↳ Pairing : Miles Morales X Reader

they’re still brothers to me also yuuji is a fall out boy stan i rest my case

this is Dee's reaction to discovering metalcest and other sick ships in the fandom.

Heavys latest post was really bothering me so i fixed it. Left is original and right is mine

𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐝 - 𝐧𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐲𝐚𝐦 𝐬𝐮𝐥𝐥𝐲

age-old traditions were to be continued for generations, but when it finally comes down to the toruk makto's son, he's not so willing to comply...

– pairings: neteyam x oc

– warning: fluff, canon divergent, cross-posted on wattpad

– author's note: this oneshot takes place after the events of avatar 2 because i refuse to believe that neteyam is gone.

translations:

– ma tìrol [my son] – zamunge fko [strong one]

Being given an arranged mate was something like a toss of a coin. It was sheer luck if you ended up loving the one you were destined to be with.

Despite the arrangements of suitors being highly disliked, Neytiri turned back to the tradition of her forefathers, a part of her following the custom in memory of the late Olo’eyktan, Eytukan. As much as he didn’t like it, Jake followed his wife’s wishes, knowing how much her culture and her father meant to her.

And so, with the consultation of the current tsahik, Neytiri and Mo’at had decided who her firstborn would be promised to, both looking at the candidates for the next tsahik. It was decided that the matched pair would be introduced when Neytiri’s son, Neteyam, the next in line for Olo’eyktan, was of age to be part of the People.

Unfortunately, the young man hated it. Neteyam hated the notion of not being able to experience falling in love, and he had hoped that he would be able to understand the look his parents shared when they looked at one another, and share it with someone who would be his equal.

Sure, he would try his best to get along with whoever was planned to be by his side as his mate. But for all he could know, they would’ve already been in love with someone else, and it was just another unlucky draw.

He dreaded the way his parents spoke of his arranged mate. His mother passed him a slightly pitiful look, and his father only gave his wife a guilty one, knowing what happened previously between her and her chosen mate.

So far, he had turned down nine of the women his mother and grandmother had introduced to him, and he had turned them all down. They just didn't click to him, especially after most of them had passed him thoughtless grins with wandering eyes. 

His mother was at the end of her rope, praying to the Great Mother that this time, her son would consider her current option to be the next tsahik. Besides, all she wanted was for her son to be happy and loved, just as she was. And she was starting to lose hope.

“Nete,” Neytiri frowned, trying to convince her son. “If you’re lucky, she would love you, and you could grow to love her.”

“But mother, I want to be a mate to someone I’m already in love with!” The firstborn protested, his frown deepening at his mother’s suggestion.

“And are you already in love with someone?”

Neteyam looked away, knowing that he indeed hadn’t found that special someone. Yet. He grumbled with crossed arms, Neytiri sighing as she hugged her son’s head close to her.

“Ay… Ma tìrol…” Neytiri muttered as Neteyam hugged his mother slightly tighter. “Give her a chance. She could be the one, only Eywa knows.”

Neteyam closed his eyes slowly, knowing that he couldn’t argue with his mother anymore. He let out a slow breath as he pulled away, nodding slowly. Seeing this, Neytiri’s smile returned, and the mother placed her palm lovingly on her son’s cheek, the boy leaning into her touch.

“But if I feel like things won’t turn out right for us, I want to choose who I am mated with,” Neteyam spoke up again, looking his mother in the eye, determination set in his features.

Neytiri pursed her lips, her turn to nod slowly as the two came to an agreement. If he agreed to follow her terms, she would agree to follow his.

The day of the meeting had eventually crawled by, Neteyam inwardly groaning before keeping his mind open to the one he was supposed to meet.

He did his best to realise that whoever he was meant to meet was promised to him as he was to her, so they were both stuck in the same boat.

Neteyam watched the way his mother smiled, and from it he knew that she was confident that things would work out. He was partially ready to prove her wrong.

"Nete, remember to keep an open mind," Neytiri smiled, pushing her closer to the little healing hut where Mo'at usually worked.

"Mother, why are we at grandmother's healing hut?" Neteyam raised his browline in confusion.

"She works under the tsahik to learn to heal. Her name is Näytle te Ìviu Oa'ite. Find out more about her, maybe you could both share common interests," Neytiri grinned, nudging her son closer. 

But just as Neteyam was within the radius of the hut, Neytiri grabbed her firstborn son's shoulder, whispering in his ear as the young man listened to her every word.

"Her mother has decided that the two of you shall meet each other first. She does not know that you will be arriving to meet her," Neytiri nodded. "I will not be following you in, but I can only trust you to make a good impression."

"Mother!" Neteyam frowned back as he glanced at Neytiri in annoyance at her meddling.

"Ma tìrol, she's keeping an open mind you must do the same," Neytiri gently kissed her son's cheek before pushing him towards the hut.

"Now go!"

Neteyam muttered curses under his breath, walking towards the hut with his browline furrowed.

Neytiri watched from afar as her son stormed off, placing her hand gently on her chest as she glanced up at the sky.

"May Eywa guide them towards a path of happiness."

“Hello?” Neteyam called out to the fairly empty hut. 

He walked around, trying to find the woman he was meant to meet. He peered around the pillars of the hut as he decided to try calling her out by her name, walking deeper into the wooden-built structure.

“Näytle?” 

He called the woman's name out as he passed by other Omaticayan healers who simply pointed him in the direction of where the mentioned healer would be.

From within a far corner of the shelter, Mo’at’s ears perked up at her student’s name, recognising her grandson’s voice. A small grin grew on her face as the tsahik gently tapped her protégés back.

“Näytle,” She turned to the young woman who was tending to a small Omaticayan boy’s minor wounds.

“Yes, tsahik?” The doe-eyed Na'vi woman turned to face her with a small smile.

Her eyes were filled with eagerness to learn from her mentor, her soft smile showing glimpses of kindness and hospitality that was very much needed in the medicinal part of the Omaticaya.

"My child," Mo'at placed her hand on the young woman's shoulder tenderly. "I am going to go gather with Olo'eyktan Sully and his wife. I need you and the other healers to make sure that whoever needs healing gets it as soon as possible." 

"Of course," Näytle nodded eagerly. "I'm glad you have entrusted me with this, tsahik."

The younger female turned her attention back to the child before her, wiping her hands free of the healing salve before wrapping his wounds up with some long leaves.

"Of course, my child," Mo'at smiled before stepping towards the back exit. "Oh, and I think you should be expecting a visit from someone."

"Who should I be expecting?" Näytle asked the older woman, but as she turned around, the tsahik was gone.

Näytle frowned in confusion as she gently turned to the young boy in front of her, patting his head as she softly spoke to him. She saw the way the boy grew a frown at the sight of his tended wound.

"Don't worry, zamunge fko," Näytle ruffled the boy's hair. "The pain will pass with time, as all things do."

She turned around, kneeling while holding a small piece of traditional candy, or something similar to it, the boy's frown disappearing.

"For your bravery."

The boy took the sweet, running off as the healer smiled warmly at child's burst of energy, unaware of the figure that watched her actions from afar.

"Näytle?"

The girl turned around, now face to face with a taller Na'vi. He appeared to be her height. She was surprised, especially when she couldn't hear the person's footsteps. Perhaps he was a hunter in aid of wounds he gained from the hunting group earlier. 

