Affectionate Things That Makes Me Fall In Love:

Write Rivals With Chemistry So Hot It Hurts

╰ Rivalry isn’t hate — it’s obsession True rivals aren't just like, “ugh, I dislike you.” They’re watching each other. Studying. Matching moves. Thinking about each other when they shouldn’t. Hating how much they notice the other person. Rivalry is two sides of the same coin: hatred’s messy little sibling is fascination.

╰ Let them know exactly where to hit—and hesitate The best rivals know exactly where to stick the knife. Childhood wounds. Secret fears. Insecurities no one else sees. But the most powerful moment isn't when they stab, it's when they hesitate. When they flinch. When the reader sees the care underneath the kill shot.

╰ Make every win personal Every victory between rivals should feel like flirting with a knife’s edge. They don't just beat each other; they get under each other's skin. "I outsmarted you" translates directly to "I'm the only one who really sees you." (And no, they're not ready to talk about why that makes them insane.)

╰ Layer the attraction under everything You don't have to write "he found her hot" every five seconds. (Please don't.) Just lace it into the friction. The way they notice each other’s hands. The way a sarcastic smile feels like a slap and a kiss at the same time. Let it be unspoken, which somehow makes it ten times louder.

╰ Give them one private, honest moment and then destroy them for it That one late-night conversation. That brush of honesty. That accidental partnership in a bar fight. That glimpse of trust that leaves them both raw and feral because now it’s personal. Now it hurts. And guess what? Neither of them is stable enough to handle it like adults.

╰ Let them wound each other in ways no one else can Rivals with chemistry are like: “I know your softest place. I know where you hurt. And maybe I’m the only one who could ever touch it.” Terrifying. Intimate. Sexy. Self-destructive. Delicious.

╰ Don’t make it easy to flip to love If they hook up too soon, it’s cheap. If they confess too soon, it’s fake. They have to fight it. They have to screw it up. They have to almost kiss and almost kill each other in the same breath. The reward is sweeter because it’s hard won.

╰ Make them jealous, but make it messy Not cutesy "oh no I'm jealous" moments. Ugly jealousy. Pride-shredding, shame-inducing jealousy. Watching their rival smile at someone else and feeling like they're drowning in acid and denial. Bonus points if they pretend they’re above it and then spiral anyway.

╰ Tension isn’t just in the fighting, it’s in the silences It’s the stare across the room that says “I hate you and I want you” with zero words. It’s the hand that lingers a second too long after pulling them out of danger. It's the unsent text. It's the "accidental" meeting. Sometimes not speaking burns hotter than the screaming matches.

╰ Remember, they don’t want to ruin each other, they want to matter At the core of a rival/chemistry dynamic is one truth: “I want to matter to you more than anyone else does.” And they’ll deny it. And fight it. And wreck themselves over it. (And we, as the readers, will eat it with a goddamn spoon.)

taeyong is so fond of the dreamies ♡

Warning: Death, blood, wounds/injuries, unhappy ending.

"I think I'm... I'm dying."

"No, you're not," Caretaker insisted, panting loudly as they frantically ripped their shirt off and pressed it against the gaping wound in Whumpee's side. "You're not dying. No. The- the paramedics will- they'll be here any minute now and they're gonna help you. They're gonna make sure you come home to me again. You're not- you're not leaving me."

Whumpee didn't have the energy to convince them otherwise. They could feel their eyes already beginning to get heavier, and their bloodied hands trembled violently as they reached up to cup Caretaker's face in it.

"You're not dying," Caretaker repeated, their voice cracking. "You're not... you're not dying. Not yet."

Whumpee found themselves with a small, saddened smile. "I love you. You were always so kind to me..."

Caretaker gritted their teeth. "I am always kind to you. Present tense. You're not going anywhere."

"You and I both know that's a lie."

Instead of responding, Caretaker buried their head against Whumpee's chest and began to cry; long, heart-shattering wails leaving the back of their throat as they listened to Whumpee's breathing declining right in front of them.

