Mettyse

MDNI 21+ Expect to be wildly disappointed, mildly amused and oddly aroused

[femcel-beware]

I’m sorry I’m obnoxious I literally can’t help it… 😔

This is supposed to be fanfic spam page that lets me keep track of the fics I like on here, not sure if I wanna do the whole fandom list thing -

Wouldn’t recommend scrolling down too far, it does get a bit weird on here.

Give me recs tho if you feel like you notice a pattern

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Dragon On The Tower Roof.

Pairing: Yandere!Malleus x Reader (TWST).

Word Count: 4.2k.

TW: Fantasy AU, Mentions of Blood/Bruising, Mentions of Injury to Reader, Implied (Consensual) Sex, Possessive Behavior, and Manipulation.

Malleus met you at the base of his tower.

With a single movement of his wings, he descended from his perch and landed in front of you – placing himself between you and the stone behemoth. Had you been a more imposing figure, a knight or a prince or the general of some distant army, he would’ve cut you down the moment you entered his valley, but your only armor was a thin rucksack tunic and your only weapon was a rusted sword – the tip of its chipped blade currently planted in the ground as you struggled to keep yourself on your feet. He could smell blood on you, although he couldn’t be sure if its source was the jagged, poorly bandaged wound on your calf or the dark stains painting your humble clothes. You were clearly not a knight, much less a prince, and if you were a general, your army had abandoned you long ago. Altogether, you were not the most intimidating nuisance he had ever had to dismiss. He might’ve been grateful, had you not been a nuisance at all.

In the past, his visage alone had been enough to make even the bravest adventure abandon their quest, but your weary eyes only glazed over his black-scaled wings, his spiraling horns, the slit pupils of his unnaturally green eyes. You acknowledged him with a slight nod, putting more of your weight on your makeshift aid. “I believe I’m here to slay you, dragon.”

His greeting, likewise, came in the form of a bowed head, a narrowed gaze. “And to rescue the prince, I assume.”

You shrugged, the gesture alone threatening to cost you your balance. “I’m sure they’d prefer if I didn’t. I think they’ve got someone else for that – a lord, or maybe a king. Someone more befitting than a filthy criminal, surely.”

At that, Malleus felt the ghost of a smile tug at the corner of his lips. Novelty was rare, this far into his everlasting life, and he could not say he’d ever had a prisoner sent after his head. “What sort of crime gets you sent to the lair of a monster?”

You brightened at the question. “Thievery,” you answered, pride overshadowing your exhaustion. “I could either face you or let them cut off my hands and, well, I find those to be quite essential to my burgeoning career.”

This time, you earned an airy laugh, a reflexive flick of his tail. He took another moment to evaluate you before speaking. “You are tired, thief.”

It wasn’t a question, but you answered regardless. “It was a long journey. You aren’t an easy monster to reach.”

“And injured, presumably by the fangs of some great beast of legend.”

“Right again.” You paused, then added, “If there are any legends about wolves, I mean.”

“And hungry.” Your smile fell. When you failed to respond, he went on. “May I invite you to share a meal with me before our battle?”

He watched as you swallowed, as you straightened. Your sword was pulled from the ground and allowed to hang limply at your side as you stared up at him with such a hopeful expression – his heart, had it not been so terribly calloused, might’ve broken at the sight alone. “Well,” you started, your humor gone in exchange for pure, unabashed desperation. “I suppose I can’t refuse such a kindly offered invitation.”

With no further conversation, he stepped to the side, raising his staff to the tower. After only a moment, the endless cobblestone pulled away to reveal a simple, wooded door – already open and awaiting his entry. Smiling, he motioned for you to follow him, and without protest, you obeyed.

~

You ate, to put it politely, like a starving animal.

There’d been an attempt at decency when you first sat down at the opposing head of his banquet table, a gallant effort to make use of the flatware arranged into neat, never-ending lines on either side of your plate, but what little energy you had for such pleasantries was depleted quickly as your attention was dedicated entirely to the whims of your empty stomach. Countless other dishes decorated the table – ranging from fine delicacies fit for the pallets of kings to common staples even the lowest of peasantry would’ve been familiar with, but Malleus was content to nurse a goblet of dark, herbed wine as he watched you bask in the feast.

Only after you’d gotten your fill did you seem to remember that you had company, your expression taking on a sheepish note. “This is what they brought me to trial for. Trespassing, I mean,” you began, and Malleus hummed in acknowledgement. “It was a baron’s manor – not quite a castle, but close to it. I heard he had the most beautiful gardens on this continent, and at the time, it seemed unreasonable to have to wait for an invitation just to take a look.”

“I thought you were a thief?”

“You must have the wrong person. I’ve been many things, but never a thief.” You leaned back in your chair. “I’m afraid I’ve always been too tender-hearted for that kind of thing. I could never stand to insult my hosts.”

“Such a considerate guest I have,” he said, cocking his head to the side. “I suppose I won’t have to worry about being robbed blind if I let you stay the night, then.”

You shook your head, feigning ego. “I would never, dear dragon. Your reclusive prince, on the other hand—”

Whatever you might’ve gone on to say was swiftly replaced with a sudden gasp as every torch within sight burst into a pillar of vicious emerald flame, casting the dining room in a blinding, sickly green before dying out just as abruptly as it’d erupted. Malleus let out an exasperated breath, bringing a hand to his temples. “My apologies. My patience has grown—” He cast a wayward glance toward the ash now seared into the stone walls, the ceiling. “—thin, over my time here.”

You allowed a beat to pass by in silence, then another. “Your prince,” you said, finally. “Is he important to you?”

“I can think of nothing I value more.” The answer came easily, even if the intensity of his sentiment surprised him. “An old friend asked me to ensure his safety. I’ve performed my role dutifully ever since.” The taste of blood rose into the back of his throat, but he drowned it out with another long sip from his goblet. “They used to send entire armies to reclaim him, then lone knights, then the occasional adventurer. You might be the first human to come seeking my head in two or three decades.”

Your smile took on a shy lilt, your eyes drifting to the table. “I wasn’t really supposed to come after you, either. Most people just take it as an exile, but they gave me a sword, and…” It was your turn to laugh, now, to be surprised with yourself. “I didn’t have anywhere else to go. I thought, even if I don’t get to rescue any princes, it could be nice to see how much of the fairy tale is true.”

“And you’re satisfied with what you’ve found?”

“Not entirely,” you admitted. “But I’m glad I met you, dear dragon.”

After some hesitation, he pushed himself to his feet and closed the distance between you. You stiffened, your gaze flitting blatantly toward the sole exit, but you didn’t attempt to flee as he pulled the closest seat in front of you and fell into it. “May I see your leg?”

You were far more than reluctant, but complied. The material of your travel weary trousers was pulled above your knee, the strips of fabric you’d attempted to fashion into bandages cut away with his own pitch-black talons. The wound was worse than he’d assumed, more severe than he assumed. Ragged skin stretched from your knee to your ankle, harsh puncture marks littering what little flesh was still in-tact. The stress of your journey had prevented the brunt of the damage from healing, and even without the use of his advanced senses, he would’ve been able to feel the heat radiating off of your skin, the first signs of infection beginning to set in. You were lucky you’d made it to his tower before the fever spread. His territory was cruel to the most resilient of creatures, and you seemed far from resilient.

“I have a salve in my collection that should aid in your recovery. That, paired with a few days of bed rest, should have you on your feet again in a week’s time.” Not a lie, but not far from one, either. He’d mended worse with a snap of his fingers, but there was no reason you should have to be burdened with such knowledge. “If you can find it within yourself to share a roof with a monster and delay our duel yet again, I can provide room and board while you recover.”

Your laugh was bright and strained. “You’re terribly kind to someone who came here to take your life.”

“And you’re very trusting of a creature who could easily end yours.” He let his pointed claws scrape over your bare skin, prolonging his evaluation. “Think of it as a show of my gratitude. My time here is well-spent, but tends to pass slowly. Visitors, whether benevolent or malicious, help to color my days.”

“Then I will have to be the most colorful visitor you’ve ever had,” you chimed, your grin renewed with fresh vigor. Clearly, you were not the type of mortal who could go long without a task. “I’ll make you wait on me hand and foot and bend to my every whim, until the thought of encountering another human being makes you sick. When I’m done, there might even be a dragon in this tower worth slaying.”

His only response was a steady nod, a low hum. He stood and, in the same motion, hooked one arm under the bend of your knees and another around your waist, lifting you into the air before you had the chance to so much as think to pull away. Instinctually, you attempted to re-balance yourself against him, and Malleus couldn’t help himself – laughing as he pulled you to his chest. “If I am to dote on you to the point of sickness, then let me start now. You’re in no state to walk on your own.”

You opened your mouth as if to complain, but anything you might’ve said was deemed too unimportant to warrant the effort. Your smile softened, your eyes falling shut as you rested your head against his shoulder. You lingered there, quiet and content, as he carried you through the halls of what would come to be your home.

~

Your prescribed period of bed rest came and went. Your bruises healed, then your leg (although you still tended to limp during particularly heavy rainstorms), and your exhaustion was replaced by a buzzing sort of restlessness. He never asked you to leave, and after some time, you seemed to stop expecting him to. You spoke rarely of your past (aside from the ever-changing series of events that led you to his tower, of course) and never of your future. When Malleus was in one of his more indulgent moods, he allowed himself to believe that, when he did catch you looking in his direction with such a glimmering worry in your eyes, you weren’t afraid of him, but of the possibility that he might send you away.

Despite your claims of spoiled houseguests and encumbered hosts, he was only driven to near-madness once while sharing your company. It’d been shortly after you instated yourself as a resident of his tower, rather than a fleeting visitor, and took to exploring your new dwelling without reservation. It’d been his own fault, really. He’d forgotten to warn you away from the upper wing, to resketch the protective runes he’d long-since allowed to fade, but such rationality had escaped him as he stood in the doorway, his mind empty and his eyes trained on your kneeling figure. He watched, paralyzed, as you raised a hand, reaching towards the marble slab, and then he was behind you – the points of his talons grazing the skin of your throat before he managed to restrain himself, curling his fist around the collar of your shirt, instead. Without warning, he hauled you off your feet, ignoring the half-choked shriek you let out in response.