"Yes, that would be me," The healer responded, standing up from her kneeled position. 

Näytle watched the young man in front of her, taking in his appearance as she glanced him up and down for any wounds that needed tending.

He was attractive, she wouldn't deny that. The energy and wonder in his eyes about the world around him wasn't easy to miss. They hid in specks of ocre and gold that flickered brightly in the light of the hut.

His stature was built, one of a proud warrior. His beaded hair moved with the slightest movement of his head, little clinking noises of the beads knocking against one another caught her attention as she thought the braids framed his face perfectly.

If she could say, she would tell him that he looked as though Eywa herself handcrafted him to fit her image of perfection.

"Oel ngati kameie."

I see you.

Näytle nodded respectfully, repeating his action, without realising how his heart jumped in his throat when he said the phrase.

He couldn't tell if it was the way she interacted with the child, the way that she was filled with so much love and kindness for the life around her, but there was something special about her. Something just beautiful. Something that the other women lacked when he met them.

Her physical beauty in his eyes just emphasised that something special. He didn't know what it was, but there was something about her eyes that just made him want to discover more about her.

"Do I know you?" The woman before him, Näytle, spoke. 

Her gentle voice bounced around in his head, and he treasured the way it sounded for a few minutes longer.

"Neteyam," He placed his hand on his chest. "My name's Neteyam te Suli Tsyeyk'itan."

He watched the way her eyes widened in realisation, embarrassment flooding through her cheeks as they flushed.

He adored the way she looked so cute and flustered.

"My apologies!" She nervously tucked a strand of braided hair behind her ear. "I hadn't realised that you were coming to visit!"

The guilt of not recognising the Toruk Makto's son had lingered in her stomach, but it vanished when she heard him chuckle.

"No, it's alright! You have never seen me before?" Neteyam tilted his head slightly, amusement filling him.

"Ah, unfortunately not. From where I stand in the crowd, it's always too far to get a good look."

The young woman picked up the bowl of salve, walking towards a nearby table to keep the balm away. Her tail flicked mischievously as she formed her next words jokingly

"I have heard stories that he is undeniably handsome, though."

"Have you now?" Neteyam perked up, a small grin unknowingly growing on his face.

"Yes," The woman smiled, taking some leaves from nearby and taking them towards another table where a Na'vi equivalent of motar and pestle lay.

"What else might you have heard?"

Neteyam prodded on, leaning on the counter next to the female Na'vi. 

"I heard that he was a skilled hunter, a hunter that was much sought after by other women."

"Well, that's a pity," Neteyam shrugged. "They would have to do without me."

"And why would they have to?" Näytle gave him a questioning glance, tilting her head towards him slightly, as the circular motion of her hands slowed.

Neteyam's eyes glanced down at the wooden counter beneath his hands, feeling suddenly nervous.

Because perhaps, he was falling in love.

"Because I have been matched. And I wouldn't mind getting to know the woman I have been matched with."

Näytle smiled softly, her smile growing. She placed the pestle on the table.

The young woman held her hand out to the young hunter before her.

"Let's get to know each other then. It was nice to meet you, Neteyam te Suli Tsyeyk'itan."

"Please," The Olo'eyktan's son took her softer, smaller hand into his, holding it gently.

"Neteyam is just fine."

He bent down, gently kissing the back of her hand, something he had seen his father do as a sign of affection towards his mother.

He saw the way her cheeks flushed, his smile growing wider at her suddenly shy state.

"And it's a pleasure to meet you too, Näytle."

His mother had proved him wrong, and for once, he didn't mind. Maybe this time, being arranged together didn't sound too bad.

theme inspired by @aokoaoi !

gif by @world-of-pandora

taglist: @mooncleaver @moonie-writings @peacelovepandora @neteyams-tsahik

— dm me if you want to be apart of my taglist!

𝐧𝐞𝐰 𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐬 - 𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐝𝐨𝐫𝐢 𝐲𝐮𝐮𝐣𝐢

after an interview, yuuji can't help the bubbling feeling in his chest.

my masterlist | vogue collab masterlist !

✭ pairings: itadori yuuji x oc actor! au

✭ warning: pining. fluff. actor au.

✭ author’s note: I ADORED WRITING THIS AU SO MUCH FOR THE COLLAB AHHH!!!

✭ word count: 2.9k words

disclaimer: i’m not of japanese descent and am unfamiliar with japanese honorifics, etc. feel free to correct me!

Blinding lights and interviews. Those were the two words Itadori Yuuji thought of whenever he considered his life as an actor. He smiled, sitting on a couch with his three fellow cast members, Fushiguro Megumi, Shu Tsubame and Kugisaki Nobara as the former answered yet another interview question with ease.

Yuuji smiled at every question tossed in his co-star’s way, laughing along when Nobara responded with a silly or funny face at an intrusive question.

He couldn't resist his smile as he sat next to one of his closest friends, Tsubame, as she let out a bubbly laugh along with Nobara in response to a question he zoned out on.

“Itadori Yuuji, you have been picked for the role of the main lead for the popular manga-turned-anime ‘Jujutsu Kaisen’. What are your thoughts on the show so far?” The interviewer leaned closer in curiosity.

The pink-haired teen snapped out of his daze before he hummed in thought, answering with ease with a small laugh escaping his lips, “Well, we did just finish season one, and it was fun but the script really was something. Lots of tears on my part, but I can’t say more than that since I’m not exactly allowed to disclose what’s happened in the plot.”

Megumi nodded in agreement, the interviewer smiling as she pulled out the next question, a wide smile ever-present on her face.

“How do you think each of your characters contrasts with your real personalities?" She asked quickly, her mic in her hands. “And what would the difference be?”

The four teens looked at each other, deciding amongst themselves who would go first, Nobara taking the mic as she began to speak, Tsubame and Yuuji grinning at each other as they did a little rock-paper-scissors match to determine which among the two would go right after Megumi.

Seeing that Tsubame won – Yuuji secretly let her win, but he would never admit to that – the youngest of the four smiled widely as Megumi passed her the mic. Yuuji rested his chin in the palm of his hand, his elbow resting on the armrest of the couch as he watched her speak excitedly.

He zoned out halfway, more interested in her little mannerisms, like the little fidgets of her fingers when she stuttered a little, and in an instant, his hand reached out to hers, rubbing soothing circles on the back of her hand to soothe her nerves.

Tsubame looked lost in thought for a minute before squeezing Yuuji’s hand a little, sending butterflies through his stomach, “I think for me, what I admired most about my character is how different we are, but we both have the same ideals where we would do anything for our family. It’s just that the way we process situations is different if that makes sense – and I admire the way she’s set on achieving her goals, in other words, her motivation.”

The interviewer nodded, making small noises of agreement as she listened, “That’s interesting, now I’ve got to ask, you’ve mentioned how different your character is from your entire personality, what exactly do you mean by that?”

“I wouldn’t say we’re super similar,” Tsubame laughs shyly. “But my character’s more closed off, definitely more guarded than me. Oh, and she’s super stoic but I feel like I’m… I’m more…”

“Bubbly?” Yuuji smiled, finishing her sentence as she nodded with a giggle.

“Yes! Exactly, I’m so much more bubbly than her so it was tough having to keep a straight face on set for long takes.”

