∿ 𝐔𝐊𝐀𝐈 𝐊𝐄𝐈𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐍 ⤸ ╱ ❛ When Grit Meets Grace ❜

Thinking of you, an impudent young princess with a slight rebellious streak, who has scared off every guard your father has assigned to you. To combat this, the King decides to appoint Hinata Shoyo, a new knight with an indomitable spirit, to your staff. Clumsy and intent on making a name for himself, he may just be the answer to subduing your quiet revolt. | mlist

Your silken gown drapes against the cushioned sofa as you read your novel in a decidedly unladylike position. From the corner of your eye, you catch the scandalized look of your lady-in-waiting at how your legs sprawl; however, you find great pleasure in it.

Twisted as it may be to feel joy at the sight of another’s discomfort, princess etiquette is far too rigid for your liking, and your lady-in-waiting is a conservative prude.

Beams of sunlight tickle your face, and you bask in the feeling. Your mother is horrified by the idea of a princess’ skin burning, meaning wide-brimmed hats are a permanent fixture of your summer wardrobe. It’s a rare treat to feel warmth on your skin.

Moments such as this are sacred. You hold them close to your chest

So, who is this orange-haired oaf with the gall to cast a shadow over your precious sun?

“You are blocking the light.” You spit at the human obstruction. Sighing in annoyance, you slam your book shut and glare at him.

His face is unfamiliar to you. Unruly orange hair sticks up in various directions, a complement to his boyish features and short, stocky stature.

“Ah! I apologize!” The stranger exclaims. Metal from his armored suit clanks loudly as he scrambles to reposition himself away from the window. You cringe at the unwelcome noise. Eyes narrowing further, your gaze travels from his reddened face down to the family crest that rests on his breastplate.

He must be a Royal Knight. A rather jumpy one, but a Knight, regardless.

Your blushed lips turn up in subtle amusement, betraying your otherwise cold disposition.

“Do you often make it a habit to disturb Princesses?”

“No!” He stammers in a manner unbefitting for a brave soldier of the Kingdom. His posture stiffens suddenly, and he clears his throat, as if he’s suddenly remembered how knights are meant to act. He bends his body down in a poor attempt at a bow.

“I am Shoyo Hinata. The King has appointed me to serve as your knight.”

You snort. The foals in your stable have more grace than he.

How did he manage to become knighted? You wonder. Or, better yet, what is your father playing at, assigning this inept boy, who cannot be much older than yourself, to your staff?

Intrigued, you sit up in your chair. The bottom of your dress pools at your waist as your hands prop your face up.

“So you are the one who is sworn protect me?”

Shoyo looks up at you, body still contorted into an uncomfortable bow. “Um…yes?”

Your brow raises. “Is that an inquiry or an answer?”

“Yes!” He shouts. There’s a determination in his expression that surprises you. “I will do everything in my power to serve you!”

Your interest deflates at his eagerness. Knights are nothing but a chain on your independence. They’re sworn to protect; however, the only thing they do is hold you down. Humming, you pick your novel up once again, flipping the pages to find your spot.

“Well, Shoyo Hinata,” you speak, not bothering to look up, “ You cannot blame me for doubting your fitness to serve. The sight of you in armor is reminiscent of a child playing dress-up.”

“I am aware of my smaller stature,” he agrees, and you resist the urge to peek at his face, which must be discouraged.

Your record for scaring off a Knight is one week. Are you about to set a personal best?

Your fingers turn a page, pleased. “My father will not blame you for your resignation. I am sure that—“

The snide remark dies in your throat as you feel a sudden force tugging your book down. Your eyes widen at the closeness of Shoyo’s face. He leans in, and you feel yourself submitting to the overwhelming presence he takes up.

“I may be unassuming, but I will prove that I am worthy of serving you!” He says in earnest. His hand grips your book firmly, subjecting it to his flurry of passion. He is so near that you can see the rise and fall of his chest. “Wait, and you will see.”

You remain still.

Shoyo’s face pales, withdrawing his hand from your book. Stepping away, he raises his arms in submission. “My…my sincerest apologies. I did not mean to—“

“Very well.”

He looks at you incredulously. “Huh?”

“Very well.” You echo, “Let us see how you do.”