His eyes fell to Silver, searching for any signs of harm, of disruption. Of course, Silver was unchanged. His colorless hair remained fanned over his velvet-cushioned pillow, the silk sheets and hand-stitched quilts still folded neatly at the foot of his bed – waiting to be put to use when the weather turned in autumn. Malleus took a moment to observe the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest, the gentle movement behind his closed eyes, before letting out a breath of relief and turning to you. “I don’t recall giving you permission to enter this chamber.”

“Sorry, I— I was just looking around, and I saw the flowers on the door—” Silver’s own craftsmanship, preserved from the ravages of time by Malleus’ spell work. He’d painted them as soon as he was old enough to hold a brush, along with matching murals on his bedroom walls that hadn’t survived the passing ages. “—I got curious, that’s all. Is this the prince I was sent after?”

Malleus set his jaw, straightening his hunched posture. “…it is,” he answered, eventually. He let go of your collar and let you stumble onto your feet. “His name is Silver. I never knew him by any titles.”

Malleus’ gaze shifted to you, but your eyes remained fixed on Silver. “He’s beautiful.”

Despite himself, he felt the edge of his lips turn downward. He rested a hand on your shoulder, and you seemed to recover from your daze, turning to face him with a hopeful smile. “Do you know when he’s going to wake up?”

Malleus felt a coil of heat form in the back of the throat. The taste of ash laid heavy over his tongue, but he swallowed back his guilt and forced himself to respond. “In another hundred years, perhaps,” he mused, his tone melodic and detached. “There’s no known cure for a curse like his.”

A phantom of disappointment flickered across your expression, but it was suppressed quickly. Rather, you turned your attention outward – to the heavy, woven curtains draped over each crystalline window. “Will you help me let in some light? I hate to insult your taste, but it’s terribly depressing in here, and—” You brightened, taking him by the sleeve and tugging gingerly. “We don’t want his highness to have any nightmares, do we?”

With some reluctance, Malleus nodded. “Light, but nothing else.” When you failed to acknowledge him, he caught you by the wrist, squeezing with just enough pressure for your smile to falter. “Light, but nothing else. Do you understand?”

Your eyes darted back to Silver, but only for a moment. He was thankful for that – for your restraint. A second longer, and his true nature might’ve overshadowed his better judgement. “Of course, dear dragon. Nothing else.”

He inhaled sharply, then let go of you altogether.

It was a choice that, in the approaching months, he would only come to regret.

~

“This is what they banished me for, you know.”

“This?”

“Yes, this exactly.” You propped your chin on his chest, positioning yourself to more easily card your fingers through his hair. He let his eyes fall shut, basking in the warmth of your affection, of your bare skin pressed into his. Your clothes laid discarded on the grass around you, one of his wings bent and raised to shield you from the harsh light of the setting sun. He would have to get you back to the tower, soon. He’d always been indifferent to the deadly chill of night, but you – in your precious, delicate mortality – were not so durable. “Actually, not quite – I don’t think I ever made it to this part. It was the first time I’d ever attended a royal ball, and I happened to dance with a young lady so breath-taking, I couldn’t help but drop to one knee and dedicate my heart to her the moment our hands touched.” You sighed, feigning remorse. “Little did I know that she was the princess that ball was being thrown for, and so moved by my passion, she refused to let me out of her embrace until I agreed to marry her. Of course, her father – the king, as the fathers of princesses tend to be – couldn’t have that. It’s a shame, really. We would’ve made a gorgeous couple.”

Malleus pursed his lips, fighting back a smile. “And what does that make me? The next scorned lover of a silver-tongued rouge?”

“Oh, no. If you asked me to marry you,” You propped yourself up, pressing a kiss into the curve of his jaw. “There’d be nothing in the world that could stop me, dear dragon.”

Your hand fell to his cheek, and wistfully, you lulled him into a kiss – shallow but lingering, punctuated with a playful nip at his bottom lip. You pulled back with a smile, another quick peck to his cheek. You moved to say something, but he interrupted you, as mournful as he was to cut off such a precious moment so callously. “I found your wildflowers.”

Immediately, your expression fell. “I made sure not to—”

“I know, beloved, I know.” You knew better than to lay a hand on Silver. Your small bouquet had been left on the corner of his bed, another additional chain of asters and lavender braided into one of the longer strands of his waist-length hair. As much as he wished he could say he was only concerned for Silver’s well-being, it wouldn’t have been the truth. Something else, something darker, had accompanied the discovery – something it would be better for you to stay ignorant of. “We’ve talked about this. Silver is vulnerable, in his current condition. Even the simplest luxury is an unspeakable risk.”

Your shoulders dropped, your body going slack against his. You bowed your head, burying your face in the dip of his shoulder, and despite his frustration with you, he didn’t push you away. “I’m sorry. It just feels so cruel to let him suffer alone.”

“He’s never been alone.” His tone was more curt than he’d meant it to be. “He’s always had me.”

“I know, but—” He expected you to raise your hair, to flash him that brilliant grin. Instead, you only settled against him, speaking softly into the crook of his neck. “He just seems so sad.”

Malleus took a deep breath, clenching his eyes shut.

Then, before he could let himself think better of it, he wrapped an arm around your waist. In one fluid motion, he turned you over – leaving you on your back, one of his knees planted on either side of your waist, your form tucked safely underneath his. His kiss was less gentle than your own – that deep, aching sort of hunger overwhelming his cautiousness as his tongue raked over yours, as he groaned unabashedly into your mouth. You returned his affection emphatically; your fingers soon knotted in his hair, your eager touch preventing so much as the thought of distance between your body and his. Because there never would be distance between you and him. Because there was no reason you should ever have to be taken away from him.

Hours later, when the last traces of light had faded and the stars were painted in swirling patterns across the sky, he would carry you back to his tower – unconscious and pliable in his arms. That would be the first night you spent in his bed, and as he laid there with you, he couldn’t help but imagine how wonderful it would be if you never left.

~

The runes carved into Silver’s door were redrawn, Malleus’ enchantments refreshed, and your bittersweet sympathy slowly rotted into a distinctly bland melancholy. You didn’t speak of him (Malleus could only wonder how you ever managed to speak of anyone when so many of his marks so often decorated your skin), but he noticed new scratches around the well-rusted lock on Silver’s door, caught you braiding chains of daisies and crowns of marigolds with no intended recipient in mind, and at night, you tended to slip out of his hold and wander. Sometimes, he waited for you, lying awake as you hunted for whatever solace there was to find in the empty halls of an ancient tower. Most nights, tonight, he chased after you.

He found you in a window near the tower’s highest room, laid across the wooden sill, your back propped against the empty frame. He didn’t ask to join you – wordlessly lowering himself to the floor at your feet. As if by reflex, your hand fell to his horns, your thumb tracing over a particular ridge near the base as you broke the quiet. “Have ever told you why I’m here, dear dragon?”

Countless times, but he still played along. “Who has my heart been stolen by today, beloved?”

“A murderer,” you said, hollowly. “And not a particularly clever one, at that.”

He waited for you to go on, to spin some elaborate tale of love and loss and betrayal and poor humor, but you only lapsed back into silence, your gaze turning back to the pitch-black valley. He watched your vacant expression for a moment, then another before letting his eyes fall shut and resting his cheek against your thigh.

~

Malleus had expected there to be more anger than this.

You were in a similar position to one you’d taken the first time you stumbled into Silver’s chambers – kneeling beside his marble bed, your ever-weary eyes fixed on the unknowing object of your adoration. The only difference was that, today, Silver’s hand was raised to your lips, now slightly parted in shock. He didn’t have to guess at the source of your astonishment. In front of you, Silver was sitting up. His posture was unsteady, his eyes barely open, but the obvious was undeniable.

He was awake.

To think, there was something of merit to Lilia’s stories of true love after all.

Rather than anger, rage, pure and undiluted fury, an odd sort of calm settled over his blank mind as you snapped in his direction. Your astonishment turned to horror in an instant. “Malleus, I didn’t— I was only trying to—”

He put you out of your mercy quickly. He raised his staff and, propelled by some unseen force, you were torn away from Silver’s bedside and thrown against the nearest walls – the force of the collision far from fatal, but enough to leave you limp and unconscious. With your safety ensured, he stepped forward, approaching Silver. He was awake, but only just. So many decades of uninterrupted sleep would not be so willing to release him from their taloned clutches without a struggle, and there was a certain dream-like lull to the way his eyes skirted over the limited scenery before settling on Malleus, his features immediately softening in relief. “Malleus?”

“I’m here.” Malleus allowed himself a small smile before bringing the end of his staff to Silver’s forehead. “You can rest, brother.”

There was just enough time for the edges of Silver’s lips to turn downward before he collapsed back onto the marble slab. Malleus would arrange him later on. For now, his attention turned to you.

He gathered your crumpled form in his arms and carried you through the halls of his lonely tower, before stepping into the clear air and fresh heat of the valley. He laid you in the tall grass and, after taking a moment to appreciate your peaceful expression, brought a hand to your face, cupping your cheek tenderly. The spell came to him instinctually, but he took his time, mourning the loss of your time together with each mumbled word. That was a silver-lining of immortality, though. Infinite time allowed for infinite repetition, and he couldn’t imagine giving up the opportunity to fall in love with you again.

When he was done, your eyes fluttered open, a smile quickly finding its way to your lips. “Hello, dragon.” You gazed darted to either side nervously, your mind struggling to catch up with your clever tongue. “I would love to introduce myself, but it’s the funniest thing – I can’t seem to remember what I’m doing here.”

He bit back a smile. You tried to force yourself into a more dignified position, but barely managed to get an arm underneath you before pausing, wincing, reaching for the back of your head and coming away with blood smeared across your fingertips. Malleus did what he could to hide his delight.

“You’re a thief. You injured yourself attempting to scale my tower. It was an impressive effort, but tragically unnecessary.”

This time, he couldn’t hide the wide, simpering grin that came to rest across his lips.

“I was always going to invite you inside.”

