Gojo? 

He breaks you down so easily. You press the flower back into his palm. “I know you’ll do what’s right.” 

His eyes soften. He leans closer. 

“Gojo,” comes a voice. “What are you doing in the gardens this late at night?” 

You stiffen. The owner of the voice is drawing closer. 

“Do you trust me?” Gojo asks, as cool and collected as ever. 

You nod, fearing your voice will give you away. He cups your face in his hands and ever so delicately presses a light kiss to your cheek, tilting his head towards you. Does it look like a real kiss from afar? Did he mean it to? 

“Stop,” he tells the man behind you. “Don’t come any closer. You’ll scare her.” 

“A new plaything?” Asks Yaga. “I’m not so scary, am I?” 

Gojo notices you tremble harder as the voice registers. Lord Commander Yaga is close to the King. As the captain of the kingsguard, he could ruin everything.

Gojo lifts a hand to the back of your head and presses it gently towards his shoulder, obscuring your face. He pulls you towards him, arranging your legs around his waist. A soothing hand traces a warm path up and down your back. It calms you as much as it shames you. You’ve never been this close to any man, not even him, and now you’re cuddling only for the sake of protecting your secrets. 

“The Lord Commander of the Kingsguard is a terrifying man, or so I’ve heard,” he says casually, as if the two of you aren’t trapped in an extremely compromising position. As if your father wouldn’t demand his head on a pike if Yaga realized who it was. 

“Just escort her to her room when you’re done,” Yaga says gruffly. “I don’t need to tell you to be a gentleman, do I?” 

“No, sir,” Gojo says cheerfully. 

That night, you breathe a sigh of relief. Yaga gave no sign he recognized you. He acted as if he normally would upon encountering any soldier of his on a late night escapade, profoundly disinterested and deeply desirous to get away. Only in the morning do you begin to doubt your deception. 

[hiraethwa]

۫ ּ ֗ – lost and found.

pairing: miya osamu x reader a/n: quick drabble continuation as a creative stretch from my other series, not edited >.< word count: 600 part one here.

part two.

you were scared. fingers trembling and knees wobbling, as you pretended to look around, eyes catching sight of the man who had been following you from the train station. 

you hurry as nonchalantly as you could, high heels clicking on the asphalt, ignoring the burning sensation of your skin being rubbed raw by thin strap across the back of your heels. 

you debate making a run for your safety, but he would probably catch you before you could make it to safety. so here you are, phone pressed against your cheek, dialing your friend’s number, praying to the gods listening above, if there were any, for her to pick up.

onigiri miya’s bright sign comes into view as you turn the corner. you let out a breath of relief as you stride as far as your dress would allow you, speed walking the length of the three shops before making it to safety. 

you didn’t have time to check who was on shift tonight, usually peeking in through the glass windows to check for osamu’s presence, or the lack thereof before committing yourself to entering the cozy restaurant.

the first time you allowed yourself to visit the restaurant you had made your friend go in and confirm that its owner wasn’t physically present before even having the courage to step through the threshold.

it wasn’t that you disliked or hated miya osamu, rather that he was your ex in high school who had dumped you right before you had to move across the country for your father’s work transfer. it was embarrassing to recount, and the years between then and now did nothing to lessen the shame that burns your cheeks whenever you do. 

he had broken up with you unceremoniously, through a goddamn text, sent carelessly, as if you didn’t mean anything to him. you had blocked his number, moved away and tried to forget about it. the keyword here being tried. 

six years later you still can’t seem to forget the warmth of his fingers against your cheek, or the softness of the scarf he used to wrap around your neck to keep the cold away. or the onigiris he used to bring you for lunch. 

it’s even better now. he must have adjusted the recipe because his onigiris taste better than in your memories. 

you tried to forget the grey of his irises, the sensation of your fingers running through his hair, his number that dialed your phone just last night.

you had stared at it in shock before finding your bearing to pick it up, questions flying through your mind. was it osamu? why is he calling you now? does he remember you even? you didn’t even get to say hello before the line went dead. 

“i’ve been waiting ages for ya, ya scrub–” it was the kansai-ben that made you turn around from checking outside in shock, the accent in the voice that you hear in your dreams, of things gone right. 

osamu. it’s osamu. 

your cheeks turn warm under your mask, your body frozen in place even though you beg for it to just move.

you wonder if he remembers you, if he would even recognize you. “y/n” his rough voice cuts through your thoughts, overturning your worst fears of being so insignificant to the one that still lives in your heart to the point that you’re not worth remembering.