“She couldn’t stop smiling, you know?” The pink-haired teen beside her grinned. “And she kept playing Taylor Swift’s ‘New Romantics’ on loop while dancing around on set.”

Tsubame giggles again, Megumi and Nobara smiling over at their young friend who they saw as a little sibling. Megumi laughed a little, “And we had non-stop karaoke sessions off-set, so that was fun.”

“Anyway Yuuji, what do you think was different between you and your character’s personality?” Tsubame hummed in question as the four teens grinned at the memories.

Tsubame gently handed the mic to Yuuji as he hummed in thought at the interviewer’s question, “What differences were there between my role and I? I’d say that he’s a little more hyper than I am, so it’s like I have to boost my energy up just a little bit more to keep up with him. It’s always fun because just being with everyone is enough to excite me.”

His three other friends smiled up at him widely, the four of them glad that they had such a close bond, Nobara laughing as she pointed at Yuuji playfully.

“You’re such a softie, Itadori!” Nobara laughed, leaning over Megumi to lightly punch Yuuji’s arm.

Seeing this, the interviewer grinned, “It seems like you all are close, why don't you describe your off-screen relationships with each other, considering that you all are one friend group in both the show and real life?"

The four of them looked at each other before Yuuji began, “Megumi and I just sort of instantly clicked in a sense? Like he’s my best friend, and I’d trust him with my life. Nobara’s like a ridiculous, but sassy older sister, and Tsubame’s just a really, really sweet person overall.”

“Aw,” Tsubame smiles, squeezing Yuuji’s hand tighter in a comforting manner. “Yuuji’s super sweet too, he’s selling himself short, everybody knows him as the sunshine boy.”

“You both certainly have some chemistry,” The interviewer laughed, Tsubame and Yuuji laughing with pink cheeks as Nobara and Megumi smiled knowingly.

“But I think we can all agree that Tsubame’s like the little sibling we’d protect at all cost,” Nobara shrugs. “We all get along on set, and she pretty much pulls us all together with the copious amounts of energy she has.”

Tsubame smiled with a small shrug, releasing Yuuji’s hand as he chuckled at her reaction. The interviewer smiled at the sight, thanking the four teens, “That concludes today’s interview, but it was wonderful to have you all on set today! ‘Jujutsu Kaisen’ will be streaming on all platforms soon…”

The voice of the interviewer faded away as the four teens waved, the cameras soon cutting, bright lights fading. Tsubame sighed softly in exhaustion, leaning against the couch as Megumi chuckled at her reaction.

“That was tough,” Tsubame laughed a little, Yuuji placing a hand on her shoulder reassuringly.

“You did good,” He smiled, Nobara humming as she stood up, pulling her junior up with her.

“Yeah, what Itadori said, now c’mon, let’s get some bubble tea!” Nobara grinned widely, pulling Tsubame along, winking over at Yuuji as soon as Tsubame’s back was turned.

The two girls left the boys behind, Yuuji and Megumi following a fair bit away from the two girls ahead of them.

“So no luck?” Megumi began, snapping Yuuji out of his daze as the four stars walked down the hallways of the broadcast show’s building.

“What? Oh– yeah, no luck so far,” Yuuji shook his head. “How’d you know?”

“You still have that pining look on your face.”

“Oh…”

Yuuji felt his cheeks turn pink, his eyes focused on the floor before they found Tsubame’s figure again as she laughed alongside Nobara. His heart thumped in his chest, and he bit the inside of his cheek nervously with a sheepish smile.

“Am I really that obvious?” He whispered, Megumi giving a face at the boy he so adored.

“The interviewer did say you both have chemistry.”

Yuuji blushes hard with a little smile, “The fans are gonna go wild, huh?”

“Yup.”

“Fantastic…”

“Yuuji!” Tsubame grinned, walking over to her best friend with a little grin. “Whatcha doin’?”

Yuuji’s eyes widened as he felt Tsubame sidle up to him, smiling as she sat beside him on the little couch in their shared hotel room – a temporary fix until they completed their next interview.

“Tsu, hey,” Yuuji grinned softly, scooting over a little to let her sit next to him.

He let her lean closer to him, letting her peer over his shoulder as he scrolled through the instagram app on his phone.

He shrugged nonchalantly, “Just going through the comments on my newest post.”

Instantly, he felt her smaller frame lean more into him as he scrolled, his cheeks heating up the closer she neared him. The smell of her shampoo suddenly smelled strong as lavender, sandalwood and rose scents filled his senses. The pink-haired teen struggled to hold back the urge to just pull her into his arms and smother her face with little pecks.

“Wh– hey is that a picture of me?”

His body tensed the slightest as her big coffee-coloured eyes looked up at him, her eyebrow raised in amusement as she smiled cheekily, spotting her image among his little collage of slides.

He laughed softly, smiling at the picture he snapped of her. It was the three of his closest friends on the beach, but as Nobara and Megumi were far out in the background, the focus on the image was of Tsubame in her white sundress. A matching white sundress sat on her head as a pink ribbon flowed in the wind, a wide smile on her face as she held the hat down to prevent it from flying away.

Just the sight of her wide smile made a smile of his own grow. There was something about how peaceful and comforted she was to smile so freely that just made his heart beat harder in his chest at the sight of her genuine joy.

“Yeah, of course?” He chuckled, pulling her into a hug. “Why wouldn’t I include my favourite picture of my favourite person here?”

She grinned, and it was enough to make his heart flutter like a wild bird in his chest, aching to break free of its cage of ribs, “D’aw, I’m your favourite person?”

“Obviously, you’re so cute and squishy and perfect to hug,” He laughs, squeezing her tighter as she squeaks a little at the sensation of his arms tightening around her waist, Yuuji gently pulling her onto his lap.

“Please, easy on the ribs, Yuu!” She giggled, “You always hug me so tight.”

He only laughs at her in response, nuzzling his nose into her neck and letting her pick up his phone as she scrolled through the comments. He didn’t care about what she did, as long as she enjoyed herself in his hold.

“Wow… the comments are really piling up,” She whistled softly in amazement, and Yuuji only hummed in acknowledgement, just savouring the moment he had to cuddle her before she pulled away, his feelings as unsaid and unrequited as before.

She continues to scroll through the evergrowing comments, eyes widening at the top comment as she gently brings the phone to his face buried in her neck.

“Yuu, you should read this,” She smiles a little. “People are talking about you, you know?”

Yuuji cracks one eye open, resting his chin on her shoulder as his hazel eyes scan over the little white text as he quickly reads the comment.

“You know, they’re not wrong, we would make an incredibly cute couple,” Yuuji grinned, and the proximity between them caused Tsubame to blush the slightest as she felt his whisper against her cheek.

She giggled softly again, “Yeah? You think so? I’m surprised you’d agree so easily.”

His eyes widened and he couldn’t help the way he felt his heart drop the slightest. Had he been reading the signs wrong? Was his affection truly to be unrequited?

“Why? What’s so surprising about it?” He asked softly, his face leaning closer to hers in genuine curiosity, but he didn’t miss the way her already pink cheeks turned red. It caused his heart to soar with pride and joy to know that he made her blush.

“W-Well, I mean,” She looks away for the briefest second, gently pushing her hair behind her ear, “We didn’t really… I-I mean, we’re not dating, and we’re best friends, Yuu.”