"You're not leaving me, you're not leaving me..." they whispered repeatedly, feeling Whumpee's fingers gently trailing through their hair.

They continued to repeat that line well after Whumpee was gone, refusing to let go of their lifeless body when the medics tried to convince them to. Trembling fingers desperately attempted to get Whumpee to card their fingers through their hair one last time.

They refused to accept that their Whumpee was gone.

horse jisung performing his verse in WOW

I am a(n):

⚪ Male

⚪ Female

🔘 Writer

Looking for

⚪ Boyfriend

⚪ Girlfriend

🔘 An incredibly specific word that I can't remember

— for whatever it's worth / nagi seishiro x reader. (ain't that the worst thing you've ever heard?)

— light angst. happy ending. yukimiya kenyu as plot fodder (sorry.) friends to lovers. misunderstandings.

— part two of i dreamt you loved me. quick warning: i'm not exaggerating when i say i was braindead when i was writing this. it's bad but it's your problem now <3

you thought you were being honest with yourself when you said you’d be fine.

you understood, truly—that you would miss him more than you should, even when he's so close. you think, if you message him, he'd reply anyway; but all your messages remain unsent, kept hidden the way you think your feelings should’ve been kept.

it’s a frustrating thing, to remind yourself every day that you don’t need nagi no matter how much you miss him; to tell yourself you don’t miss the comfort of his presence, the warmth of his lips mumbling against the pulse on your neck, his calm voice keeping you earthed.

it’s not even supposed to be this way.

despite nagi approaching you that day, he doesn’t do it again. he’s across the room or running away from you the moment he notices you coming. while you keep pushing the distance, he keeps pulling.

you start wondering if you kept pushing, pushing, pushing–if you kept doing that, would you be too much of a bother already? if he was doing this much to avoid you, shouldn’t you just suck it up and walk away?

a week later, you don’t get any more time to decide. yukimiya is there, walking beside you as you enter your usual café, a charming smile on his lips.

“you go ahead and sit, i’ll order for us,” he offers, nodding towards the booth you always take.

you nod, “oh, my order, it’s—”

yukimiya arches an eyebrow, looking at you like you’re silly, “i got it, y/n.”

the feeling of your cheeks heating up is instantaneous. “well then,” you try again, taking your wallet out, “my payment.”

he keeps that expression, then he’s shaking his head. “i got it, y/n,” he stands his ground and you’re left to sigh, taking the defeat.

just as you take your seat, the door clings with the sound of someone entering. on instinct, you turn towards it only to feel your breath getting knocked out of you because nagi is there and he’s looking around the place like he’s searching for someone.

he keeps looking until meets your gaze (and maybe you still love him too much, because you could almost say for sure that his eyes brighten at the sight of you) and when he starts walking towards you, you think perhaps you’re having a fever dream.

“y/n.”

“nagi-kun,” you almost squeak, still surprised. nagi almost wants to wince, because you’ve only ever called him that when you were still unfamiliar with each other.

he reaches a hand towards his nape, a habit he does when he’s uncertain, “can i join you?”

you gape for a moment, confused, because there he is—the one you miss the most, the best friend you crave so badly—the one who left your feelings unanswered; yet you’re not even sure if you’re meant to say yes because yukimiya is there, walking towards you, stopping right beside nagi and placing your drinks on the table.

“oh,” you hear nagi, realizing you’re not alone.

yukimiya turns to him, his smile falters for only a split second you almost miss it, “ah, nagi-kun, yes?”

nagi only nods with tension brewing in the air, you kind of want to cry only because it feels as if you’ve found yourself at a shitshow of a situation. sighing, you smile apologetically at yukimiya. “come sit, yukki,” you hesitate before speaking again, “i think i should step out and talk to nagi for a moment though, is that okay?”

he nods despite the apprehensive look on his face. you stand, gesturing nagi towards the door.

when you’re outside, nagi is the first one to speak.