[satorussolace]

GOLDEN BROWN

With the political crisis your kingdom is in, your father arranges you into an unwanted marriage with the notorious Prince Gojo—an elegant solution to keep two powerful kingdoms from tearing each other apart. Despite your hopes for the kind of love you’ve always dreamt of, Prince Gojo is everything the rumors said he was: lustful, untouchable, and emotionally closed off in ways you couldn’t begin to fathom. And when the suffocation of court life finally drives you beyond ballroom walls and polished smiles—you find yourself wandering in the palace gardens. It is there in those gardens, that you find your true salvation in a man who looks at you in the way you’ve always craved—like a human being rather than a title.

pairings: suguru geto x princess!reader x prince!gojo

content/warnings: renaissance au, arranged marriages, toxic relationships, angst, tension tension tension, the patriarchy, love triangle, infidelity, morally grey characters, reader is in an arranged marriage with satoru, emotional manipulation, political drama, fluff, deception, not super accurate to the renaissance era

notes: fanart is by ladycapuccino on Pinterest! I always think of the 2015 Cinderella movie when writing this fic like it’s so fucking perfect. Sorry this is shorter than I expected but I was dealing with some preeetty bad writers block

<<chapter one — masterlist — playlist — chapter three>>

comment to be in the taglist !

Soft morning light spilled across your room in warm gold, but it did nothing to soothe the lingering unease in your chest. You had barely closed your eyes before the memory of the garden resurfaced, causing you a particularly restless night. You sat up slowly in bed, throwing off the heavy blankets.

For a moment, you simply sat there, enveloped by the mocking silence of your chamber. A sigh escaped you at the sound of a soft knock at your door. You just woke up and you were already needed for something.

“Your highness,” a voice called gently from the other side. “His majesty has requested you.”

Your stomach tightened immediately. “Now?” You asked, despite already knowing the answer.

“Yes, your highness. He said it was urgent.”

You exhaled slowly, forcing yourself to steady. Of course it was urgent. You rose from the bed, shakily smoothing down your night gown and trying to ignore the way your thoughts immediately spiraled. Whatever your father wanted, it couldn’t be worse than what your imagination was suggesting.

He couldn’t have possibly found out. Gojo hadn’t pushed anymore after the ball, and Geto certainly wasn’t foolish enough to announce what had happened. The garden was secluded, hidden behind hedges and vines. No one had seen you.

The reassurance did little to settle your nerves. As you dressed for the day, your father’s summons lingered at the forefront of your mind, turning every possibility into something malevolent.

You left your chambers and made your way through the palace corridors. Servants hurried past with food trays and armfuls of linens, bowing politely as you passed. Normally, the familiar morning bustle would be comforting but today it only made you feel more exposed.

By the time you reached your father’s wing of the palace, your stomach was twisted into knots. You sounded a soft knock on those massive wooden doors, the juxtaposition of the sound against the grand doors almost feeling laughable.

“Enter.”

You stepped inside, offering a respectful bow. Your father sat behind his desk, his posture as rigid as his personality. No matter how old you’ve gotten, the fear that you harbor for your father had never gone away. Whispers of the king during wartime followed him for years, weaving themselves into court gossip and soldiers’ tales alike. They spoke of a ruler whose mercy was scarce and whose judgment was absolute. A king who never hesitated to take the life of anyone who stepped in his way.

As a child, the truth of those stories had terrified you.

As an adult, they still did.

“Father,” you greeted quietly, somewhat afraid that your responses would anger him.

His sharp eyes lifted from the documents scattered across his desk. “Sit.”

The command was calm, yet you obeyed without question, lowering yourself into the chair opposite of him. A heavy silence stilled between you as your father studied you for a moment, his expression as unreadable as his eyes.

“There is a matter we need to discuss.”

The seriousness in his tone pulled the knot in your stomach even tighter than before. You straightened slightly, “W-What is it?”

He folded his hands atop his desk, pursing his lips lightly. “Our negotiations with the northern kingdom have concluded.”

You paused, fighting the urge to break your poker face. “I wasn’t aware they were ongoing.”

“They are no longer.”

Something about the way he said it made a razor sharp feeling of unease crawl up your spine. Your father leaned back in his chair, never once looking away from you. “You will be relocating there within the next month.”

The words landed with crushing force, your throat tightening painfully like something was lodged inside. “…I’m sorry?”

“You heard me,” he declared, his expression never faltering as he looked at you like you were nothing more than some poor servant girl.

Your heart sank, within a month you would leave behind everything you’ve ever known. Your palace, your bedroom, your precious garden. You felt small compared to him, your word meant absolutely nothing to him. There was no other option but to obey, he wouldn’t even think twice about saying no to a compromise.

“Okay,” you whispered, staring down at the floor like it could swallow you up and save you from this moment.

“You may leave,” your father ordered, sparing you one last look before focusing back on the hundreds of documents scattered around his desk.

You stood up, hesitating in the door way. You sulked like a little girl, the weight of his words hung down on your shoulders like two heavy stones. You let out a shaky exhale, two small teardrops escaping before you could blink them away. Your fingers curled on the doorknob before moving out of his study.

Your footsteps felt heavier on the way back to your chambers, everything blurred together like a color swatch on one of your royal portraits. Within the safety of distance, your composure started to fracture.

It was unfair—how easily the decision had been spoken. How easily your freedom was cast away. You turned a corner too quickly, nearly brushing past a passing attendant, but you didn’t stop to apologize. You couldn’t. If you did, you weren’t sure you’d be able to even speak clearly.

By the time you reached your wing, your hands shook. You pushed your door open and stepped inside your room, letting it close behind you. Your breath came unevenly as you crossed your room, ripping off the corset that strangled your ribcage.

Then you stopped.

Something was there, laying on your windowsill.

A delicate envelope, sealed with a black wax seal. There was no name nor address on the envelope, absolutely nothing to indicate who the person who wrote this was. It wasn’t a royal seal or one of your father’s court, it wasn’t from anyone that should be able to reach you.

You furrowed your brows, lifting the envelope in the direction of light shining through your open window. You picked open the seal and unfolded the piece of paper inside.

The parchment was smooth, smoother than any paper you’ve ever touched. The ink was dark and deliberate, the handwriting completely flawless. Your fingers tightened slightly at the edges as you began to scan the words.

My princess,

If you are reading this, I’m assuming you are alone. Completely alone.

I have spent the better part of today attempting to convince myself that what happened last night was nothing more than a pleasant distraction. Yet, I haven’t been able to get my mind off of you since you left me under that willow tree last night.

It is a rather humiliating thing to admit, considering we have scarcely known each other a day and you’re betrothed, but every thought seems to find its way back to you. I remember the sound of your voice more clearly than conversations I have held for years. I remember the way your lips felt against my own. Most troubling of all, I remember how reluctant I was to let you go.

I should be satisfied with one single evening and leave it as one fond memory, I’ve tried but I’ve failed miserably. I find myself wondering what you are doing at this very moment. Whether you’ve even thought of me or that kiss at all.

Perhaps I’m a fool. If so, indulge me in one more act of foolishness.

Meet me tonight at dusk on the east side of your palace, near the hidden lakeside pavilion. If you do not come, I’ll accept that I’ve imagined something more than what it really was.

If you do come, I wish for the chance to get to know you beyond a stolen evening and mask. Until then, I remain hopelessly distracted by the thought of you.

There was no name on the note but you knew who it was from, Geto. A sigh escaped your lips as you massaged your temples, the folded parchment resting in your lap. You should have thrown it into the fireplace, that would’ve been the sensible thing to do. Instead, your fingers traced the edges of the envelope, lingering on the wax seal he had perfectly placed just for you.

Something in your stomach fluttered at that thought.

Curiosity won, despite your clear efforts to fight it back. You unfolded the paper once again, your eyes drifting over his elegant handwriting.

You pressed your lips together, staring at the words. The man had known you for less than a day, yet the words felt painfully sincere and intimate. The corners of your mouth betrayed you with a faint, giddy smile.

Your smile drifted as reality set upon your shoulders. Your father would never approve, your husband certainly wouldn’t. Despite these circumstances, your thoughts drifted to that little pavilion past the east wing of your palace.

A knock sounding from your door interrupted your thoughts. “One second!” You shouted, stuffing the note under your pillow.

“It’s me, your highness,” Nanami informed. “May I come in?”

“Yep!” You replied, shuffling to act like you were busy with something.

Nanami stepped inside your room, shutting the door as gently as possible. “I’ve come to inform you that you have brunch with Prince Gojo in roughly 20 minutes,” he told, briefly glancing at the watch on his wrist. You huffed, giving him a look that told Nanami you’d rather do anything else.

“It’s mandatory.”

“I know,” you sighed, biting the inside of your cheek. “It’s fine, really. I just hope they have my favorite fruit tarts.”

“I’m positive they couldn’t forget again after the fit you threw last year,” Nanami joked, still standing awkwardly near your door.

“I was having a bad day,” you defended, snorting lightly. “Will you sit down somewhere and stop looking so out of place?” You said with a laugh.

“I’ll have to be going soon, I have other duties beside your well being, your highness,” he added, the faintest hint of amusement hidden in his voice.

A quiet disappointment settled in your chest before you could stop it. “Of course,” you continued, “are you ever going to stop with the formalities, Ken?”

One of Nanami’s brows quirked up, “No.”

You groaned, palming your face in your hand. “Come on, we’ve known each other since we were kids.”

“You are still a princess.”

You sneered at him, “You didn’t use titles when I was 13.”

“You also used to hide frogs in my desk when you were 13,” he deadpanned. You gasped playfully, clutching your chest. “That happened once!”

“It happened over three times.”

“Allegedly,” you added, shaking your head in disapproval. Nanami sighed, though there was no real irritation behind it.

“Regardless, your highness. Some habits are difficult to break.”

You folded your arms across your chest. “And calling me by my title every other sentence isn’t a habit?”

“It is,” he faintly shrugged.

“Then break that one?”

“I’ll consider it.”

“You won’t.”

A faint smile appeared on his tired face, “No, I won’t.” The answer came so quickly that you couldn’t help but laugh in his face.