His heart officially dropped to his stomach, his smile disappearing as he whispered a soft, ‘ah’. He loosened his grip around her waist the slightest, but something bubbled up in his chest. The truth of his feelings towards her lingered on his mind, and he didn’t like the way he fidgeted, knowing that he wouldn’t be satisfied until he at least tried to tell her how he felt – it didn’t feel right otherwise.

Gently, he picked up one of her hands, his thumbs gently running over her knuckles as he focused his gaze on her smaller hand in his as he felt his cheeks warm, “Tsubame, there’s… there’s something I want to tell you.”

“What’s up?” Tsubame tilted her head, placing his phone aside as she gave him her full attention.

“Tsubame, this whole process with you, being your colleague, your co-star, your best friend… it’s all been an amazing experience,” He smiles fondly at the memories they’ve shared. “And the more I spend time around you, the more I see the real you, and the more I feel my heart beat faster when you smile, and the more I want to be the reason that little spark appears in your eyes when you look my way.”

His amber eyes met her widened oak ones, his emotion so strong, so present that she couldn’t help the way her breath hitched the slightest. He took her silence as a sign to go on, seeing that her eyes were solely trained on him and not on the way his phone vibrated beside her.

“I know it’s a stupid comment on an instagram post, but I can’t imagine being anywhere but by your side. And if you don’t feel the same, I’ll understand as long as we stay friends… so please, Tsubame, let me just say this that I… I love you.”

Those three words. Those three little words finally escaped his lips, his heart pounding in anticipation, but he could finally breathe, feeling a weight vanish from his chest. He watches every little reaction on the face of the girl he loves, from the way she now breathed softly to the way she looked at him so gently.

“You… you love me?” She whispers, and he nods without any hesitation, now holding both of her hands in his larger ones.

“From the moment I met you, from the moment you smiled at me with that little excited wave of yours. Cupid struck me with its arrow right then and there,” He smiles breathlessly. “Now I need to ask you, and don’t be afraid to speak your mind, please… do you feel the same?”

A heartbeat. Then two. Then–

“Yes.”

Yuuji couldn’t believe his ears, his eyes widening as he saw a smile grow on her soft-pink cheeks. He felt his own cheeks warm as he saw that little shine in her eyes that he adored, even if her dark brown bangs covered most of her left eye.

“Y-You… Did I hear you right?” He whispered softly, his heartbeat picking up. He smiled when he saw her nod, her own gentle smile growing as she blushed at the feeling of his hands holding hers.

“Yes,” She smiles, a giggle growing in her chest, “Yes, Yuuji. I love you, too.”

He smiles wider, pulling her close as he laughs softly, “You mean it? You really mean it?”

“Duh!” She grins, leaning closer to him as she squeezes his hands back, “I really thought I was being obvious ever since our first karaoke…”

“Not one bit. I didn’t have a clue,” He laughs, pulling his hand away to cup her cheek, his forehead resting on hers. “God, we’re blind.”

Tsubame laughs along, her warm cheeks mirroring his own, “The blindest.”

His thumb gently strokes her cheek as he looks at her with the softest glance and touch, as though if he held her any harsher, she would vanish in a cloud of dreams, and he would wake up all alone, without her in his arms.

He lowered his voice, his caramel eyes darting to her upturned lips, and his heart thumped at the thought he had in his head.

“...May I– Tsubame can I kiss you, please?”

Yuuji adored the way her cheeks exploded into a warm shade of red, her smile changing into one of bashfulness. Finally, she whispered back, giving him the pass he so desperately longed for.

“Yes.”

He leaned in just as she leaned up, her lips just softly pressing against his as he felt his chest explode with butterflies. Tsubame smiled widely, her heart beating faster as their lips locked, softly pressed against each other – pure and innocent, just like their moment.

When they finally pulled away, their faces were covered in a scarlet hue, shy smiles and little giggles escaping them as they enjoyed their moment. Tsubame smiled at him lopsidedly, resting her head on his shoulder as he grabbed his phone.

“Say cheese!”

The camera snapped, Tsubame giggling as Yuuji pecked her cheek, the flash flickering on and off as Yuuji grinned at her bubbly laugh. When he lowered his hand, he posted the image on his instagram story, adding a little caption.

“Thanks for the little encouragement!” He hummed, tagging the girl in his arms before posting it.

After a minute or two, a message from Nobara appeared, and it made Yuuji chuckle at it.  It was as if he were hearing her tone through the text, as though she were right there to express her exasperation.

“Finally! It’s about damn time.”

taglist: @mooncleaver @underwateredwrld @mcmisbehaving @neteyamrealgf @khany2026 @tinkerbelle05 @iheartamajiki @sad-darksoul @yunymphs @saelestia @cheriiyaya @ladyth

< comment/dm me if you’d like to be on the taglist! >

HEY JAIME, PETER AND I ARE INFP TWINNIES!! <33

My favorite INFP characters. Yes, yes, I’m a Gemini and INFP. Hby?

[ all pics filtered by me, artwork is not mine, respective to the original artists. ] I made a TikTok version of this on my page here:

teamwork (makes the dream work...?)

genre: enemies to lovers I guess? I'm bad at these 😭

summary: one week, your usual work partner is absent, so instead you are seated next to a genius with attitude problems. it happens.

wc: ~500

A/N: if i can manage to be consistent for once, this will probably be a series because I haven't done one in a while. pls feel free to leave your reactions in the tags or comments! happy reading 🫶🏾

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Sunlight filtered through the large classroom window. Usually, you'd be seated right by it, letting the rays warm your face in the air-conditioned room.

Not today. Your usual partner was out sick, so you were moved to the back of the classroom. Blocking out the sunshine was the silhouette of a boy you had only seen in the hallways once or twice. He had deep brown skin, with two neat cornrows cascading down either side of his neck and brushing his shoulders. You also made out an undercut, faded cleanly beneath the braids. There was a case meant for holding glasses sitting at the front of his desk, but no spectacles sitting on his prominent nose. 

The boy was bent over his worksheet already, arm covering the page.

"Hey," you said with a pleasant upturn in your voice. A full thirty seconds passed. He didn't answer, so you try again.

"Um, excuse me-"

"I heard you." 

The boy kept his eyes on his desk, brows knitted together with focus. He was making broad, sharp strokes with his pencil. His elbow moved for a moment, revealing not a sheet of math problems, but a piece of printer paper filled with intricate geometric designs. Precise lines come together to create the form of a caped figure. It has large, mechanical claws and a mask with sharp, wide eyes.

"That's a cool drawing," you commented. The boy's shoulders jumped to his ears as if he'd been caught before dropping back down. He finally looked up from the page and paused. Wide, brown eyes flickered across your face, trying to determine what to make of you.

"Thanks," was all that the boy said before returning to his sketching. It wasn't long before you interrupted him again.

"You not gonna finish your work?"

"I'm already done, that's why Ms. Jones put me back here and let me rock."

Your eyebrows shot up in surprise. 

"Well, excuse the fuck outta me," you muttered to yourself. 

You messed with the sleeve of your royal blue uniform blazer in silence, weighing your options. Ms. Jones wasn't going to let you turn in another incomplete assignment, and this kid couldn't even be assed to say 'hello'. A deep sigh escapes your lips.