“we can just talk next time,” he offers, as if this wasn’t the first time in weeks that he’s even tried to talk to you.

he watches your lips curl into a frown, and he knows he’s said the wrong thing, “i just don’t wanna intrude in your… date?” he continues, sounding uncertain.

you laugh mirthlessly, “what do you mean, date?” you ask. you feel half hurt, half confused. you’re not sure why, but it feels like a punch to the gut that he’s telling you this as if he’s completely forgotten about your confession.

“oh, i just thought–he likes you, right? i thought you had something going on…”

“are you serious, sei? or have you forgotten?”

“forgotten what?”

your responding sigh let out is harsh, drawn out, and maybe if nagi had more empathy in him, he’d even hear the hurt, “that it’s you, sei. that i love you, and you’re–” your voice wavers, your initial sob is heavy, and nagi watches the way your face crumples, trying not to cry even though it’s futile, “you’re asking me if i like someone else when you know–”

“oh,” he trails off, his finger incessantly tapping at his thigh, a nervous tic.

“yeah, oh. i hate you and fuck you for that,” you tell him, except your voice is weak and there’s no real bite in your tone, “that’s fucked up, sei.”

“sorry,” he tells you, and he means it, no matter how much it seems he’s at a loss for words. he licks his lips before his mouth parts again, “i just mean,” he pauses, fumbling for the right words to say, “we’re friends first, before anything else, right? if you like him, you should give it a shot.”

you can’t help the exasperation when you react, tears free falling down the pavement beneath you, “is it that hard for you to acknowledge my feelings, sei?”

there’s nothing but the faint sound of the cafe inside and the hiccup of your sobs yet your heartbreak is deafening. right there, you realise it would hurt if he was around as much as it did when he wasn’t.

“just tell me this, nagi,” you exhale, trying to brave it, “why can’t it just be us?”

you don’t know how to feel when he answers you without thinking, like he knew this already. “i can’t reciprocate your feelings, y/n. i can’t be the boyfriend you want,” he tells you. it’s honest, as he always is, and it's a stalemate from there.

there’s a whimper of your hurt you try to bite back with your tongue before you nod one last time, “i should go back,” you tell him.

you’re walking away before he could say anything more.

it doesn't take long for you to realize that nagi is truly gone from you this time around.

while you try to move on, you tell yukimiya about your feelings, but he’s persistent, and he thinks it’ll be fine if it meant he even had a chance.

except it feels oddly empty sometimes, even when you find yourself in the affections of yukimiya. until february and march pass and you realize you're still willing nagi back, you grieved. your love, his absence, the futile attempt you'd made at untethering the red thread keeping you woven to him—you grieved it all.

the next month without him gone and you find yourself slipping away from yukimiya. you confess that you’ll probably love nagi for a long time and until then you couldn’t let him wait around for nothing.

soon enough, though, you find yourself hanging out with isagi at the cafe to catch up—something you could only usually do together since you can't find the will to join all three of them with nagi there.

this time, though, your heart wins.

“have you guys been hanging out with nagi lately?” you regret it as soon as you ask.

“you should just message him,” he replies, looking at you expectantly. but your reaction doesn’t fail him when you recoil at his suggestion.

“absolutely not, yoichi-kun,” you sigh. with a pout, you try again, “he’s free today, right? do you think he’d come here if you asked him to?”

he scratches at his cheek, “i can call him.”

it’s comical enough that he’s almost amused, the way your lips stretch to a wide grin as he slips his phone out to call nagi. but when the ringing stops and you hear nagi’s faint voice, you try not to pay attention to the phone call only because you don’t want to get your hopes up.

it’s quick, though. and isagi’s pausing to talk to you, “he’s asking if it’s fine with you, y/n?”

of course isagi tells him you’re there, but you nod anyway, because it sounds like he’s coming.

when nagi’s finally there, with bachira and reo with him, you don’t know why you’re so relieved; everything falls into place and the air is easy to breathe.

it’s late when everyone starts saying goodbye and you stay standing by the door of the cafe, wondering if everything is going to be okay from here.