“samu” you say his name like it was a prayer answered by the gods that have turned a blind eye to for years.

looking for more? browse the library

taglist. @daisy-room @bakery-anon @hatsukeii @grangerthequeen @lonelyminh

[thegeorgiatennantblog]

*Clanking pots and pans together *

I have a message for all the tin hatters and misogynists in the Tumblr fandom.

28th August, The Year of Our Nerd 2024

To Whom It May Concern

It has been precisely one year and one month to the fact that I first came across this malady that has been plaguing our fandom. Other fandoms have been more or less unfortunate in this regard. What started as a lighthearted joke has now turned into a toxic, vile, festering wound. For a long time I either ignored these blogs and their opinions or very politely tried to dismiss them. For an even longer time I was made to feel that I was in the wrong. After all we live in a free society and all of us believe int he idea of freedom of speech, freedom to hold whatever views and beliefs, and freedom to express those views and beliefs. But the very same citizens of these free society's in today's world are also facing a dilemma: how far does this right go? Is it unconditional? Is it absolute? Or does it qualify to some form of check or some form of necessary derogation under exceptional circumstances? When do those circumstances arise?

Most of us have come to an understanding in regard to the question, though all of us may not agree to it: it is understood that where your right to exercise your freedom offends and restricts my right to do or causes in any way for me or anyone else to feel endangered, then that is where we draw the line.

Reading @do-angels-dream-of-starry-seas 's post today I have come to the conclusion that the time has come to draw that line. It is a question on where we stand as a fandom if we let such bigotry and such hate prevail any longer.

I want to let everyone know where I stand. I have nothing against fanfiction. I have nothing against RPF. People have been creating RPF since time immemorial. If not for RPF a large amount of literature, film, music and other forms of art would not exist. Shakespear's Histories are essentially RPF, Hamilton is RPF, Netflix's The Crown is RPF, Le Morte d'Arthur is RPF, Baz Luhrman's Elvis is RPF and so is Andrew Dominic's Blonde. You may like some of it, you might dislike some of it. You might even be vehemently against some of it. But that's all it is at the end of the day; fiction. It doesn't hurt anyone. The real problem arises when people start becoming unbale to differentiate between fiction and reality. And that's no better than thinking that just cz someone played a serial killer in a movie means they're evil irl too.

It becomes suffocating for others to exist in these spaces when the delusion that the RFP is real transcends to take an even worse shape namely hating the real people involved in said person's life. How could you justify hating on their real life partners just so you can satisfy your delusional belief that these men are actually in love with each other.

Maybe it springs from a need to justify our lives in terms of conspiracy theories in this growing pandemic of untruths and fake news. Maybe it springs from some deep rooted internalized misogyny. Who can say?

Before I move on I want to highlight some problems with the wntire tinhatter discourse.

The existence of a PR. I want to clarify this here and now. PR works for important, famous, insanely rich people whose global fame makes their identity a part of the public domain so much that their entire image needs to be curated to meet certain requirements. PR works for Taylor Swift and Leonardo DiCaprio and Barak Obama. Who is does NOT work for are people who are only locally well known, live reasonably ordinary lifestyles, and have a painfully insignificant following outside their own cultural context.

The idea that one picture or a five second video can tell the truth about someone's entire personal life. It cannot. It never will. Body language is not even a science. Body language is misleading. Facial expressions are misleading. I am writing this right now with the most bland expression on my face. People around me think I'm writing an email. My internal emotions right now are another story. Moreover no one owes anyone any sort of information on their personal life, their love life, their mood, their life choices or whatever. Their lives are not public property. Please respect that.

The women are the villains. This blatant misogyny has become intolerable as the days go by considering most of these posts are written by women themselves. The whole controlling wife, poor meek guy trope is so fckng infuriating. When did we wake up to a world where women hold the reigns and an adult white upper middle class male cannot tell her that he wants a divorce. I thought this only happened to unprivileged women in third world countries who cannot file a divorce bcs then she will be left penniless and socially disgraced. The women baby trapped them. Of course they feel responsibility for the kids now. Child birth is the second most painful experience after being burnt to death. No woman does it for the pleasure of it nor for some strategic benefit that it will serve her. And giving birth to not just one but many. And then raising them. That's not easy! Secondly, having children is a mutual decision and process. If only women could make babies, we'd get rid of men for good lol! (this is a joke plz don't @ me) If someone decides to have children with someone, and we're not talking just one accidental pregnancy or sth... we're talking several kids over the years.... then they probably have that level of attachment, love and commitment to their partner. It's just common sense.