"Can I get your name, at least?"

The boy set his pen down with a slam, and looked up at you as if he'd just been asked what color the sky was.

"Morales," he deadpanned, with a slight roll on the 'r'. 

"Which Morales?"

"Miles."

You hummed in slight recognition, having heard the name somewhere before, murmured next to you in passing.

"You Dominican?"

"Puerto Rican."

"Oh, cool."

"M-hm." 

He picked up his pen again and began to twirl it between his pointer and middle finger, but held your gaze. You looked like you were finally about to get to the actual question.

"Well, Morales," you began with a smile.

Here it comes.

"Since you're done, can you help me with-"

"No."

You scoffed, "What's the point of being partners, then?"

Miles had already returned to his original position, scribbling away. He didn't look at you, this time.

"We not partners, ma."

...And so began the longest school week of your life.

𝟏𝟐 | 𝐏𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐥 𝐃𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫

ー✧ prince!bakugou x royal guard!reader

"You will spend summers in rainstorms and autumns in his orchids because you are Alderan and he will kill Takoban gods to get you there."

cw brief description of drowning and a claustrophobic struggle with the ocean. suggestions of suicidal intention and self harm. reader tries to fight the sea and your prince has horrible misunderstandings about it. bkg 🫱🏽‍🫲🏼 unethical rescue tactics pt 2, borrowed clothes, a fevered fireside confession in the bedroom you’ve been searching for 6.4k

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If Takoba is the edge of the world, Aldera is the center. You so starved for comfort, stand with your feet at the tip of the surf and tie your braids together.

You watch the sea at midnight and the winds coming off the water bite your scars before they chill your bones. Autumn at the edge of the world is miserable. Lakes freeze but the ocean is colder, and full of tides , like Todoroki said, which you’ve spent the day reading about. Unlike lakes and winter ice skating, the ocean has a taste. Salt and decay. It tastes unfathomably ancient. You watch its many maws foaming under the moonlight and seashells burn in frigid water when you step onto them.

In the view from Bakugou’s bedroom, you’ve lined your boots up neatly in the sand and stand watch beside them for a moment. You’re dressed to stop a midnight siege, in your white nightgown and padded habergeon, staring so small and far away from the warmth of his fireplace. You in a dark blue world, framed by his open window. Bakugou would have sipped his tea and rolled his eyes at his newly fucked up sleep schedule and how ridiculous you insist on looking in public if his cup wasn’t spilt on the rugs where he dropped it. If he hadn’t already ripped his door off its hinges in his sprint out of the castle.

You couldn’t sleep. You have no appetite and no mobility yet for sparring. Just books. Just Uraraka answering your questions about the sea while watching her men train. The ride with Todoroki yesterday was nice but it left your throat stiff and you are still in your kingdom’s service. Today in Takoba, tomorrow and forever behind your prince. Long before the blue gardens and scars, before the kitchen, before sticky crowds and white horses and cold hallways, something somewhere started to die.

You take another step into the swollen water, it rises with the moon, to confirm your suspicions and grimace when a crab scuttles over your foot. Another step and you’re up to your hem. It would all be easier if your heart was still a forest fire. When did that stop? When did the rain come? Up to your knees now. Seawater climbs your nightgown.

As it stands you’re no longer a dragon, just damp tinder. The black sea sways you side to side at the hips now so gently– keep walking, don’t look back. You will free yourself from doubt and you will fight a god to do it.

“Moon makes tides,” Uraraka yawned and slouched and stretched as you sat on your knees beside her in the pit.

“Can you swim in it?”

“In the ocean?” she squinted, “Yeah of course. But don’t tell me you want to swim in this weather?”

“I won’t.”

Shinsou could only pretend not to hear for so long from his spot beside you both this afternoon, “The moon makes tides, and tides make storms.”

Good. Up to your ribs now. Wear the rock there like an anchor.

In the cold water your body heat becomes that much more apparent and it’s lovely like home. Genuinely hot for a second. Your nightgown floats up around you and you sink quickly from chest to nose when the sand under your feet drops to freezing nothing. The sudden dip sends icy pain behind both eyes and the sensation of failing steeles every joint sickly sore. Walking through the ocean is like a fight, like driving a sword through someone solid, like braving a thunderstorm, but sinking into it is easier than sleeping.

You gasp and spit out the aftermath of losing your footing but you also fight too hard in anticipation of sinking and you’re suddenly in the open air up to your waist like a salmon leaping upstream. The weight of the nightgown settles you back down to your shoulders and it’s silent except for the sound of waves kissing the beach and one another. Whistling wind. You bob only some ten meters out from shore, just short of where Todoroki held you back for fear of drowning and something wild like greed blinks open a sleepy brown eye.

You hardly have to move a limb to keep your head above water; the sea is free and gentle. You float easily here, where a lake wants to watch you fight. It’s part of the fun at home and in exchange you are safe in freshwater. Salt stings– saliva pools under your tongue to keep it from getting inside– but it also holds you up in the foam like two hands under the hip.

Is this what you were so afraid of? This is the god you planned on killing tonight?

Every day in this miserable place you have been beaten. You have fallen apart in some way, your hair is too messy, your new clothes don’t fit right. You lose Aldera with every step, heel toe– earrings that are no longer yours, heel toe– a weapon you can't return, heel toe and stand at attention– a brooch you’re too afraid to wear, to lose too, so you keep it under your pillow and wear silver seashells instead. Blue fire took the first victory in the forest and you salvaged your prince with your life thin in your teeth. Takoba took the second victory and strung you out in your nightgown for nobles to pick at like crows. A driftwood table took the third and Bakugou stole the fourth. The only time you have ever won here is when you decided to die. When you churn the water with your arms a pain echoes across your back not quite inside your scars.

Kirishima on the verge of tears, Shinsou above your operating table, Uraraka at your side, Todoroki holding you back from the edge of the world– your prince, wet to his knees– you have never, not once in your life have you ever failed. Their gazes make your throat hurt and you spit again into a tiny rolling wave that lifts itself over your chin and into your ears.

The goddess of the sea does not pity you.

She pulls you into her arms and laughs when you rub your freshwater eyes. She tossels your hair with silent waves you could never have seen coming. She reminds you of her strength. And Todoroki told you that you couldn’t possibly challenge her– eat your words sealace prince. Even just this once, witness me. You are a gem in the crown of Aldera, the left hand of the golden family. Takoba is no setback the sea is not your master, you are a chosen servant, not a mistake. It is so wonderful to be in the presence of a queen again and at night her water is soft and black.

The shore is farther than you remember when you finally glance back at the world. You bob like a peach, a frozen peach, and realize you can’t feel the cold anymore. Time to head back. Today was just a test anyway, to make sure you could put up your fight. Maybe sleep will come now that you’re starting to breathe heavy and now that your muscles ache again after days without real training. Ice creeps up the back of your neck from wet hair.

The goddess of the sea plays with you for a few more seconds and you can’t wait to come back in the warmth of the sun to lay on your back with her to whom you no longer need to prove yourself. The ocean pulls in its depths just as much as it pushes at the shore so you brace your eyes for discomfort and duck under the surface to kick a good length forward. It would have worked in a lake, at the center of the world.