His expression morphs from panicked to excitable. A wide grin spreads across his face and his chest puffs slightly. Kneeling abruptly, his energy is palpable as he places a hand over his heart. Looking at you through the locks of hair that cascade across his face, a beam of light from the setting sun shines down on him, almost like a spotlight.

“You will not regret your decision.”

You chuckle. “That remains to be seen.”

—a/n: this is for @shouyuus and the three other shoyo stans who will read this:3 i have been obsessed with knight!shoyo since 2020 and i am so thrilled others are seeing the light…

—p.s. read rain’s take on knight!shoyo here

HUH WAIT U DOING MOOD BOARDS NOW?!

Help that's so cool and fun!

GOOD LUCK 🫡

i do them for my moots whenever i’m bored LMAOO

laying in bed thinking about how good shoyo would be taking care of me while i’m sick.

Combining my 2 favourite things 🔥

navigation : midnight records! the starlight EP! the mha EP!

"TELL ME NOT TO" — Bakugo Katsuki

a/n : being a girl means rewatching your childhood tv shows when you’re depressed, I missed one tree hill sm

warnings : alcohol, everyone is 18+, inspired by one tree hill

content : 3rd year Bakugo. f2l. mutual pining. fluff

Graduation night feels like the end of the world—but in a good way.

The Class 3-A dorms are packed, the air thick with heat, music, and the bittersweet kind of joy that comes when everything is about to change. Everyone’s too loud, too drunk, too alive. Mina’s dancing on the couch. Kaminari’s spinning a bottle like it’s a roulette wheel. Someone’s passed out on the stairs.

Truly, you love your classmates and you love this chaos. But right now, you need a breather.

You slip outside barefoot, still warm from the inside out, the bottle in your hand nearly empty. The grass is cool beneath your feet, soft and wet with the tail end of spring. You take a deep breath of it all—the quiet, the dark, the distant hum of music behind you—and smile to yourself.

Then the door opens. You don’t turn. You don’t have to, because you know it’s him.

“Took you long enough,” you call out, voice light, teasing. “Didn’t know I was supposed to babysit your ass all night,” Bakugo mutters. You spin around, walking backward now, grinning at him over the top of your bottle. “You weren’t. But you always end up doing it anyway.”

His eyes narrow, but his expression is too relaxed to be annoyed. He’s got that lazy look he only ever gets after two drinks—when the sharpness of him softens just enough to show the version he keeps hidden. His skull shirt is rumpled, damp with something spilled, his hair more chaotic than usual. He looks like he’s halfway through pretending he doesn’t want to be near you.

You raise your brows. “You’re tipsy.” He scoffs. “I’m fine.”

“You’re drunk aren’t you.”

“You’re annoying.”

“You love it.”

His mouth twitches—and for a second, you think he might actually smile.

But then you hear it. A low hiss. The faint hum of pressure building in the ground. You freeze just slightly, eyes flicking to the sprinkler heads lining the edge of the lawn. Your grin spreads like wildfire. “Oh my god,” you murmur. Bakugo blinks. “What?”

And then—You shove him right into the spray.

PSHHHHHHT.

Cold water explodes out of the sprinklers, nailing him straight in the chest. He stumbles back, half-jumping, half-growling, already soaked. “What the fuck!”

You double over laughing. “I told you you were drunk, your reflexes didn’t work !” you say to him. “You’re dead,” he snaps, and then he’s coming for you.

You shriek, laughing too hard to run properly, skidding across the grass as the sprinklers rotate, catching you both in random bursts. You dodge one spray just to get nailed by another, and now you’re soaked—your dress clinging to your legs, hair stuck to your forehead, mascara probably halfway down your cheeks.

Bakugo’s chasing you across the lawn like it’s a damn battlefield. “You think you’re funny?” he yells.

“I know I’m funny !”

“You’re an idiot !”

“But I’m your idiot !”

His laugh slips out before he can stop it. It’s low and surprised, like he didn’t expect it himself. You catch it—catch the exact second it happens—and it hits you harder than the water.

Because it’s real. Because Bakugo never laughs like that. You slow a little, just enough for him to catch you.

Your laughter cuts off as his arm hooks around your waist, dragging you backward, off balance, legs slipping in the soaked grass. You’re weightless for half a second before you crash down into the lawn, the cold seeping through your clothes instantly—but it’s not harsh.