“y/n,” nagi calls from beside you, “let’s walk back together.”

it’s not a question, but years of being friends with him tells you this is his way of letting you know he missed you. you chew at your lip, trying not to smile, because it feels like you have him back.

your smile wins with warmth filling your chest, “okay—yeah, i’d like that.”

he falls into step beside you, the silence is comfortable but there’s been so much left unsaid since you last saw him. you steal a quick glance, taking him in, you missed him so much that you’re not sure you should even bring it up anymore; like if it meant you’d have to eat your feelings just to keep him around, you would.

somehow, nagi senses your hesitation, taking the initiative to speak first, “it was really boring without you around.”

your heart skips a beat, treacherous, “really?” you reply, the smile evident in your voice.

he hums, “mm, didn’t have anyone to lean on when i sleep.”

“is that all i am to you?” you say lightly, laughing, but the words meant more than you intended and your laughter dies down. grimacing, you clear your throat, “sorry, i didn’t mean it like that.”

nagi only nods, his gaze intense as he looks at you. you continue, trying to ease the awkwardness, “i’m just glad we’re okay again, sei. and for what it’s worth, i probably don’t love you anymore.”

you try to save it with a lie, but your words hang between you like paperweight, and nagi's expression shifts slightly at your response.

he stops, urging you to look back at him. he takes a step towards you, so close you almost stumble back, hand reaching out to tilt your chin, just like that day when everything between you shifted. but then he speaks, his voice quiet and measured, "i do, though.”

it's a simple statement, but it carries a world of emotion with it, and you can see it etched on his face. he watches you when he says it, the gleam that appears in your eyes at his confession, "and i want you to feel the same again." his tone is confident, almost daring, something you can’t do anything about.

you can feel it, the depth of his desire, his insistence on everything he wanted; now it’s you, and you almost want to tell him you love him, still, that you never even stopped.

“but why are you telling me this?" your question is a whisper, hesitant. “you said you don’t want a relationship, sei…”

“i don’t think i mind if it’s with you.” the sincerity seeps through his voice even when he shrugs, his eyes are trained on your lips.

hope blooms within you and you think nagi can tell, because there’s a twitch of a smile on the corner of his lips.

he really wants to kiss you, but you’d probably be upset for real this time if he does, so he moves to press a kiss on your forehead instead before stepping away.

with your flustered expression though, you’d think he just kissed you and more.

it feels like home–nagi’s arms around you, the warmth of it, the comfort. it’s familiar but it feels so much more this time around.

"wanna hear something weird, sei?" you ask him softly, like you’re telling a secret.

nagi hums, his eyes closed. "what is it?" he asks, voice laced with sleep.

"when i missed you," you started, "i dreamt about you–i dreamt of you sitting in the kitchen telling me you couldn’t be bothered to eat, but that you really wanted me to cook for you.”

he opens his eyes, meeting your gaze, a small smile playing on his lips. “that’s how bad you missed me?”

you scrunch your face, not taking the bait, “no. maybe i was just hungry, sei.”

you feel nagi pull you closer, lips pressing to your shoulder blade, muttering against your skin, “i’m glad you’re here again, y/n.” and it sounds like i missed you then, too.

“me too, sei. i'm happy you're here.”

Me: I wish Oda would give us an original villain who doesn’t fall into the “Smug bastard” or “undefeatable badass” category :////

Also me when Oda revealed Cracker and Katakuri:

(190929) han, maze of memories

'cat' the son | itoshi rin

( a/n ) when i came back the poll was 50/50 so i got bribed and it’s now decided that rin is the winner + little highschool au bc we all know they dropped out:/ idk what to title this im ngl

ew the header has such a shitty quality ill fix that later

there’s a cat on the sidewalk.

you have about six dollars in your hand, a faltering mission to treat yourself to a cold drink, and an aching heart at the sight of the little animal seated like a king on concrete, looking up at you with blank eyes.

its dark fur and near-teal eyes remind you of someone. of a back facing your seat, dark hair always kept neat and looking like it’s conditioned meticulously, and the sharpest eyes you have ever seen on a high schooler.

it has been a long day, long enough for you to have stormed out of the room as soon as classes ended to rush to the nearest shop that would sell what you’re craving. alas, there is a cat on the sidewalk, and you can’t just ignore it.