When you resurface you are somehow farther than before and considerably shorter of breath. The cold starts to press on your lungs now that you’re truly using them. It’s okay, one more time. You kick once to let the goddess lift you up with her salt and breathe in the free air before diving under again but all you actually do is stir bubbles around you exactly where you started. If anything even farther. Your boots are too small to see now.

There are no storms, no raging waves, no rain, no thunder, hardly wind, what is putting up the fight? Whatever. You paddle above water, thankful for light clothes, and weary of the growing ache under your jaw– the start of a pulsing headache. More than anything you are finally excited for bed, but no matter how hard you push there seems to be a growing distance between you and safety.

Dread drops in your peachpit stomach and you start to feel long pretty fingers tickle your heels in black water. The ghost of the flame mage happy to drag you with him to the bottom of the sea. Irrational like a fear of the dark, but still there’s no more time for testing pride, you have to get back to shore. The little girl inside of you cowers when you take one more heavy breath and then release it to sink yourself as deep as the salt will let you. You can see the breaking point, all you need is to reach the seafloor and kick yourself to it.

As you drift down into the pitch black something so much better than sand or ghosts meets your feet. You connect with rock as your lungs begin to ache for air and kick with every well trained muscle your legs have, forward towards the shore. Faster than freshwater, you rocket to the surface and gasp excitedly, blink rapidly, and infinitely closer to white sand, and then immediately the goddess pulls you under again.

Sure you found the breaking point, sure your toes tease the start of the shore you want to reach so badly, but that’s what waves do here. Break.

Something so silent couldn’t possibly be this powerful, but your head is forced back under as your hips are pulled back out and you tumble head over knees, mouth filled suddenly with salt and sand in the darkness. Resurfacing is no fun task, choking. You’re thankful it’s easy to float in the ocean but saltwater dries out your mouth as you retch it back out from your throat into the foam and then there’s another break over your head to remind you that humans should stay far away from god.

You’ll die just thirty meters from the shore. Salt blinds you. Water deep in one ear keeps you just dizzy enough to let this sea carry you out once again, and shouting isn’t an option. Shouting or gasping, you have to pick one. Ache has turned to paralysis; muscles so beaten and a heart beating so fast you’re already at the last limit reached by your master, training to failure. Striking and swinging until you can no longer hold your weapon. Hours of training reduced to fifteen minutes at sea.

The bruises of your shoulder protest every paddle you force out of them and go much stiffer much faster than the rest of you. In a way, the mage is drowning you. In every way the sea is much more claustrophobic than a war room.

The moon watches you heaving for air stuck between beating waves and being swept back out to sea. She doesn’t do anything. You are pulled under again. The rocks beneath you scratch your soft skin this time and your instinct is to flinch which fills your nose with water and drowning is certainly not as peaceful as poetry makes it out to be.

Of course it ends like this. A soggy creature fighting gods alone.

Of course he’s watching you, his Captain, being stolen by the sea.

You surface forcefully with a grip on your scruff and while your body remembers how to breathe, magic every furious color of the rainbow arcs above your head. The water recoils for a moment around you in the force of his impact. Bakugou erupts from the sky as he always does into the tragedy of your life in Takoba and you have no control over your searing gaze when it turns to him above you, framed by sparks and stars. Halo from the moon.

You both fall back into the water but not so helplessly as a moment ago. Your prince hooks and arm across your chest, pressing your back to his front and with so much more strength than you could ever muster, rips his way through the water in half of a backstroke. Half of him focused on keeping you afloat and only half of him conquering the sea. His legs create their own current. He holds you and you’re sure you’re breathing loudly enough into his collar to hurt his ears.

You are an excellent swimmer. Weak children, drunk diplomats, tests from your master; you have dragged your fair share of victims out of rivers and as the victim yourself you know better than to struggle or panic in your prince’s grip as he drags you from the goddess, but you can’t help how your fingers scratch at his translucent tunic. Cling to the warmth of his bicep.

In twenty seconds he has reached the break. Strength like a war criminal, like a godslayer. He turns in the water, times it to match the swell of a wave for height, and pulls you chest to chest with a guiding hand on the side of your head to fold you into him. The sea drops you and you know what comes next. Bakugou anticipates your struggle, or a drowned man’s panic, any logical thing and wraps another arm around you tight as he pulls you both under, but you don’t fight a single second and neither do you breathe.

He knows the sea so much better. If you weren’t unraveling like a common soldier you would have realized too, just how much calmer the water is underneath its surface. Even with ears full of sand you can hear the wave crash above you but there is no pull underwater. The roll of the goddess back out to sea twirls through your hair but nothing else. She lets your prince push up to the surface and doesn’t stop you from catching your breath inside the crook of his neck. Eleven seconds to beat the break. What does he even need a captain for?

This time when the tide drops, you don’t quite drop with it. Knees in the sand. Back on solid ground you realize how hard a body can shake and then water is beating you down again from behind, and a warm hand has you by the back of the haubergeon to keep you from slipping out to sea or laying flat down to sleep in the surf.

Both hardly walking, and you more-than-half carried, you and your prince stagger over seashells like glass back to the spot where your boots rest like nothing bad has ever happened at all, chased the whole time by a disappointed tide. You collapse the second he lets you. You, useless with cold and vomiting seafoam.

“Why?!” Your prince chokes, similarly out of breath beside you, hunched over his knees from the effort of winning your war. You can feel the glare. You are warmed by it and then entirely numb again, in a terrible turn of events, to even his attention. The very last ember dies without smoke.

Bakugou, even in a temper tantrum, has never looked quite so disheveled. He’s been wet before, and pushed his hair back with big hands and caught his breath through his teeth just like this, but he’s never looked at you with such confusion. His eyebrows don’t sit right. Without a scowl his whole thing really falls apart, huh?

“Answer me, Eyes!”

You wheeze instead of speaking when you try to use your voice for the first time and spit out the last of the salt that comes up with it. He doesn’t move, catching his breath across the sand at midnight. Your prince really is so pretty and something inside is eating you alive to the beat of the wash of waves. He is a star and you are the bloody little creature beneath him always, not chosen at all.

You sit yourself up. Bakugou is beautiful. Broad chest and shoulders trained for his magic and a wet tunic that clings to every lovely shape, just a few feet too far away to touch. Unmarred face and shaggy hair. His eyes. His jaw slopes sharp, sharper still in the moonlight and dripping with water, up towards his hungry red eyes that eat everything they’ve e–

“Wake up!” He barks.

He’s not eating you. He brings back your focus and when you hold his stare this time it’s so obvious he’s not confused, or angry, not exhausted or embarrassed or exasperated. He’s six and he’s holding your hands in a velvet carriage, terrified.

Oh boy. You guess self-control died with your heart, because your shoulders start to shake in a chuckle. Bakugou stares. Any fold of his brows melts immediately at the sound of your soft laughter but he hardens again when he speaks.

“What about this is funny?!” and pulls himself up to his knees as you lower yourself to clamshells, not-quite-laughing but not fighting the smile either. This is exhausting. “You just tried to kill yourself!”

This makes you snort, which is ugly, and shuts your prince up entirely. One laugh like a lie and then another and you curl in on yourself, shivering arms folded above your head and forehead pressed flat to the sand. Something like an apology. You are redundant, not suicidal.