Absolute cynicism. Anything Georgia and Anna do is met with cynicism and their words are deliberately twisted to mean the opposite. While D and M will be applauded for speaking up for a cause, when G and A do the same, they are shouted down as pretentious or that PR made them do it. When D and M show affection towards each other that's all real and true but when G and A show affection to their partners it fake and a PR stunt. Moreover, the way they interact with their partners is also completely misunderstood. Anna is more private and subtle about her gestures of praise and affection. But from what she does show publicly we know that she absolutely adores her partner and her kids. Georgia on the other hand has her own way. She teases, makes jokes, pokes fun at him, but she's also literally the woman that is being ultra-horny for him on Twitter and Instagram in front of everyone else. And I think that comes from the fact that they were friends first and lovers second and they have maintained that playful friendly relationship with each other. Still, she is accused of never being appreciative, being cringey, possessive, creepy and always bringing him down. Oh, and we never talk about how Michael next to never promotes Davis's achievements. In fact, no one else I know does it. Literally the only person is Georgia jumping up and down going "This is my partner! Have you seen them! Have you seen how awesome they are! I love them!" Not just that, these tinhatters have such double standards that while D's neurodivergent traits are being praised, G takes the rap for it. She's a careless mum, an unworthy partner; none of her professional achievements matter. She is fighting her dyslexia and neurodivergence to achieve something but the tinhatters will make ableist remarks to bring her down. But they don't just stop there. They accuse her of abuse, rape and cyber harassment. Pray that she doesn't find out because accusing someone of that can get you behind the bars hon!

I know that none of this is going to disappear over night. We fight the fight every day and we hope that tumblr goes back to being the safe space it once was. But till then, it is important that we stay strong and stay together. I have had people come into my ds with links and other stuff that made me want to jump off a cliff. I have been subjected to some horrendous lies, all in a bid to 'convert' me. Sadly that's not happening babes.

So I just want these tinhatters to know that if you're here, then we're here too. And no matter how much of this toxic bile you keep spewing we'll keep washing it away. And that @dtmsrpfcringe and @goodomenswarning don't have to do it alone. If you wanna go at them then come at me bitches!

And I'm not scared to call y'all out @ingravinoveritas @letscoffeebreak @nightgoodomens

@invisibleicewands @climb-dtennant-like-a-tree @thetardisisbluandroseistoo and others but mainly you guys cz you're the ring leaders. Go on block me if you want to I don't care! Or better, send me some of those creepy asks you guys send Tori. At least it would take the burden off her!

Oh and, before I go, @dtmsrpfcringe you're a champ and we love you and we stand with you!!!

Yours Sincerely,

Meena. x

curator of TheGeorgiaTennantBlog

[3m0t10nal-cr1s1s]

In your AU how looks the relationship between Ao Guang and his children?

Is he the stoic type of father, cold one, or maybe he's warm and doesn't show it?

Does Ao Guang have favourite child or prefers have equality between his sons and daughter?

Thank you for your questions!

Ao Guang isn't a doting father by any means in my au. His number one priority will always be the clan instead of his children. But... He did love his wife, and by extension, their kids. He wants the best for them, but his best doesn't exactly align with what his children think is best.

Ao Jia greatly respects his father for all the work he does for the clan's prosperity. There's been a lot of pressure on his shoulders since he was young and he's constantly been in lessons and meetings practically from the moment he hatched. Perhaps he has some deep seeded resentment towards his father for not letting him experience life as a normal dragon would. Next to Longnü, he has the least memories of his mother compared to his brothers. He wants to do good by the clan, something instilled into him by Ao Guang, and he's willing to stretch himself thin to do it.

Ao Yi definitely dislikes the fact that his father's priorities never laid with his children and wife but the clan. Ao Yi loved his mother, but he was soon separated from her when Ao Guang increased his lessons so he could help out more around the palace. He wasn't the heir but he would be next in line after Ao Jia, so he had to learn how to take care of things just in case. He wasn't there by his mother's side when she died because he was so busy with princely duties, of which he would never forgive Ao Guang for. He could and wants to leave but he wouldn't be able to leave his older brother and younger sister like that, so he stays. Somewhat.