“stay here, kitty,” you say before rushing off with the six dollars in hand and a new goal to head straight to the nearest sign with an animal cardboard cutout printed on it.

eventually, you find one; eventually, you come out of the store holding cat food and a tiny cat bowl because you were worried about letting the cat eat straight from the can. it’s baby blue with little fishes added as design, though you think it’s rather gruesome to put that there, considering the canned food you bought is made from fish. still, you hope the cat will appreciate it.

the cat is still there as if it’s understood and blessed you with patience. the unimpressed look it has on its face says otherwise, though. grateful, you kneel beside it, slightly mesmerized by the fact that it hasn’t run away yet.

maybe other people are feeding it, too? it doesn’t look worryingly thin. needs a little cleaning, but looks well-fed. you’re relieved.

“here you go,” you coo, ignoring the strange looks of the passersby. you place the bowl down and crack open the can. the smell has the cat walking over, meowing all crankily. “i know, i know.”

the cat doesn’t dig in until you’ve finished shaking off its contents, staring at you in the same way the itoshi guy in your class would. the resemblance is uncanny.

you spend the rest of your afternoon keeping the cat company. its face speaks as if it’s far from amused, but the way it rubs against your ankle contradicts it.

cute. the cat is cute.

another student comes to visit the cat, carrying two cans of cat food. it’s been sitting in the plastic for a little while because as he had been going in the same routine he usually has, he spots you, his classmate, bent to the knees next to his cat, and paused.

rin thinks you’re scared of him because everyone in the class is. he lets you have your moment, choosing to come back later when you’ve finished so you don’t freak out and scare the cat. he thinks he can strike up a conversation tomorrow where there are no cats to frighten.

the cat walks up to him, instantly familiar. he doesn’t even meow up at rin impatiently, which confirms rin’s suspicions.

“y/n fed you well,” he mumbles. “i guess you can have this tomorrow.”

you’re suddenly all too aware that rin sits in front of you. he’s right there, uniform stretched over his broad back, most likely because he’s the prodigy of soccer in your school.

the neatness of his hair reminds you of the cat from yesterday, with its silky dark fur despite being a stray. you resist the urge to touch it, missing the cat already. you make a mental note to refill your water bottle so the cat can drink after.

while left thinking about the fact that you’re three dollars shorter than yesterday's budget, you fail to notice that class has ended and rin has his arm slung over the top of his chair to turn to look at you.

rin’s eyes flicker down to the paper bag next to your feet. “what’s that for?”

startled by the smoothness of his voice directed at you, you choke out a: “t-this?” you gesture lamely at the bag containing the gruesome bowl.

“what else am i referring to?”

you scrunch your nose. “okay, no need to be so rude. maybe i won’t tell you what it is.”

rin stares, and you’re intensely reminded of piercing eyes looking up at you, patiently waiting for the canned tuna.

“it’s a cat bowl,” you murmur, defeated.

“cat bowl,” he repeats, a gleam in his eye. he probably thinks you’re weirder than he already thinks you are.

“for a stray. i don’t want to bring it around because some other cat owner might steal it. i can’t have that.”

“show me,” he demands.

a little terrified by the fact that the class grump is actively maintaining a conversation with you; you obediently show him the bowl, spinning it around to show all sides. rin hums, contemplative. your classmates are starting to stare. “it’s weird, right? fishes for the print and fishes for dinner. do you like it?”

“lukewarm.”

“what does that even mean?”

“it’s too small. buy a new one.”