If it were a real apology you would wait until he spoke again to raise your head like Todoroki in the stables, but that’s not what you’re doing at all. You ache from the inside. Burn in fact. You chuckle again and spit salt one last time when you sit up, then grab for your shoes with muscle memory instead of feeling since the cold has stolen that from you too. Bakugou is staring again– it is irritating, you should do it less.

The ocean makes a lovely noise when you are not drowning in it. It’s much quieter and sounds a bit like laundry sliding over itself. Or apples tumbling into a basket. You are the first to your feet, clumsily, and you are not so delirious that you forget you need proximity to a fire. Anyone else might not be able to stand through this adrenaline trembling but how many apprentices have come so close to death so many times as you?

“Oi,” Bakugou growls, confused again by the wrong emotion for just long enough to let you escape.

The hill between the castle and the sea is overgrown with dune grasses tall enough to tickle your hips and that is what you decide to climb. Empty stomach, ruined shoulder, shaking legs, deep dead eyes.

Your clothes cling to you. They make you small. He can hardly breathe in the cold as he rushes to catch up, dripping what he's sure are icicles, and you look as if you could hardly stay conscious in it. Does your face feel as red as it looks? Friction or fever? “Captain!” And it’s obvious Bakugou can’t decide on his volume, but bulldozes after you nonetheless husky with exertion, “fuckin wait–”

There are sandy paths beaten into this seaside hill, small like children made them on their happy little way to swim. Bakugou makes quick work of it. You hike. You put all your effort into staying on two feet through a chill you could hardly ever imagine. Heat pounds in your temples, cruelly imitating Alderan fire when really it’s something poisoned like liquor.

“Please don’t follow me sir,” you call over the wind when the prince gets a few steps too close to catching up and he makes a sound almost like words, like words you shot dead in his throat. You know that sound because you have been shot at the same exact angle. Deadly isn’t it? He falls back.

Just for a moment Bakugou stops and watches, filled with something neither of you have the words for yet. Recovering just as quickly as you are succumbing to exhaustion.

Wait, he stares. Just– “Y/n.”

Wrapped in white, you are framed by rolling seagrass in the moonlight. You finally stop climbing and turn. You like a half-drowned painting. In a furred cape you might be a queen. From your spot smiling sadly at the edge of the world, your nose has started to bleed.

“Give me an order.”

Six and shaking in his hands. Eleven soaked in a fruit filled hallway, always working and fond of libraries. Sense of humor that doubles over his queen. Often covered in blood, staring too earnestly right now for him to remember that anger might fix this. Bakugou doesn’t breathe.

You turn back towards the castle alone and for the very last time, your body keeps the tears at bay. On a hill of swaying green grass and bright in the moonlight, your prince, frozen, looks so much like his mother you should kill him for it.

You always thought you were hiding from him on duty, only slightly more stealthy than a dragon. It got better when Jeanist stopped training you in chainmail, but your excitement at every small job bounced off the walls of his castle so obviously. Squirrel duty? You helped a hundred bastards back outside without pause. Sent up to swept bookshelves under the Great Oak and you're the only person he’s ever seen hum to themself so high in the air. Stable duty? Stable master more like. Seven and stacking stools to reach the saddles before Jeanist set you back on the ground by your scruff like his kitten. Bakugou can’t remember what went first, your heartbeat or his hearing.

The very first time you snuck up on him was in August under a plum tree, nine years old. He slept beside his book in the shade on a perfect day, perfectly alone and free of tutoring for the afternoon. Maybe because you were barefoot, but somehow even out of breath, the only thing that gave you away was your voice.

“Careful Highness.” He shot awake with that and figured for a moment that you were a dream while his eyes adjusted to the light through the leaves behind you– panting above him and holding tight to a plum. Like premonition your other hand lurched to catch another as it fell toward him, “they’re ready for harvest.”

Bakugou sat up. Off at an impossible distance for you to have run to catch plums, Jeanist stood beside a hanging line of red uniforms waving a beckoning hand.

“Laundry calls,” you whispered. As the little prince turned stupidly back to you above him, you set both plums on the grass beside his book and bowed.

Wait.

“Maybe a nap in the vineyard? Grapes won't bruise.”

Wait, I know you.

He watched you bow one last time and jog out of the shade back to Jeanist and Alderan laundry, just as he watches you stumble now in the dark, towards the faraway lights of a castle without the fire you need.

Wait!

“Y/n!” Bakugou bursts over the ridge and back onto marble pavement, what the fuck is he gonna do– your name won’t work twice, he’s wasted too much time. “Captain!”

You pay him no mind drifting away with your back still turned and with even less coordination than when you dragged yourself from the sea. You are deteriorating– fuck, fuck it. Bakugou, brimming with something to the left of anger, charges. If you hear him coming you do nothing to stop him. Not as he closes your distance with eight good strides and slings you over his shoulder.

"I–!" you jerk to strike instinctively, “Put me down!”

Good, you can shout. He still has time, you’re still alive. He’ll apologize for touching you later, for hesitating and staring, he will say everything he set aside in anger when you are not trying to kill yourself.

“Put me down,” you hiss like you know you’re one of three people that can make his skin prickle with threat.

“Not a chance.”

You grip the back of his tunic, clinging so wet to his body that you grab equal parts flesh and he turns away from your path to the glowing front gates all those hundreds of meters away, to kick in a door on an insignificant corner of an insignificant annex in the shadows of the castle that is only unlocked because it’s the same one he flew from, instead of his window, when he was trying not to startle you with his magic and into the sea.

You will spend summers in rainstorms and autumns in his orchids because you are Alderan and he will kill Takoban gods to get you there. Your nails on his back begin to burn with your silence and it’s haunting not only because you weigh less to him than a phantom, but because the smell of the sea follows you inside when there is no one else left to close the door. Immediately it is warmer without the wind but he will not slow until he finds fire, because you are gripping him instead of screaming again– because you are freezing to death and he will not let you win under new circumstances after he worked so hard to save you from the first.

This part of the castle is his, below the kitchens, the deep white underbelly in the cliff over the sea where no one will find him except cooks and staff who keep his secret and the queen who kindly ordered these quarters before she lost her mind. There is no difference of weight or warmth when he sets you down without a fight in front of the only red door in the hall. You aren’t a ghost. Even if you aren’t convincing. He throws the door open.

You would win in a contest but Bakugou too can make a steady fire. It’s still chirping bright in his fireplace when he crowds you inside of his quarters. Wood and furs. The smell of bread, everything so unlike Takoba. Small. Hard surfaces cushioned or covered in anticipation of winter, with red and gold and wool, forest tapestries from home– and it is a small victory that you take another step, then another, deeper inside without hint or suggestion.

“where are we?”

“You need to change,” Bakugou dismisses when you’re far enough inside to close the door, and pulls open a cherry chest of drawers at the foot of his bed. It’s draped in pelts and pillows. Faded herbs hang in bundles above you.

“have clothes in my room.”

“Didn’t ask.” When he looks over his shoulder, you are wobbling towards the fire like a starving woman, with two hands reaching subtly from your side. Good, shut up and warm up. Bakugou rifles through his options one more time and grimaces, raising his own black Alderan riding tunic aloft; it’s the only thing that’s going to be long enough to cover all of you.