He lands half on top of you, one arm braced beside your head, the other still around your waist, holding you steady like the ground might give out. Water from the sprinklers mists over you both in waves. Somewhere, someone’s still shouting from the party. But here? It’s quiet.

His chest is rising and falling against yours. His shirt is soaked, clinging to every line of muscle, and your fingers are curled into the fabric without realizing. His hair is dripping, blonde strands stuck to his forehead, water trailing down the edge of his jaw.

You’re both breathing hard. And for once… he’s not pulling away.

His eyes find yours—narrowed just slightly, like he’s still caught somewhere between disbelief and something much deeper. His scowl is gone. In its place is this bare awe that steals the air from your lungs more than the fall did.

Your voice comes out low. Playful, but softer now. “I win.” He huffs, barely a laugh. “You’re a menace, you know that?”

“You like it though"

He doesn’t answer. Instead, his gaze flicks down—quick, instinctive—to your lips. And then right back up. But you saw it.

And the way he’s looking at you now, it’s like he’s finally letting himself see you. Not just as the friend he’s joked with, sparred with, stayed up too late with—but as the person he’s been falling for slowly but hard. The one thing he never let himself touch.

Until now.

You whisper it before you can second-guess, “You’re gonna kiss me or what?” His eyes flicker, and for a beat, he just stares. Like he’s trying to memorize everything—your soaked dress, your flushed cheeks, the way you’re not pushing him away.

“Tell me not to,” he murmurs. It’s not a threat. It’s a warning. A plea. You don’t say a word, you just lean up. And that’s what he needed to meet you halfway.

The kiss is urgent. Messy in the way only first kisses can be—especially ones that have been waiting way too long. His lips crash against yours with no warning, no hesitation. He tastes like cheap liquor and rainwater and something you’ve been craving without even knowing it.

There’s nothing gentle about it—at first. It’s heat and release and finally, all tangled into one moment that feels too big for your chest. But then—he softens.

His hand moves from your waist to your cheek, fingers brushing water off your skin like he wants to memorize the shape of your face. His mouth slows, moving over yours with more intention now, like he’s realizing he gets to have this. That you’re real. That you’re not pulling away.

And you kiss him back like you’ve been waiting for this since day one. Because you have.

His thumb brushes the corner of your jaw. Your hand slides up into his wet hair, tugging gently. You can feel the way his body melts into yours, feel the sigh he lets out against your lips like he’s been holding his breath for years.

He pulls back, just far enough to breathe, and for a long second, neither of you says anything.

His forehead is still resting against yours, breath hot and uneven, fingers still curled tight around your waist like letting go isn’t even an option. Your lips are swollen. Your pulse is loud in your ears. You can still taste him.

You open your eyes—and he’s already looking at you. Not like your best friend. Not like a maybe. Like someone who’s been drowning in almosts for a year and finally—finally—got air. “Shit,” you whisper, because that’s all your brain can manage.

He exhales a soft laugh, eyes dropping to your mouth, like he’s thinking about kissing you again. Like he might never stop.

One more second. One more heartbeat. Then he murmurs, voice rough and quiet: “Took you long enough.” You smile. “Shut up.”

And you kiss him again.

2025 © NANASRKIVES. / do not copy, repost, edit, plagiarize, or translate any of my works on any platforms, including ai.

TAGLIST (OPEN). / @ayatakanosstuff @arwawawa2 @itsmeaudrieee @g-h-o-s-t-b-a-b-i @andysteve1311 @feelya

FUCK U BITCHES FOR SHOWING ME THE BLLK NEW CHAPTER LEAK ON TT IM DELETING TT I HATE THIS SHIT I HATE EVERYONE

I HAD ALREADY DELT WITH ONE SPOLIER BEFORE AND THEN I SEE TBJS SHIT IM FLIPPING MY LID.

ty for the tag nana!!

I saw this floating around amd wanted to try it!

Go to pinterest and search “my vibe aesthetic” and post the top 6 results!

Tagging: @mimikittysblog @fizzyapplecandy

whenever I like your self ship posts, please imagine me holding up pompoms and yelling "YEAH!!!!" every time.

sukuna would fear us atlas….

self ships would hate my ass like why is this girl so stubborn gtfo !!!!!!

sigh. what if i just become a realtor…