“...you think?”

rin nods, standing up. the chair screeches while he says, “i’ll come with you.”

this is how you end up in the same pet supply store with a companion this time. rin picks the most expensive one for the bowl and the canned cat food, which makes you think he must really like cats a lot.

but as you two leave the store, you belatedly realize he’s leading the way even though you never told him anything about the stray you meet.

it doesn’t hit you until the same cat meows and purrs at rin, rubbing against his pants with its entire body.

“hi,” rin says, his voice uncharacteristically soft.

you gape. “wait, the cat’s yours?”

rin bends down, knees to his chest while he sets the bowl down and cracks the can open with one finger. “no. dad’s allergic. he doesn’t follow me back home anyway.” while he does that, the cat comes to greet you, and your heart aches on rin’s behalf.

so he just comes to feed him every day, huh… you muse, gently scratching the cat who purrs at your attention but still looks as if he’d rather be anywhere but here.

“do you have a name for him?”

rin pauses, having finished pouring everything. “...no.” he squints at you as if you’ve just asked him the exact coordinates of his birthplace: sincerely confused.

“what do you call him, then?” you watch as the unnamed cat starts digging down on the food, content. you wonder why no one else has already kept this cat to themselves. he’s so cute and polite.

“cat.”

“ah, of course.”

you two watch ‘cat’ eat, content with the silence. it starts to drizzle moments later, but rin is quick to pull out an umbrella and cover all three of you. the cat grumbles unhappily at the splatter of rain hitting him.

“do you always visit him?”

“yes.”

“do you like cats?”

“yes.”

a shame that allergies are the only thing keeping itoshi rin from getting a cat.

while you’re distracted, the cat goes back to rin. rin wastes no time bending down to pick him up, looking awfully domestic in the middle of a sidewalk in front of a busy coffee shop. your hands twitch to reach for your phone, but you’re too stunned to do anything but stare. they look so much alike.

cute, you think, horrified, rin looks so cute holding the cat.

while engulfed in rin’s arms, the cat meows at you. and you, with a too-tender heart, can’t resist.

“i’ll keep him,” you declare with newfound determination. “i’ll take care of him. if you let me keep the bowl you bought.”

rin’s eyes light up, though it wouldn’t have been evident if you hadn’t been his classmate and witnessed his varying expressions of death. (as if it was varying in the first place.)

“i’ll buy everything else he’ll like,” he says, like a true cat mom, his face glowing with barely concealed excitement.

since then, rin accompanies you home. you tell him that you’ve saved up three dollars from yesterday and now you have more than enough to buy a nice, cold drink and maybe catnip for the cat, but rin insists that he’ll pay for everything, including your beverage.

“you feed our son.”

“our son?” he repeats curiously.

“yes. he lives with me. he looks like you,” you explain absentmindedly, setting up the water dispenser on the new food bowl rin ended up buying. it no longer has fish for design or the painful lime green he bought the second time—instead, it’s a nice blue that compliments the cat’s eyes.

“and what are you implying is going on between us?”

you nearly spill water all over the floor. “i…” you honestly did not think about that, “—nevermind. don’t make it weird, itoshi!”

you think you heard rin chuckling, but you’re too busy being embarrassed to bother.

(during class, you will find that rin is far from intimidating. in fact, he’s actually a little bitch to deal with. you’re starting to think that he’s more of a pain to deal with than an actual grumpy cat.

“don’t forget to buy food for our son,” rin says after class, in front of students who gossip like there is no tomorrow.

“what?”

“for our son,” rin says, nonplussed at the sight of your haunted expression.

someone who has overheard the conversation pipes up, “you two have a son?”

“we don’t!” you hiss, face burning with embarrassment at the sudden influx of attention from your classmates.

rin frowns. “don’t lie.”

“you two are starting to act like a married couple recently…” another comments offhandedly.

“itoshi walks y/n home, i saw!”

“we have a son,” rin agrees, and you’re starting to think that he’s doing it on purpose.