For a brief moment, the unease that had followed you since the meeting with your father eased from your shoulders. Nanami had always possessed a strange talent for grounding you, even when he was being impossibly stubborn.

His expression softened slightly. “Now, I suggest you start getting ready for your brunch. Looks like I’ve cut down your time to 15 minutes.”

The reminder was enough to make the warmth leave your chest. “Right.”

“It’ll be okay,” he kindly said before leaving you alone in your room. A frustrated sigh escaped you, but you were grateful none of your maids had rushed in to help you get ready.

Inside your mind, you were already refusing to put on any corset for the brunch. Your mother would just have to suck it up. She always insisted that you wear one daily, to ‘keep up your look’. Quite frankly, you thought it was unnecessary and uncomfortable.

You scurried to your wardrobe, skimming through dresses. Soft fabrics brushed against your fingertips as you passed gowns in muted pastels, deep jewel tones, and the occasional elaborate piece reserved for court appearances you’d rather avoid.

Despite the copious amount of clothing you had, nothing felt quite right. Your fingers paused on a lighter dress tucked slightly behind the others. It was simpler than the rest: a soft green with faint gold threaded along the hem and sleeves. Looked rather comfortable too.

You pulled it free and held it up against yourself in your mirror, quietly admiring the way the green looked against your skin tone. The neckline was modest, the sleeves short and breathable. It wasn’t meant to impress anyone and that was enough comfort for you to throw it on your body.

You dressed quickly, smoothing the fabric as you went. With a press of a couple pins in your hair, you were ready for a torturous breakfast. A sudden knock at your door pulled you from your appearance.

“Come in!” You called, smoothing down your dress once more. It was Shoko, the head maid, who came quietly into your bedroom.

“Your highness, I’ve came in here to make sure you’re ready for the brunch with the Prince,” she informed softly. “Are you?”

Shoko Ieiri was your personal favorite servant, her calm demeanor and sharp wit made her a welcome presence among the suffocating formalities of palace life. She reminded you of an older sister you’d never had, like someone you can go to no matter what.

“Yes, I’ve gotten ready myself today,” you replied, sending a soft smile in her direction.

Her eyes lit up slightly at your appearance. “The dress is beautiful, your highness,” she said, coming up behind you in your mirror. “You’ve grown so much, I can’t believe you’re married now.”

You looked down at the solid gold ring that sat on your ring finger. A soft sigh escaped your lips, “Me neither.”

Shoko frowned, brushing aside a piece of hair from your forehead. Somehow, she knew everything you were feeling by one look. Maybe it was the friendship you two harbored since you were little children, clueless of titles that determined your lifestyle.

“Come on,” she muttered. “It’s time to go.” She gave you one last understanding glance before pulling the chamber door open. The chatter of servants and the distant echo of footsteps instantly flooded into the room, reminding you once again that your brief moment of solitude would have to come to an end.

You nodded your head and stepped out your room, greeting the guards outside of your room with a smile. They immediately straightened, bowing in synchronization.

The palace halls were already alive with the daily bustle you were used to. Sunlight poured through the tall windows, spilling golden patterns across marble floors. You winced as the light hit your face, holding up your hand to shield your eyes.

You smoothed your dress as you walked, trying to ignore the small flutter of nerves in your chest. It was only brunch with Gojo. Your husband. A simple meal between two betrothed strangers.

You had actually spoken to Gojo a few times before being engaged, all of your interactions being at lavish galas and balls. It was enough to know he possessed an effortless charm to every woman that even glanced his way. He was so quick with a joke or flirtatious remark, so it wasn’t a surprise when your father announced the engagement(considering the massive amount of rivalry between your father and Gojo’s father).

The rivalry had been brewing for decades, passed down from generation to generation. It finally ended up blowing over last winter when a violent dispute over trade routes erupted into open conflict. Soldiers amassed over each border as whispers of war echoed through every noble court.

Neither kingdom could afford it, even if Gojo’s kingdom was more wealthy than yours. That winter had been significantly unforgiving, harvests were poor, villagers were hypothermic and dying from famine. Both crowns knew that prolonged conflict wouldn’t do them any good, so peace became the only sensible pass.

The peace treaty was drafted within days, its final condition written in the most elegant ink at the bottom of the parchment. A marriage: his eldest one and your father’s only daughter. Two signatures were all it took to end years of hostility. And with them, your future had been decided.

The dining hall doors loomed over you. Two well equipped guards stood perched in front of them, awaiting for your arrival. You bowed briefly, sparing a quick smile.

“Your highness,” they said, perfectly in sync. The towering doors swung open, revealing the dining hall bathed in gentle sunshine. Unlike the grand banquets held in this very room, only a small section of the endless table had been prepared. Fine porcelain rested atop crisp ivory linens, polished silver gleamed beneath crystal glasses, and an assortment of fresh fruit, warm pastries, honey, cheeses, and tea had been carefully arranged between bouquets of white lilies.

It almost felt…intimate.

You had to bite back a scowl as your gaze drifted to the lone figure sitting at one of the two seats that had been prepared. Gojo lounged comfortably in his chair, one arm draped lazily over the carved wooden armrest as if the whole palace belonged to him. His white hair sat unruly atop his head, almost the complete opposite of the way you saw him last night.

At the sound of the doors closing, those unmistakable cerulean eyes lifted to meet yours. A familiar grin spread across his face. “There you are,” he smirked. “I was beginning to think you’d escaped through a window.”

You couldn’t help the amused smile tugging at your lips. “I’m afraid the guards would’ve noticed,” you added softly, trailing across the dining hall.

“They do tend to ruin all the fun, hm?” He said, rising to his feet. His eyes sparkled with amusement as he pulled out the seat across from him. “You look…beautiful,” he complimented, raking his eyes over your figure.

Hshdjdiridixjdjd

“Come,” he instructed. “I’ve been instructed not to begin without you, and I’ve already spent the last ten minutes arguing with the chef over whether it’s acceptable to eat pastries before the main course.”

“And who won?” You asked, sitting down on the chair he pulled out.

“The chef,” he sighed dramatically. “For now.”

You bit back a chuckle that threatened to escape you, shaking your head slightly. “Right.”

“Well,” he said, lounging back into his chair as a servant poured tea into his cup. “I think it’s time I get to know you, yeah?”

You blinked.

“All I have is observations,” he explained. “I have no clue who my wife is,” he added, his expression softening just enough for you to notice.

A soft sigh escaped from your lips, knowing deep inside that everything he said was right. You would have to get to know your husband sooner or later.

“What do you wish to know?” You asked plainly.

“Hmm.” He rested his chin on his hand, tilting his head as he studied you with exaggeration. It wasn’t long until his eyes lit up, like a lightbulb being turned on inside his brain. “Let’s start with an easy one! What’s your favorite color?”

You snorted at his enthusiasm, this is the man who has women from all over fawning over him? “I don’t have one,” you deadpanned.

His smile faltered. “What?”

“I said,” you cleared your throat. “I don’t have one.”

“That’s impossible, everyone has a favorite color,” he defended. “Like, my favorite color is blue, obviously.”

“It’s definitely not impossible, I’m living proof?” You shrugged, taking a bite of a pastry.

“There has to be one that stands out from all the others.”

You rolled his eyes at his stubbornness. “Okay, fine.”

He posture straightened instantly, eager to hear your answer. You could practically see an invisible tail wagging behind him.

“If I had to choose, it would be a light green,” you told.

“You look like a green person.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You defended, squinting your eyes at him.

“You just look like you like green.”

“Okay, forget it.” You said, rolling your eyes(though the smile on your lips contradicted that). “It’s only fair that I get to ask you something about yourself now.”

“Excellent,” he spread his arms dramatically. “Ask away, I have nothing to hide.”

“Nothing?”

“…very little.”

You raised a skeptical brow.

He sighed in defeat. “Nothing important.”

A quiet laugh escaped you. You rested your chin lightly against your palm, pretending to consider your options. There were countless questions you could ask. About his kingdom. His childhood. Whether he had wanted this marriage any more than you had.

You took one last bite of your pastry before dusting the crumbs from your fingertips. “What are some of your hobbies?”

His ivory lashes dusted over his eyes, blinking at you. “That’s your question?”

You nodded. “It seems reasonable.”

“I was wanting something scandalous,” he sighed dramatically. “Well, one of my favorite things to do is fencing. My father insisted on me learning before I could even spell.”

You faintly smiled, imagining the arrogant man as a little naive boy. “I’ve heard you’re quite good.” Despite the rivalry between your kingdoms, rumors never failed to spread to your land. Satoru Gojo—a universal fencing champion, being one of many.

“I’d certainly hope so after all these years,” he blurted, dragging a hand through his hair. He began counting on his fingers. “I enjoy riding whenever I can escape the palace, reading—only about things I don’t already know, and I also dabble in archery every now and then.”

“You read?”

He gave you an exaggerated look of offense. “Yeah, how shocking.”

“I just can’t imagine you sitting quietly with a book in your hand,” you snickered. “The more you know.”

“My parents couldn’t either,” he agreed, earning another snicker from you. “What are your hobbies?” He countered, sipping off his tea.

You sighed in thought. “I love to explore the palace—all the places left undiscovered,” you informed, fiddling with your hands. “I also enjoy reading poetry.”

Gojo rested his face in his hand, listening attentively as you went on about your hobbies. “Exploring the palace?” He asked. “is that what you were doing last night?”

Your hands stilled.

“I was.”

A knowing smile tugged at his lips, yet he didn’t seem to comment on whatever plagued him. “I thought so,” he replied. “You’ll have to take me with you sometime, yeah?”

“We’ll see,” you countered, sipping off your tea. “Will the entree be ready soon? I’m starving.” You said, trying your best to change the topic away from last night’s events.

As if on cue, the grand doors opened, it seemed like the universe was on your side today. A line of servants in practiced formation, each carrying a platter of arranged food. The fragrant aroma of freshly baked bread, roasted herbs, and butter drifted through the room at their arrival.

Gojo inhaled dramatically, “perfect timing.”

The servants carefully replaced the breakfast pastries with the main course, setting steaming plates before the two of you.