For Ao Bing, he feels that the fact that his father demanded Li Jing kill his own son for Nezha killing him was something he did not out of love for his son but to protect his own and the clan's image. After Ao Bing was brought back to life, one of the Jade Emperor's conditions to let him stay alive was that Ao Bing be stripped of his titles as the East Sea's third prince, something Ao Guang agreed to. There was a slimmer chance Ao Bing would inherit the East Sea throne due to being third in line, so Ao Guang mostly neglected Ao Bing and his lessons, giving him the opportunity to slip away to the surface. He hasn't spoken to his father once since he's been revived. Actually, he doesn't really know or remember if he's ever had a conversation with his father. The only thing he remembers is sitting outside meeting rooms waiting for his mother, and when his father would come out, he'd greet him and his brothers, but that was it.

Longnü, despite being his only daughter, has never seen her father much. She barely recognizes him as her father, and barely considers herself the East Sea's princess. Her world practically revolved around her mother and Ao Bing since she hatched. She saw him, maybe twice or three times at dinners or on his throne before Ao Bing died and she was then taken care of by Ao Yi. She doesn't care how much she damaged(?) the East Sea Clan's reputation by tricking the Ten Kings of Diyu and bringing her brother back, she just hates that her father didn't really do anything to bring Ao Bing back sooner. In her eyes, Ao Bing's death should not have happened and therefore her father should've fought harder to bring him back, but he didn't. She feels much the same about Ao Guang and her mother's death but in that case, she was young and didn't understand much.

Parents shouldn't have favourites or at least shouldn't show that they have a clear favourite. For Ao Guang though, when he says he doesn't have a favourite child, he's telling the truth. He doesn't know any of them well enough to call them his favourite.

He does pay more attention to Ao Jia and Ao Yi, if that's any consolation...? Probably not.

Masterpost | First | Previous | Next

[merakiui]

You unlocked a new mink for me about stepson!Floyd. Anymore headcannons?

I have a few thoughts to share!!

(cw: yandere, nsfw, dub-con, unhealthy relationship/behaviors, obsession, stepcest (stepson!floyd x stepmother!reader), reader is female and a milf, age gap (but floyd is an adult in his late twenties/early thirties; i couldn't decide.), one-sided attraction (floyd loves you in a very not familial way, but you don't reciprocate in this regard)

✧ growing up, floyd probably hated you with a fiery passion. perhaps he's stubborn and refuses to see you as his new mother because he clings to the memories of his birth mother. no one can replace his real mama. you're just a fake! >:( what does his pops even see in you? as he matures, he grows out of his dislike for you and eventually comes to appreciate your presence in his life. both you and his birth mother are two separate people and he knows that even though you're not his birth mother (and will never be his birth mother) you're still technically his (step)mother. stepmother status doesn't mean much to him; regardless of that, you're still very mama to him. he's always been a mama's boy, so he grows attached. it's a very different attachment with you.

✧ the line between platonic and romantic is very thin for floyd because he's never truly understood the boundary between both. he loves you. isn't that enough? his admiration for you is just puppy love; it probably starts when you'd patch him up after every scuffle he got into or when you'd pick him up after he got in trouble with the other schoolchildren or teachers, chiding him lightly. you'd hold his hands in yours and lecture him softly: "floyd, you know these hands of yours aren't supposed to hurt others. why hit when you can hug instead?" he thinks that's so LAME. >:/ but because you said so, he'll try to be nice just so you won't be upset with him. he'll do anything to make his mama happy.

✧ he fought with jade a lot for your attention. whenever the two of them got into a spat, he'd show up at your bedroom door and sleep between you and his pops. he hates fighting with jade, of course, but then he hates it more when jade's being greedy with your time and affection.

✧ floyd probably surpassed the line of platonic when he was going through puberty and started noticing things about you that he hadn't before. with the physical changes that accompany puberty, the emotional ones come, too. it's a turbulent time for floyd because he has no idea how to navigate any of these weird feelings. while the boys in his class are talking about their crushes, floyd's thinking of you and only you. part of him realizes it's wrong, but he never addresses it. it's just hormones. it'll pass. (it doesn't.)

✧ now that he's much older, set to inherit the family business any day now, all of these memories are looked back on with immense, obsessive fondness. his affection for you doesn't waver with age; if anything it's gotten stronger because now he's old enough to understand what everything means. and he now knows the line between platonic and romantic. he'll probably never think of you platonically ever again. he's too deep into his obsession to view you as you are without the lustful attraction.