“stop saying that!”)

thank u art aanobrain for giving me the idea of rin just naming the cat ‘cat’. that idea is so special to me.

anyway. RIN IS SO HARD TO WRITE HELPPPP. this was an excruciating process i genuinely did not know if i did anything right but WHAT’S DONE IS DONE. thx for reading <3

being married to duke!blade is a feat inconceivable to many.

overseeing the northern region where monster outbreaks are high and temperatures are low, he is feared by many for not only his undeniable battle prowess, but also his cold and dismissive demeanour. from all the stories and tumours passed down from those who battled alongside the duke, it wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say his mere presence alone is sufficient enough to take on an entire army.

but despite his infamous personality, the young duke had made rounds within high society when he first showed his face. he was handsome, having that rugged appearance expected of a blood-soaked warrior residing on the battlefied, yet beautiful with a haunting allure — those crimson-marigold eyes of his can simultaneously bewitch an unassuming victim and bring the most prideful of monarchs down to their knees.

and, as expected of someone with such descriptors, many of the nobility found themselves drawn to him in spite of the rumours which clung to his very being. noble ladies wished to be the first he ever danced with, while many families seeked to gain even a morsel of his power through arranged marriages. relentless as they were, none succeeded in swaying the stone-cold duke.

and stone-cold he was upon your first meeting, albeit in… less than fortunate circumstances.

having meandered around the foresty northern borders not too far from where your family estate is, you certainly were not expecting to stumble across a rotting corpse smack-dab in the middle of your path! okay, well, rotting may not be the most suitable term, but the slumped body, battered and bruised and bloodied, you accidentally kicked was very much a corpse.

you had contemplated leaving the body there but, upon seeing a bloodied insignia of an all-too familiar ducal household, you decided you wanted to live a little longer. of course, this led to you lugging a slumped, muscle-packed warrior of a man all the way to where your estate was, heaving and huffing with your body trembling under the weight.

(to say you were just about ready to collapse when the family knights spotted your emerging figure was no understatement!)

whisked away into a guest room near your own, your parents called for the family doctor immediately. when the blood was cleaned and his wounds were wrapped, the sight of his injuries mending themselves was sure to be a sight you would never be able to rid your mind of. it was a strange but intriguing phenomenon to see his skin stitched anew, that horrid sight of him collapsed in the forestry almost like that of a dream.

your father immediately sent word to the duke’s estate to notify them of the circumstances. in the meanwhile, the man of the hour was unconscious for three days. seeing as how you were the one to find him, you took it upon yourself to help look after his well-being. changing his bandages, regularly wiping the accumulating sweat with a freshly damp cloth, ensuring the room is well-ventilated — you did the lot!

(sometimes you would stare at his resting face, wondering just how much more handsome he would be with his eyes open; only to retract that sentiment when recalling the tales about how his eyes could burn a man alive. exaggerated or not, he is still a dangerous individual you would rather not further entagle yourself with.)

with his people having retrieved their master from your care, promises of hefty compensation for taking care of their lord ringing in your ears, you were ready to sweep the whole ordeal under the rug and never get yourself involved with a man like him again! after all, he is the fearful duke responsible for your region, while you’re just another noble within his domain.

so, naturally, when you first heard of your soon-to-be marriage, you thought your parents did something to offend him and were sending you as a sacrifice meant to appease his wrath.

because, well, why else would the very same duke infamous for having zero interest in romantic and political marriages be sending a letter for your hand in marriage of his own accord? being unconscious the entirety of the time made him unable to see you, let alone know your family, so of course that meant his staff had filled him in on what happened. but why would he initiate this proposal without even knowing who you are first???