“Thank you so much, it looks amazing,” you said to the servants with the biggest smile you could conjure up. “I was beginning to think I’d have to raid the kitchens,” Gojo admitted.

You glanced at him over the rim of your cup. “Would a prince truly do that?” You replied.

“Oh, absolutely.”

You almost laughed. “And what would the Royal staff say about that?”

“They’d sigh,” he answered without missing a beat. “Then make me a plate anyway.”

You hummed in acknowledgement, “I can’t say I’m surprised.” You grabbed your silverware, slicing into the honey-glazed ham on your platter.

The conversation drifted easily after that, and you can’t say you were upset with it. Between bites, Gojo recounted a disastrous experience with his horse which ended in him having a broken leg and cracked ego, while you shared stories of getting lost around the palace. The longer you spoke, the less the silence between you seemed forced.

Before either of you realized it, the servants had already cleared away all empty dishes and replaced them with tea. Gojo leaned back in his chair with a contented sigh. “I think that was the best meal I’ve had in weeks.”

You scoffed, fighting the urge to roll your eyes. “You’re from the wealthiest kingdom, you’re telling me they don’t give you good meals?”

Despite the wealth your kingdom carries, the Gojo clan has remained at the top for centuries. Their lands stretched farther than any realms, their ports overflowing with trade. The Gojo trading company logo even spread to your own kingdom, stamped on important crates and merchant ships. It was a quiet reminder that the Gojos’ reach extended far beyond their borders—whether your father liked it or not.

Gojo chuckled, peering at you through his cerulean eyes. “Oh, the food is excellent.”

“Then what’s the complaint?” You sneered, tilting your head. Was he seriously that spoiled?

He shrugged his broad shoulders. “I never said it wasn’t good.”

“You implied it, no?”

“I merely said it was the best meal I’ve had in weeks,” he smirked, enjoying the feeling of proving you wrong. He bit into a fried croissant, closing his eyes dramatically.

“It tastes better when you’re enjoying it with someone.”

The words were so casually spoken that you almost missed them. You swallowed, “How smooth of you, Gojo.”

“I beg of you, address me as Satoru,” he pleaded, giving you a look of satirical sadness.

You snorted, rolling your eyes with no intention of hostility. “It doesn’t work that easy,” you replied almost immediately.

He laughed, unfazed by your words. “So,” he said, taking another bite of his croissant. “May I accompany you on one of your adventures, wife?”

You blinked.

“Don’t push your luck,” you said with a knowing look. “And don’t call me that.”

“I’ll take that as a maybe,” he smiled, glancing up at you. “You’re my wife, can I not call you that?”

You grimaced, the title still sounding foreign from his lips. “It’s just…weird, y’know?” After getting to see him past the facade he presents, it felt easier to talk to him about the marriage—like he would listen. The charming prince you had expected was still there, but the calm interior he refused to show to the public was beginning to bloom in front of you.

“We’ve spent our entire lives as children of rival kings, and then overnight I’m just suddenly your wife?” You offered a small, hesitant smile.

His expression softened, yet you didn’t feel pitied by his gaze. “I suppose it will take time getting used to.” He gave a thoughtful hum, absentmindedly tracing the rim of his teacup. “I won’t force it.”

You blinked at him.

“When it stops feeling strange,” he continued, “I’ll call you my wife without you making that face.”

“What face?”

“That one you’re making right now.”

You gasped softly, immediately relaxing. “Whatever.” He laughed, a genuine laugh that you hadn’t heard from him all morning. It was enough to draw a smile from you in return.

By the time the last of the dishes had been cleared, the warmth of the dining hall had begun to fade into something quieter.

Gojo rose from his chair, adjusting the sleeves of his coat. “Well,” he said, glancing toward the windows where sunlight poured over the gardens. “I have a proposal.”

You eyed him suspiciously. “Whatever you’re gonna say, I don’t wanna hear it.”

“Just give me a moment, I beg!” He exclaimed.

“Fine.”

“Come riding with me,” he proposed.

“Riding? Now?” Your brows furrowed in confusion.

“Why not? Looks like it’s the perfect time,” he stated, referring to the white sunshine that almost blinded you. “Come on, it’ll be fun!”

You tried to hide your smile and miserably failed. There was something almost childish about his excitement, like someone who had spent too long being expected to act like a future king and rarely got to simply enjoy himself. It was cute, you had to admit.

“Besides,” he added, offering you his arm, “you can’t explore the hidden corners of the palace without knowing the land surrounding it.”

You raised a brow, “That’s your excuse?”

“Of course.”

You shook your head but nevertheless, accepted his arm. “Fine.”

His eyes brightened, “Perfect.”

His touch outside the ball felt like something new on your skin. There wasn’t hundreds of wealthy eyes scrutinizing you, nor were there any expectations on how you should act or what you should say. His arm rested between your own, holding you close to him. A slow heat rose up your neck and to your cheek. You tilted your head away from him, hoping he wouldn’t notice the change yet something inside told you he would.

The man walking beside you was still the same prince who charmed every room he entered, but without the pressure of a ballroom surrounding him, he seemed more like a human being.

The royal stables were quieter than you expected. The smell of fresh hay and leather filled the air as horses shifted in their stalls, greeting the familiar voices of the stable hands. Gojo seemed completely at ease and in his element in the stables. Somehow, that made him actually interesting.

“You look surprised,” he noted as he approached his horse.

“I suppose I am.”

“Why?”

“I just didn’t expect you to be so…comfortable here, I guess it’s nice to see,” you admitted, running your free hand over the horse’s mane.

He smiled boyishly, “I just get to be alone out here, nobody to impress,” he explained, his eyes lingering where your hand petted the horse. “I don’t have to be the crown prince, even if it’s just for a little while.”

There was an honesty in his voice that caught you off guard. “You don’t enjoy all the attention?” You asked, furrowing your brows.

He let out a soft laugh. “Don’t get me wrong, the attention is nice,” he said, moving the horse out of its stall. “Expectations are the difficult part, I’m sure you’re familiar with them.”

You snorted. “Tell me about it.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The only sounds were the horses shifting in their stalls and the occasional tweet from a bird flying past.

Gojo soon broke the silence.

“You know,” he said, fastening his gloves, “I think everyone forgets that princes and princesses are people before their titles.”

“They expect us to become exactly who they want us to be,” you agreed. He met your gaze, a faint smile returning.

“Well, let’s get going. I want to be back before sunset,” he said, guiding the horse out of the stables. The reminder of sunset made your steps falter. Your thoughts drifted, unbidden, to Geto. In merely a few hours he would be expecting you, in that pavilion, to betray your kingdom. You still were debating on going. Despite the consequences that came with it, you had regretfully considered it. He made you feel something—like you were seen past your title.

“You coming?”

Gojo’s voice gently pulled you back to the present.

You blinked, realizing you stopped in the middle of the stable aisle. “Sorry,” you muttered, offering an apologetic smile. “I got distracted.”

He studied you for a brief moment, concern flickering across his features before his usual easy smile returned. “Well,” he said, swinging effortlessly onto the saddle, “I promise I’ll make this ride interesting enough to keep your attention.”

Despite yourself, you smiled. “I’ll hold you to that.”

“I’m sure you can,” he said as he effortlessly mounted onto the horse. He settled onto the saddle before turning his attention toward you.

“Your hand,” he said, extending his gloved one.

“I can manage.”

“Humor me.”

You sighed before hesitatingly placing your hand in his. Before you could protest further, he pulled you upward with ease. For one brief, embarrassing moment, you lost your balance.

You yelped as his steady hand caught you, right at the waist. Your breath caught the moment his hand steadied against you, the warmth of him spreading against your skin.

“Easy, honey,” he chuckled. “I’ve got you.”

Heat rushed to your cheeks as you quickly straightened yourself on the saddle. “Let’s never speak of this again,” you uttered, choosing to ignore the term of endearment.

“My lips are sealed.”

“Wipe that smile off your face,” you scoffed.

“My apologies, ma’am,” he smirked, gathering the reins.

“You’re so impossible,” you huffed, instinctively grabbing onto his waist to steady yourself as the horse lurched into motion.

His laugh rumbled softly in front of you. “I’m choosing to take that as a compliment.”

The horse carried the two of you away from the palace, leaving the manicured gardens and stone walls behind. Soon enough, the road narrowed into a winding trail swallowed by the forest.

Towering oaks and trees arched overhead, sunlight only peeking through the gaps to create abstract pieces of gold. Ferns and wildflowers carpeted the forest floor, while ivy climbed the trunks of ancient trees. The only sounds were the rhythmic thud of hooves against the dirt path and the steady breath of Gojo.

It was secluded enough that the outside world seemed to disappear. No courtiers prying into your business or expectations to uphold, only the stretch of woodland and the surrounding river.

Gojo slowed the horse to an easy walk, breathing in the crisp scent of pine and damp earth. “This,” he said quietly, “is my favorite part of the kingdom.”

You found yourself smiling as you looked around, taking in a deep breath of fresh air. “I can see why.”

The filtered sunlight caught in his pale hair, painting an ethereal image of Satoru against the emerald leaves overhead. Bathed in ribbons of gold, he looked nothing like when you first saw him. You were beginning to see him like the boy he truly was instead of the renowned prince he painted himself as. Somehow, you found it quite beautiful.

The rest of the ride passed without urgency. You wandered wherever the forest path carried you, crossing narrow streams and weaving between towering pines as the afternoon melted into evening. Ever so often, Gojo would point out something that reminded him of something—usually of his childhood.

You found yourself listening more than speaking. Not because you had nothing to say, but because you liked hearing him talk.

Before long, the sun began its slow descent, staining the sky with shades of amber and rose. The forest glowed beneath the fading light, and the familiar silhouette of the palace came into view beyond the trees.

“I suppose we should start heading back,” Gojo murmured.

“Before they send out a search party?” You snorted.

He laughed along with you. “Your father probably already has.”

“Yikes,” you replied humorously. You smiled to yourself as the horse carried you to the palace stables.

Your day had begun with brunch alongside a stranger—one you had been convinced you would dislike. Now, as you arrived back at the stables, you found yourself smiling at his ridiculous remarks and horrible flirting instead of rolling your eyes. Perhaps, that was the most unexpected of it all.