✧ you're so soft. so sweet. he's so in love with you and your body and your smell because you always smell like home; and you always cook him delicious meals when he comes to visit. as much as floyd likes the independence and freedom of living on his own in the city, he misses being under the same roof as you. so he visits when he can. when his pops isn't running him ragged with work (floyd thinks he ought to retire sooner; he can handle things on his own) and he's not pursuing fleeting hobbies, he's visiting his parents' place.

✧ most of these visits start and end the same. floyd comes to pester you about marriage. he told you he'd marry you when he was older and you'd laughed it off and told him, "when you're older, you'll find a lovely person to marry. i'm sure of it." but the problem is: you are that lovely person. he doesn't want anyone else. he wants you, and it eats him alive that his pops has you and he doesn't. floyd knows his old man's schedule by heart, so he only ever visits on the days he's out doing business. his pops would have his head if he knew what floyd got up to with you on the weekdays.

✧ you try to reason with him: "floyd, sweetheart, you know we can't do that. i'm your mother." but floyd doesn't give a shit about that. who cares if you're his mama! he loves you and that's enough. you've gotten softer with age. he notices it every year: your wide hips, the wrinkles lining your face, your pudgy tummy that he loves to squeeze when he rucks your shirt up, your fat tits, the thickness of your thighs, the way you're so easy to manhandle...... he bends you over the table, the couch, the counter; wheedles you into the bedroom and fucks you on the bed you sleep in with his pops. and you put up with it because you don't want to hurt him; he's still your precious boy. :( you don't want to break his heart.

✧ it's so not fair. floyd doesn't care what society thinks is right or wrong. the family business is just barely legal. do you really think he'll stop loving you just because the world tells him it's wrong and gross and weird? he's always been painfully honest. he'll spite all of the people who try to tell him it's wrong, especially his pops, by tugging you into a sloppy kiss in front of everyone. that way they'll know you're his and he's yours.

✧ you worry for floyd. he really should meet other people his age, but he's so set on you. you'd feel flattered if he wasn't your stepson, the boy you raised and watched grow into the man he is now. you know he won't listen to you every time you try to combat his delusions with logic. and it's so difficult to get a word in when he's rutting into you from behind, rubbing your flank adoringly and groaning in your ear about how "fuckin' hot you are, mama."

✧ floyd's never been a patient creature, but he is persistent. and you're worn down every time he visits. you're his stepmother; you want him to be happy. but there's some happiness you just can't provide for him. floyd isn't deterred. he'll have his mama one way or another. he loves you too much to give you up.

[imagine-a-life-like-this]

omg girl im so sorry im a lil slow- i love your enemies to lovers series but can you pls tell me the reason for each member as to why they (or yn) dislike each other/dont get along? 😭 im so slow to the reasoning LOL SORRY 🙏🏼

It's okay !! No need to apologize 😭 I'm gonna answer for all 8 members so if you don't want spoilers for Seungmin and Jeongin, stop reading after Felix's 🥰

Chan : they had met once in passing and Y/n didn't like his vibe or the way he looked at them. he just thought they were pretty but annoying. but he was going to do his best to win them over, he just wasn't quite expecting to fall too.

Minho : he had only heard of Y/n through Hyunjin and decided he didn't like them. he could not keep up that dislike after actually meeting them though (and seeing how much his cats like them)

Changbin : all they wanted was an apology but Changbin kept trying to solve everything with money. but they couldn't help but be won over in the end.

Hyunjin : they just could never seem to get along, despite being in the same friend group. but there is something very intimate about being someone's muse.

Jisung : they were partnered up multiple times in the past and hated every second, and this would be no different. but he realized that there's a thin line between love and hate.

Felix : Y/n just thought Felix was too nice and that was suspicious. they couldn't believe that someone could be that nice, but Felix is. and it's hard to hate someone who's just that nice.

Seungmin : they weren't really enemies, not quite friends. Y/n secretly always had feelings for Seungmin, but Seungmin was clueless. but when they seemingly lost their sparkle, Seungmin was determined to bring it back, no matter what.

Jeongin : they were childhood friends, inseparable for years. until one day Jeongin decides to end the friendship. and Y/n doesn't find out why until an accidental kiss brings out his true feelings.