(did you get a say in this? no. would you have refused? yes. did your parents care about you and your well-being? aside from their apologetic gazes at your slack-jawed reaction and somewhag rational reasoning of “his grace may have an infamous reputation, but he is not a cruel ruler nor man,” you would like to deny the parental affection they have given you thus far in favour of objecting the claim.)

well, no matter. there was little time to prepare for his arrival to your estate, as the letter stated he would be arriving to escort you himself.

after much fuss over your clothing and luggage, the day arrived; you were going to see him again, except this time, he would see you as well.

a regal carriage entered the estate’s gates. the door swung open. a black gloved hand was the first to appear, followed by a ducked head of long navy hair, a familiar figure donning a freshly pressed suit and black overcoat, and finally — finally — a pair of burning crimson-marigold met your own gaze.

you weren’t sure if it was the adrenaline of your fight or flight response kicking in or the butterflies which ruptured within you that caused your heart rate to increase, but you found yourself unable to tear your gaze away from him.

he stopped in front of you, the features you once saw up close felt more complete than ever with the addition of his eyes open.

and thus, with your palm settled atop his outstretched gloved one, your fate was sealed.

(man. was this the compensation the staff were saying to you as they left…?)

that was two years ago.

savage. cold-blooded. inhumane. brute. monster. these were some of the ways in which duke blade was described. the man who currently sits on the edge of the bed watching you dress his wounds, however, is much different than the public opinion.

ever since exchanging vows at the altar and slipping sacred rings of matrimony onto each other’s fingers, you have come to know many sides of blade you never thought possible.

and while he rarely spoke in the beginning, his actions spoke louder than any voice could ever hope to measure up to. and, eventually, he became more vocal in regards to his feelings for you, just as you have with yours upon witnessing firsthand his true character.

from his battle-haggard, near manic state when on the verge of succumbing to the curse before falling into your healing embrace, to his tender fleeting touches and ever-adoring affection repressed within his gaze when in the presence of others, you have seen it all.

the process of getting to know and understand the intricacies of his life is almost like unravelling layers upon layers of thin bandage wrapped tightly around a gaping wound, hoping to block out the vulnerabilities which could be exposed. it was rocky at first, you being in an unfamiliar environment while he had his own inner battles to deal with first and foremost, but time carved its path for the two of you to partake in talks lasting late into the night, a subtle fondness growing more pronounced as familiarity grew alongside it.

and, of course, the time he returned from a subjugation battle-worn and mind having been overriden with mania. it was the first you’d seen him in such a loss of control. knights were rushing to subdue him while the servants desperately tried to usher your bewildered form some place safe, as though this had been a common occurrence well before you came into the picture. that hadn’t gone as planned, however, as the moment blade’s heaving figure locked eyes with you, a state of chaos ensued the moment he broke through the wall of knights with ease and appeared in front of you. no time was wasted when he lunged, a panic chorus of cries following suit as you remained rooted in place.

while you would never forget the blown-out, near-animalistic look in his eyes as he drew closer at an impossible speed, the gentle — almost reverent — manner in which he embraced you then, rigid body instantly relaxing against you, would forever be the turning point of your relationship, as well as a long-cherished memory of his first true feelings.

a dull sensation poking the space between your brows snaps you out of your thoughts. “stop frowning. i’ll be fine like always.”

your hands pause in their ministrations, hovering over his bare torso where you finished tying up a bandage. a blink and a sigh, another swab of disinfectant is in your hands working at the wound on his bicep.

“but that doesn’t mean i like seeing you return to me wounded,” you mutter bitterly, blatantly ignoring his stare. “i know you can take care of yourself, what with that regenerative ability of yours, but i still worry over you. you can still feel the pain, after all, and not to mention that curse—”

a swift tug forward abruptly cuts you off, your words fizzling on the tip of your tongue as a familiar warmth encases you in its entirety. instinctively, your hands grip onto his shoulders, the coarse material of bandages not unfamiliar to your touch, while blade’s hands are splayed across the expanse of your back as he holds you against his seated form.

his nose nudges along the slope of your neck, the shape of your jaw, the contours of your face, a trail of soft kisses leaving searing imprints in its wake.

a deep breath, a ticklish sensation, a thrumming heartbeat.

and when he rests his forehead against your own, crimson-marigold eyes dyed with devotion and seeping ardour, you think the world will be okay.

(even if it were to burst into flames and be reduced to ash, if it means you would be by this man’s side for a little longer, you think it will be okay.)