Somewhere between the forest and the palace, Gojo ceased to seem like a thorn in your side. He was simply…Gojo.

And though you would never admit it aloud, you found yourself looking forward to the next conversation you would inevitably share.

©satorussolace all rights reserved. Do not copy, plagiarise, translate, or modify my works.

@fanfic-consumer77 @dilucsgfriend @pr3ttiesz @nixxy298 @spankmydepression

[fishiesticksworld]

Fellas, hear me out rq….

Countryside/farmboy! Yuta….

Now walk w me okay….walk w me, I got big ideas, alright? Big, big ideas….

[nihilnimi]

[meowieees]

AO3 users when you tell them not to put their oc fics with the 'x reader' tag:

For all of my dear AO3 users;

PLEASE stop putting your OC fics with the '/reader' tag.

The amount of fanfics that I see with both the 'original character...' and 'Reader' tags is RIDICULOUS. Mostly because 90% o them are just OC fics.

If the main character has a fucking name and description then it's an Oc, not a reader insert.

Just put one tag or the other, but don't put both just because you want to get more views, if someone wants to read an oc fanfic, I assure you they will search the specific tag.

However, putting both or tagging it as a 'reader' instead of oc causes confusion and honestly, it fucking pisses me off SO BAD.

So yeah, just got to let it all out after searching for half an hour in AO3 for a fucking reader fanfic since all of them are damn oc fics with the wrong tag.

[shhhoneygirl]

safe - gojo satoru

“i desire very little, but the things i do consume me.”

——

yandere!gojo satoru x reader

warnings: heavy yandere themes!! swearing, gojo gets you drunk, he's insane actually, a bit suggestive

words: 4.4k

a.n. - this took me so long to push out sorry! thank you for everyone who waited patiently <3

also sorry if any powers/techniques aren’t canon-accurate. my excuse is that i’m stupid :D

————————

you’ve heard the stories, of course.

every sorcerer in tokyo knows of him- the one called gojo satoru. a man somehow so powerful that he has to wear a blindfold to minimize the effects of his treasured six eyes technique.

but hearing about him and actually seeing him are two different things.

it's your first day as a teacher at jujutsu high, a day so busy you were sent on your first mission before your orientation was even over. they trusted you enough to handle it, you had the perfect credentials after all.

and it's during this high-stakes mission in kabukichō when you first witnessed the true power of the greatest sorcerer of all time.

a grade 2 curse- a multi-limbed grotesque abomination- had you cornered in a dark alley, hissing gibberish as its nails scratch lines into the buildings that surround it.

believe it or not, this is exactly where you want to be. you faked weakness so it would follow you as you lured it into the alleyway, with just enough space to hurl a wave of cursed energy to keep it at bay so you could make your finishing move.

but as you crouch down to perform your final technique, a gust of wind sends your hair whipping into your face.

gojo satoru suddenly stands at the mouth of the alley, figure doused in red under soft neon lights of the entertainment district. his stance is confident, almost cocky as he tilts his head at the scene with a grin. your eyes widen, the grip on your weapon slackening as you take in the sight.

when your opponent sees your gaze focused behind it, it turns to see what had grabbed your attention. tunnel vision now locked on gojo, it screeches a guttural scream, body contorting as it lunges at him- a new prey to chase. but before either you or the curse can blink, gojo simply raises a hand.

with a twitch of his fingers and a muttered chant, the curse explodes into fragments, dissipating into the cool air. you stand there for a moment, gathering your bearings as your mind catches up to what had just occured.

what the hell was that?

the tall man turns towards you, and you shiver slightly when you can somehow feel the gaze of his eyes beneath the blindfold.

“interesting,” he croons, walking towards you now, “a new teacher, huh?”

you blink at him, bewildered.

“you did good,” his voice is slightly teasing, somewhat condescending as he looks down at you.

“but next time,” he continues, “don’t let it get that close. wouldn’t want to see that pretty face all scratched up, would we?”

excuse me? you almost scoff at the blantant lack of respect. you want to argue with him, want to explain that you needed to be that close for your technique- that you had it handled. you want to demand how he just obliterated a grade 2 curse with minimal- if not any effort. but you find yourself only asking one thing- as if you don't already know.

“who the hell are you?”

he grins, and your pulse stutteres for a moment. “gojo satoru. pleasure to meet you.”

he holds out his hand, and you stare at it for a moment, before cautiously reaching your out to grab it. a weird, almost tingly feeling envelopes your hand, like it has just pushed through some sort of barrier.

and as he looks down at you with that infuriating grin, you feel like you've just agreed to something unspoken.

a connection- clicked into place.

—

after that night, it was like you saw him everywhere. it was normal to an extent, as you are both teachers at the jujutsu high. but most of it wasn't.

he'd follow you through the halls of jujutsu high, teasing you in that sing-songy mocking voice, offering unwanted pieces of advice. when you were teaching your students, he'd show up in the middle of class, leaning up against the doorframe as he listened to your lesson as if he was a principal reviewing a teacher. even when you were walking alone through the courtyard, you swear you can feel his eyes on you- eyes that you have yet to actually see.

and then he started showing up during your missions. one after the other, as if he didn't trust you to finish your assignment unscathed.

and today, you're in some random city in tokyo hidden beneath ground in an empty subway tunnel when it happens again.

you had been sent here for a mission, and just from looking at the report you knew it would be simple- effortless, maybe.

but your heart stutters in your chest when a high-pitched gurgled scream echoes off the curved walls of the tunnel.

or not.

wary, you step forward slowly over the tracks, towards the sound that's gaining in volume.

crouched down with a hand on your cursed tool- a dagger- you wait for the curse to show itself. eventually, it comes into the view around the corner, another large monstrocity with multiple large eyes covering the expanse of its gooey skin.

with huff, you advance, raising your weapon over your head. you use the walls as momentum, kicking off the concrete to leap into the warm stale air. your bring your weapon down onto the curse, but a flash of blue and white invades your vision.

with a yelp, you tumble to the ground, dagger never making contact with the curse. you stand up, and look around in confusion.

nothing is here. it's like the curse completely disappeared, leaving you alone. but you swear you saw a flash of-

"miss me?" a smooth voice sounds out behind you, and as you turn you see a figure step out of the shadows. you scoff once you see who it is.

"gojo." your voice drips in disdain. "what are you doing here?"

"still so formal," he chuckles, "i thought we were past that." he's chipper, looking mighty proud of himself.

oh, how you would love the smack that look off his face. as soon as you realize what's happened, your cheeks redden in pure frustration.

you grit your teeth. "this is my mission."

he smiles at you, nodding. "mhm, and now it's done. come on, i'm just helping. what? you mad, sweets?" he just grins at you, thoroughly eating up the expression on your face when you hear the petname.

sweets? oh. ohoho. you could just-

you curse under your breath, before raising your voice, the sound reverberating off the walls.

"stop intercepting my missions. this is the literally the 7th time. don't you have anything better to do? and stop talking to me like that. i mean come on, we're coworkers."

you ramble on, the exasperation you've been feeling for the past month coming to a breaking point. you put your hands on your waist, feeling like you're lecturing a misbehaving child.

"just, stop. please just stop." your face is in your hands now, rubbing at the headache already forming between your brows. you hear his black leather shoes shuffle towards you, before slender fingers bring your chin up.

you suck in a breath as your eyes rest on the blindfold that's now way too close for your liking.

"i'm just...looking out for you," he murmurs. your eyes narrow at his words, and you pull your chin back roughly, putting distance between the two of you once again.

"well don't." you hiss, and you walk away from him without turning back, his gaze on your retreating form.

-----

when you get back to the school, you march up the stairs and burst into ijichi's office, hands clenched into fists.

"he's ruining my missions, ijichi. this has to stop." he looks up from some papers, eyebrows furrowing at your words.

"who?" he asks, blinking at you owlishly. you stare at him in disbelief at his question. who else could it be? has he not noticed the 6'2 man trailing after you whenever you're on campus? but he still just looks at you in confusion.

unbelievable.

you roll your eyes. "gojo. he's been interecepting my missions," you start pacing around the room, "sometimes he'll just show up, exorcizing the curse that i've been assigned just for the fun of it. a- a what? snap of his fingers? a spoken chant and the curses are just gone. i thought at first he was just doing it to show off like the irritating brat that he is, but it's not. its like-"

"stop, stop. it's okay-"

"no! it's not okay, ijichi. missions i've spent hours preparing for are rendered moot the second he shows up- before i can even react they're just gone-"

"okay, okay." he holds up his hands, almost like he's begging you to stop talking. "gojo is...well you know how he is. how vital he is to this whole thing." he gestures with his hands around the office, obviously referencing the entire school as well.

"we can't tell him to stop doing something- nobody just tells gojo something like that." you groan in frustration, bringing your hands up to your eyes.

"are you kidding me?" you bring your hands down again. "i'm rusting over here!" you hiss at him.

"what if i'm not ready when something actually dangerous shows up? i haven't completed a single mission on my own in a month, ijichi. a month. that is just ridiculous. the students are getting more field time than me."

"hey, hey." he sighs, standing up. he walks around the desk towards you and places his hands on your shoulders. "you are one of the best teachers we have. gojo is just..." he backs away, pinching the bridge of his nose, "...protective. in his own way."

you scoff at him. "protective? he treats me like a child, ijichi. that's concerning."

he doesn't argue with you, just hands you a file for your next mission.

"just...i don't know. ignore it. if it makes you feel better, i'll try restricting his access to your mission files." you nod, frustrated.

"fine. thank you," you mutter, still not convinced that it would actually do anything. you know gojo will get his hands on the files either way, with ijichi being so soft towards him. gojo would get his way, you're sure of it.

-----

it's your night off- no missions, no students, no classes, no work. just a rare, blissful night off.

your friends had dragged you to a little hole-in-the-wall club in shibuya- one of those clubs that plays 2000s bangers and where people still actually dance. it was fun, especially with the drinks you had knocked back from the bar.

you're in the middle of fake-grinding playfully against one of your girlfriends when you feel a sudden shift in the air, a change in cursed energy. your friend doesn't notice, obviously, but you do.

your eyes shift towards the door, where you see a flash of white hair.

maybe you're hallucinating. or maybe you're just drunk.

"hey, you okay?" your friend yells at you over the music, noticing your dancing is lacking the energy you had a few seconds ago. you nod at her, flashing her a smile.

"yeah! i'm going to get another drink!" she gives you a thumbs up before turning to dance against another friend.

you turn and start pushing through people. the club is packed, air thick with fog and sweat, bright colored lights pulsating throughout the room. you reach the bar, sliding onto one of the stools as you wave the bartender over and ask for another drink.

rummaging in your pocket, you pull out a yen note. but before you can give it to the bartender, a hand shoots out and grabs it.

"hey!" you yell, turning to find the perpetrator, and there is he is in all his glory, holding the note out of your reach.

"long time no see, huh?" satoru stands there, head tilted down at you as he sends you a devilish grin. his blindfold is gone, replaced by dark round sunglasses- which would have been normal if the club wasn't already dark. his normal uniform is also nowhere to be seen, replaced by a casual fit that somehow makes him look even more attractive.

damn, he's hot.

but your expression still shifts into anger at his presence.

"what are you doing here? did you follow me?" you're perplexed, yelling over the music. this is a small club, one of thousands in tokyo. the chance that he just stumbled across this one is almost zero, and you know for sure he tracked you somehow.

he laughs, head tilted back. "let me buy you a drink." he's trying to distract you, you notice.

you shake your head at him. "no way. give me my money back. you need to leave, gojo." he smiles again, and his expression makes you feel somewhat uneasy.

"let me buy you a drink," he repeats, sunglasses pushed up, an intense gaze on you. he pulls you closer with a hand on your waist, and you're so distracted by how close he is that you almost don't notice how he carefully slides the note back in your pocket.

without letting his grip on your waist falter, he looks up at the bartender and slides him a note of his own, listing off an unfamiliar drink and some shots.

you're dazed- from the cool breath on your neck as he leans over you and from the alcohol racing through your system. any other day you wouldn't have let him get this close to you but you're brain is catching up too slow to care.

once the drinks are out he slides the line of shots towards you, keeping the actual drink for himself. you look up at him, amused.

"you ordered a line of shots? really?" but he just smirks at you, motioning for you to start on them.

you think for a minute- through your mind's haze. is it worth it? to forget about all of his strange behavior? to just have one night of fun before everything goes back to normal?

to have just one night pretending that satoru is just another cute guy?

fuck it.

one by one, you throw back the shots, before throwing your hands up with a shout. he laughs then, loud and bright, grabbing your hand and pulling you towards the mass of dancing people.

the shots hit you hard and fast, spinning the world into a blur and sewing a smile on your lips.

satoru's presence is overwhelming, and all you can see is him. he's looking at you in a certain way- like he's seeing your very existence, peeling back the layers of your soul.

like you are the only thing in the world worth looking at.

it makes your stomach flip, and you're not sure if its a good thing or a bad thing. but you dance with him, for how long you're not sure.

he never lets you get far, pulling you back to his warm body once you've strayed, letting his chin rest of your shoulder and his hands on your hips as you move against him, chin tilting up to look at him.

and then he's kissing you, you think. you're not sure- everything feels numb. the lights are too bright and you feel like you can't breath- either because of the hot air or because he just doesn't let you.

mouth enveloping your own, fighting for dominance that he wins.

satoru always wins.

he lets you breathe, eventually, tilting his head down to trail his mouth up your neck.

the music pulses around you, bass vibrating through your body. and his touch is everywhere, fingers tracing along your arms and down your stomach, breath hot against your ear as he whispers something you can't hear.

you're drunk, you're being reckless, but you couldn't care less.

---

you wake up to sunlight streaming through semi-transparent, unfamilar curtains. your head is pounding and your mouth is filled with what feels like cotton.

you push yourself up from the white covers, eyes bleary and unfocused. you slowly let your eyes trail around the room.

there's a lot of white. white walls, white sheets. but hints of color pop out at you- a navy blue comforter, a few minimalistic posters lining the walls, candy wrappers thrown impassively on a desk. wood furniture, wood flooring.

it's nice- really nice. sophisticated, polished.

a jacket hangs over a desk chair. you recognize that jacket- it belongs to satoru.

you realize with a start what happened last night, and you suck in a breath of air as you panic. you can't remember what happened shortly after you saw gojo at the bar. you somewhat remember him leading you to the dance floor, but that's as far as your memory will take you.

you pull back the covers, revealing all your clothes still intact. that's a relief, you suppose.

so...this wasn't a one night stand? what was it then? honestly, it's weirder to be waking up in someone's apartment and have it not be from a one night stand.

it's strange that he's not here, you don't hear him in the connecting bathroom either, but before you can think on it harder your phone buzzes in your pocket. you take it out and press on the text notification.

it's your friend from the club last night, practically spamming you as she asks if you're okay.

did she not see you leave with satoru?

you call her, and ask her that very question. she responds, almost out of breath, that one second you were next to her dancing with him, and the next you were gone. within seconds.

ah. he must've teleported with you here. but you can't tell her that, so you just calm her down and explained that he must've taken you back to his apartment because you were dangerously wasted and he doesn't know where your apartment is.

but even after the explaination, she doesn't calm down. instead, she goes on to tell you to check the news. something about a fire?

and she's apologizing, then. over and over, apologizing and thanking the universe that you're alive. that you didn't go to your apartment last night, that the "hot man" took you to his instead.

you give up trying to get her to calm down, and instead look up "local fires" on your phone to try to see what she's talking about.

and your heart drops to your stomach.

local fire in tokyo near mount mushiro envelops an entire apartment building in flames. zero casualties, but two people have been sent to the hospital with severe injuries.

attached is a photo of your apartment, or what is left of it. smoke trails into the sky, flames licking through the windows, the rest of the building collapsed into crumbled stone. the street looks to be already cordoned off, firefighters working to stop the flames from spreading.

no. no no no. this can't be happening.

you read the local newsource with horror, telling your friend that you have to go. you hang up, and stumble out of the bed to gather your belongings that are strewn across the floor. you need to go. you need to see if you can still save any of your belongings, you need to-

the door is locked. there's no keyhold, or even a code keyboard. it's just secured with some sort of blinking black box- the kind that requires some sort of app, you hypothesize.

"what the hell?" you hiss, slamming your palms against the door.

"hello?! gojo?!" you curse loudly. "satoru??!"

you phone is ringing, buzzing somewhere on the bed. you drop your belongings from your hand, scrambling to get to it.

you answer it, bringing it up to your ear. you already know who it is.

"gojo, i swear to fucking god, if you don't open this god damned door i'm going to-"

"ah, goodmorning sweets." he interrupts you, voice soft, crooning. "did you sleep well?"

you blink at the wall, mind scrambling. you talk through the phone, slowly, seething. "where the fuck am i?"

a quiet laugh through the phone, an amused chuckle. "my apartment, silly. where else would you be?" he uses that tone on you. that infuriatingly condescending tone he's given you since the beginning.

maybe he's given you signs all along. that he doesn't see you normally, that he thinks you need protection.

signs that he's sick in the head.

"well, how the hell did i get here?" your gripping the phone so tightly you're worried you're going to crack it. you're pacing the large bedroom now, feet padding angrily against the surface as you wait for his response.

he hums, then pauses. the sound of chair creaks in the background of the call, like he's sitting down. where is he?

"aw, you don't remember last night, do you?" he sounds like he's pouting, showing sympathy for a child having a tantrum.

you frown. "remember what?" he chuckles again at your question before continuing.

"hm. you were so fun, so responsive." his voice drops lower. "i think you liked it, didn't you?" he trills. your face burns at the insinuation. you give a disbelieving laugh at his words.

"unbelievable. you asshole." you spit into the phone. he touched you, you're sure of it now. he laughs again, darkly. but you're not going to get anywhere if you're accusing him. you have to play nice. you have to get out.

"gojo, my apart-" "nope," he interrupts. you pause in confusion. what?

"try again." it's silent for a moment. what does he want? a lightbulb goes off in your head, and you almost scoff. but you hold it in, determined to leave.

"satoru..." he hums, and you continue, "...my apartment is gone." he's silent again, thinking.

"there's no point in going back." his voice is soft now, almost kind. "the scene's probably blocked off anyway. you know, police, firefighters. messy things. dangerous things."

as he talks, your eyes snag on a piece of clothing peaking out the closet. you pad over, and open the folding doors to find rows and rows of hanging clothes.

your clothes. the clothes in your apartment. along with your shoes, your personal belongings. you blink at it all, digesting the onslaught of information.

you whisper into the phone, "you-" your voice cracks, "you did this?"

a beat.

"i protected you. you shouldn't have to live there. my apartment is much nicer." he isn't making any sense. none of this makes sense to you.

but, you continue. "you burned down my home." your lip trembles, eyes filling with tears. you bring a knuckle up you your mouth as you stare at all of your belongings.

"to ensure you had nowhere else to go." he sighs, like you're being difficult, like you're not understanding.

he's right- you're not.

"you're safe here," he murmurs, "with me. away from all the bad stuff."

bad stuff? curses? run down apartments? missions? work?

perhaps he's referring to it all. the bad stuff- anything that doesn't include you safe, here.

the lock on the door clicks, and your knees almost give out. you stumble back towards the opposite wall as the door swings open, revealing the culprit.

gojo satoru leans against the doorway, head almost touching the the door frame, hands in his pockets as he tilts his head, six eyes burning into you.

he smiles at you. a big grin, one you've seen one too many times as he's intercepting missions, followed you around, protected you from danger only he could possibly see.

you stand frozen against the wall.

"you're trembling," he whispers, holding out his arms. "you cold, baby?" you shake your head at him, slowly. he's insane.

"let me out," your voice cracks again. his smile softened, a pout forming on his lips again.

"it's okay, you're safe here."

you shift from fear to anger, stomping forward as you shove against his chest. he doesn't even budge, you realize. your hands hadn't even made contact.

you realize who you're up against, now. he's not just some random man. the anger fizzles out of you, leaving your limbs feeling like jelly.

he raises his arm to let his fingers brush against your cheek. you flinch, but he just smiles softly at you.

"you know," his head tilts up, like he's thinking, but his eyes refuse to budge from your figure. "i've been thinking about your future."

your future?

"your...job," he spits it out like it revolts him. "you're too visible. you put yourself in too much danger...taking on these mission left and right that don't fit with your...talents." sniffs, he looking down at you again.

"i'm perfectly fit for my job," your voice wavers. but he just shakes his head at you slowly, unblinking.

"no," he whispers, "you're not." the hairs on the back of your neck stand up, and you bristle.

"so what, you're gonna have ijichi retire me?" his eyes darken at the sound of another man's name. but he sighs, calming himself.

he hums. "sure, that works." you pause at his response.

"sure, that works"? what the hell kind of response is that?

ijichi's not going to retire you, you realize. ijichi will have no say in it. you will have no say in it.

you shudder. "i can take care of myself."

"can you?" he's almost mocking you now. "or do you just think you can?"

your hands clench into fists. "you don't get to decide my life for me," you hiss at him. at your words, he steps closer to you, pressing you further into the room until your knees hit the side of the bed and you fall down onto it.

"you let me touch you," his hand trails up your leg, "let me hold you, caress you," he's whispering now, a cheshire smirk mocking your fear.

his other hand comes up to rest against your throat, his knee resting on the edge of the bed for stability. he's laying over you now, lips a whisper away, head tilted slightly.

"trusted me enough to let me take you home. you don't remember? you begged for it," he bites at you, pulling you towards him until all you can feel is the heat of him against the cold air.

it hits you then. he's not going to let you go. you're not leaving this room until he decides.

"you're safe," he murmers, as his lips meet yours.

you don't want to accept it, but what other choice do you have against the strongest sorcerer?

against gojo satoru?

none.

-----------------

i can't tell if i like this or hate this. but it's good practice for writing and i'll only get better from here ig anywhooo lmk what you think

please give a like and a follow if you enjoyed!

not proofread. picture from pinterest, not my quote!

[femcel-beware]

Anyone have any good football fanfics? I need something to soothe the pain right now 💔🏴󠁧󠁢󠁥󠁮󠁧󠁿💔🏴󠁧󠁢󠁥󠁮󠁧󠁿

Computa please- I need this 😮‍💨

[just-french-me-up]

[femcel-beware]

Not to be annoyinggggg buttt…. I’m so not a fan of fics or headcannons where writers tag a bunch of different characters from an array of different fandoms.

It feels like sloppy writing to me I’m sorry. I know that Fanfiction is bringing your own desires to life and what have you but there’s no way you can convince me that a single headcannon is applicable to Gojo, Geto, Nanami, Chrollo, Childe, Dottore???

A headcannon that applies to characters that are very obviously written as dramatic foils to each other???

Like it’s the laziest and silliest invention, I won’t act like I was always aversed to such fics but after a while I was distracted by my theories that this is just what fanfic writers do on here to garner more interactions.

So annoying when I sees these flooding tags but tagging other fandoms like I feel force fed slop smut at this rate.

Even more disappointing when the writer displays great skill but chooses to summarize and mis-characterise on such a grand level.

[uglylittlelamb]

ngl i’m having thoughts

[butterbabyflapjack]

Rating::: Explicit adult content

( Reader x Dark Souls Character )

An anthology of smut-filled short stories, each chapter featuring a different Dark Souls character!

Featuring…

★ You’re a cleric who is kidnapped by Patches and sold into slavery…

★ Enemy-to-lover Artorias and you must work together to save Oolacile from awakening the abyss…

★ You’ve been tasked with seducing Dragonslayer Ornstein without wringing his aggravating neck first…

★ Lautrec and Patches fight over you…

Read it here ::: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28567431/chapters/70272675

[butterbabyflapjack]

New chapter is up! Featuring Marvelous Chester ♡

[butterbabyflapjack]

Hey again 👋

I’m not fussed but I’d be happy if you picked any one from: Ghost, Creighton, Pate, Geto or Hannibal

Very flattered and grateful that you read my ask and for your condolences, big fan of your work 🫡

♥️♥️

Here's some Creighton for you love 💕

“Have I taken your heart, after all?”

Ice eyes stare at you; cobalt blue. You see that ice gaze first, before anything. Standing tall within the dark. Glowing from the shadows of his helm. All else hidden behind his mask, guarded by steel collecting scars like those you can’t see behind it. But he cannot hide his gaze. Not from you, not from anyone. Can’t hide what lingers there, burning bright around blue edges.

This is a dream, you tell yourself. He’s not really here, crowding in around you, pulling you into him, his nearness stifling. His presence speeding your heart, making it hard to breathe.

This is a dream. That’s why you’re not afraid. That’s why you long for him.

A stupid, silly dream.

There’s a misery in his touch as he watches you, so close yet so very far away. Even through the chill of chainmail fingers, you feel it. Feel its searching, yearning for your warmth to thaw it through.

Even in a dream, you try to stumble back from him. And even in a dream, he resists you pushing him away.

His unforgiving hands take your wrists, your waist, your neck – forcing you into him, directing your gaze to his. Holding you ransom.

“You haven’t taken anything,” you insist, steeling your jaw as best you can up at him.

He watches you so closely, blue eyes passing over yours. Searching. Delving through wavering, uncertain depths.

You’re both hiding things.

“Do you hope, if you say a thing enough,” he murmurs, “that its echoes will transform a lie to truth?”

“I’m not lying.”

“You're the only one lying.”

His armored thumb skims your cheek.

“But I won’t let you leave here. Won’t allow you any semblance of peace before telling me what’s true.”

Confliction weighs your gaze as your presence shrinks beneath him. As his intensity feels to swallow you whole, consuming all your shattered pieces.

This is a dream. It doesn’t matter what you say.

This is a dream. You can lie if you’d like to.

Can he really keep you from waking should you deny him this?

You stand on tipped toes to kiss the iron of his helm; the iron where his lips would be. And the second you do, the dream falls away, consciousness finding you.

You’re alone by your fire. Embers crackling in the dark. Alone. Safe. Without him; that madman who has and will hunt you down.

Sighing, you shift upon your makeshift bed. Curling your arms about your knees as you stare into the flame. Some ghost of what relief should feel like whispering over you, to’ve merely escaped a dream. And yet you’re forced to shove aside some unraveling piece of you that longs to fall asleep again.

[angels-ipod]

Me and that one guy that’s not real

(I’ll be the knight if I have too.)

[papzig]

RDR2 x S/O who wins every poker game

Arthur Morgan

• Arthur noticed the pattern very quickly.

• First time: lucky

• Second time: impressive

• After the fifth straight win, he’s squinting across the table like a suspicious cat.

• “Alright… either you’re blessed by the poker gods or you’re robbin’ these poor fools blind.”

• He watches your hands like a hawk every game.

• The problem? He never catches you doing anything wrong.

• Meanwhile you’re just smiling innocently while collecting a very large pile of chips.

• Eventually Arthur just leans back and smirks.

• “Y’know what? Don’t tell me. I’m enjoyin’ watchin’ these idiots lose.”

• If anyone accuses you of cheating, Arthur casually rests a hand near his revolver.

• “My partner said they ain’t cheatin’. That enough for you?”

John Marston

• John is confused more than anything.

• He keeps whispering during the game.

•“What cards you got? …Wait how’d you win again??”

• He starts thinking you’re secretly psychic.

• Every time you win he’s just sitting there like:

- 😐

• “…There’s no way.”

• Once you win an entire table’s worth of money, John just bursts out laughing.

• “I swear you ain’t normal.”

• But he is very proud about it.

• Will absolutely brag about you to other gamblers.

• “Yeah that’s my partner. Best poker player in three states.”

• If someone accuses you of cheating he’s immediately defensive.

• “Maybe you’re just bad at cards.”

Charles Smith

• Charles doesn’t assume cheating right away.

• He just quietly observes.

• He notices you reading people:

- watching hands

- noticing nervous habits

- spotting bluffs

• After a few games he realizes what’s happening.

• You’re not cheating.

• You’re terrifyingly good at reading people.

• He actually finds it impressive.

• When someone angrily accuses you, Charles calmly says:

• “They’re just better than you.”

• He’ll occasionally play against you himself just for fun.

• He almost never wins… but he respects the skill.

Sadie Adler

• Sadie finds it hilarious.

• She sits behind you watching everyone slowly lose their money.

• Every time you win another hand she just snorts.

• “Look at their faces!”

• She loves when someone accuses you.

• Because she immediately leans forward like:

- “You got proof?”

• Sadie absolutely encourages you to keep playing.

• At one point she whispers:

• “You keep winnin’, I’ll keep watchin’ for sore losers.”

• She will 100% start dragging you to poker tables just to watch chaos unfold.

Javier Escuella

• Javier is very competitive, so this drives him a little crazy.

• He tries to beat you multiple times.

• And loses.

• Repeatedly.

• He’s staring at the cards like they personally betrayed him.

•“No… this is impossible.”

• When you shrug and say you’re not cheating, he narrows his eyes.

• Eventually he just laughs.

• “Fine. If you are cheating… you are very good at it.”

• After that he loves inviting you to games because gamblers underestimate you.

• Which means more money for both of you.

Dutch van der Linde

• Dutch is delighted.

• A partner who can win money from fools at a poker table?

• That’s practically a talent.

• He sits nearby watching the whole game with a proud smile.

• Every time you win he quietly says:

- “Magnificent.”

• If anyone accuses you, Dutch steps in with smooth confidence.

• “My friend here simply has a gift.”

• He absolutely uses you as the gang’s secret poker weapon.

• Sends you into towns with a simple instruction:

- “Go relieve some wealthy men of their money.”

[jynx-raven]

When y/n does something so cringe that i have to stop reading the fic for a wile before start reading again

[hyunnjiin]

how it feels like refreshing the "john marston x reader" or "javier escuella x reader" tag every 5 seconds

guys im so desperate </3