He’ll sort out this shitshow step by step– dry you off, shout scream scold, get you warm, shout some more– a good Alderan lecture, and then tie you to him if he must since you obviously can’t be trusted alone. Walking into the sea when you thought everyone was sleeping. And for what? He grinds his teeth and grips the sids of his dresser with the realization that he’s probably not going to sleep again tonight. He’d kill you if that wasn’t what you so obviously wanted.

“Alright asshole, get ch–” Bakugou chokes when he turns back to you, sitting politely fireside with a dagger materialized in your good hand, blade pressed flat to your collar. He jumps, black tunic flying and shouts indiscernibly in a lunge for the weapon.

Not fast enough because by the time he makes one step, you’ve driven the blade down your chest and clear through your shirt. It falls open and your bare ribs seize in goosebumps this close to the fire, “told you I’m not trying to kill myself.”

“Drop it!” He wails, as if to a dog.

Oh how you will haunt him until the end of time. A month with you, just some soldier from his castle– a prodigal apprentice in a kingdom of geniuses– an impersonable, silent, invisible guard, who should cause harm only when necessary and appear only in danger– a woman who does this job to a tee, and still somehow steals his attention to any corner of the room she conceals herself in– just a month and you have beguiled him. Reaping grim satisfaction from watching you wreak havoc in this place he loathes.

You sit in front of his fire in his secret room, half bare now that you’ve decided to cut your clothes off of yourself, and entirely bare when you run the lip of the dagger across your shoulder to catch the fabric and then rough straight down the other side. You are pink from heat and staring through him entirely unfocused, all chaotic braids and parted lips. There’s a dry track of blood smeared under your nose and he shudders to think what part of his back it was wiped on while he was carrying you away. The fingertips of your scar peek into free air. Bakugou can’t spin around fast enough, howling in anger.

You sound like you’re smiling again mournfully like last time, “following orders, sir.”

“Don’t call me that!” He roars and shoves the black tunic behind his back towards you. This room is small, maybe five paces wide, and so he sits as far as he can from you on the floor beside his bed, still within arms reach. Back turned.

What the fuck is so funny? This isn’t a headache this is sustained torture. Bakugou’s own wet clothes cling to him in dry patches of salt and stick and grit that he’s desperate to bathe away just as soon as you are tethered to another magician. In another kingdom. You breathe heavily behind him in a mismatch between effort and task and then a sopping thud reminds Bakugou that you are stripping to nothing behind him and piling your rags onto his fine rugs.

“You’re a fucking nightmare.”

“you’ll be free of me in a moment.”

And it dawns on him, seasick irony, that there isn’t a person alive in this kingdom but him who could stop you from doing a single thing.

“If you think I’m letting you out of my sight you’re concussed.”

You pause your fiddling behind him for a second before resuming and you’re close enough that he can still hear your less than methodic pulling and ripping. A huff here and there. In the seconds it takes you to speak again your voice is still laced with the amusement that makes his skin crawl, “third time I’ve told you I’m not trying to kill myself.”

“Save it– just hurry up.”

“was just saying a prayer.”

“Save. It. An excuse that fulla holes wouldn’t even work on Kirishima the naif.”

“because nothing gets past the Champion.”

Bakugou erupts, out of unwounded fists to clench, and jerks around with every intention of barking at you. He’s not sure what he pictured before turning and he’s not sure where his voice went, but you are sat beside his fire draped in his black tunic with an expression he can hardly find the words for.

What is it in the way your shoulders hang? Exhaustion? The way your chin tips or your eyes flutter? Hunger? You watch him like you’ll eat him alive, like your life is the least of his concerns. The laces at your collar drape limp over your fingers from where you gave up their tying and so the shirt hangs loose and open, and much much too big. Bakugou has never thought of the shape your sternum makes between your breasts or what color the fine hair on your thighs might be. He knows the answers now because you’ve given up on posture like a selkie out of water and everything so unlike his Captain– because something inside of you is slipping.

“don’t bother the Champion with this,” your voice is still draconian. Even as your body fails, your eyes are still dark and infinite and possessive beside the glow of his fireplace and under a window that looks out over black water, “or Lady Mina, or your Lords. Don’t worry them with me.”

Bakugou mirrors you unconsciously in the way he sits close enough to touch. Why do you say that? You keep saying it, ‘Lady Mina,’ all month the same thing. Sir Sero, like he’s not a soldier in Jeanist’s rear guard. Like Mina and Denki didn’t grow up in the castle with you all to learn magic fifteen years ago.

“They’re not,” he admits because something about you unraveling by the sea sucks the malice like marrow from his bones. Maybe something inside of him is slipping too.

The pair of you slouch on the soft rugs from home and sticky with foreign salt, looking. Your next smile seems to take every ounce of strength, “what?”

“They’re not lords.”

And in a rush, such horror ignites in the eaves of this tiny room like an Alderan dollhouse. It is a grease fire film of oil on water. He is the match. You drop your head to your shoulder and start to laugh like Bakugou isn’t watching the life evaporate from the top of your head and out his window in the heat that pinks your cheeks and blotches your chest. You laugh like you have life to spare, “course they’re not.”

You manage enough coordination to hold the chest of his tunic closed with one hand as you rise, still giggling bitter, nothing like the bells you rang for Todoroki.

“Stop–” Bakugou reaches for you as you walk past him towards the door but stops short of touching even the air.

“dream something sweet Highness, I won’t interrupt again.”

“Oi, wait–” He gathers himself awkwardly barefoot and still dripping seawater, to catch the door before you pull it open. You bow your head and reach for the knob at the same time as he manages to slam his palm and weight against it in case you decide you have enough life left to fight.

“Told you, you’re not leaving my sight.”

Maybe staring isn’t so much a habit as it is a system to keep you from collapsing under the weight of Alderan sun. You who watch the world carefully so that when you attack it is silent and succinct. As long as you’re only looking, just watching carefully, the world will never be in danger of you spilling the secrets obvious only to you, and your kingdom won’t have to acknowledge the war crimes it takes to teach a kid how to kill.

Bakugou looms above you and rests against his door on a forearm. You raise your head like it’s lead to look at him. Your mouth even opens to speak but then something like fire punches to life in the blacks of your eyes.

It’s not a blink this time, it’s a stutter at first– and your face is so flushed that it almost looks like you’re glowing– before something you see feeds the kindling to roaring. For a blessed second you aren’t smiling. You stare so deeply into your prince he can’t look away for long enough to realize that you’re reaching for him.

Why? Why are you leaning closer?

The first heat pools at the hinge of his jaw and then scalding follows. Why are your hands so hot? You pinch his earlobe between thumb and pinky and let your fingers graze over the ridges of ear just so gently that sparks itch where sweat prickles at his neck.

It’s still for a second before chills, agonizing, erupt up his spine, bone by bone as he realizes– as your prince’s face drops and his own hand jumps to reach his ears and what’s no longer there. His right hand grasps at Alderan gold, a tiny sun. His left only cups yours, so much smaller– and the ghost of your earring lost somewhere deep at sea. Six and bleeding in his hands, all grown up and at his mercy.

“I hate you.” You smile in anguish.

You don’t bother pulling your hand from his, only rest your head against the door and let your heavy eyes finally close. Nothing to hold back the freshwater tears now.

Bakugou almost isn’t fast enough in his shock to catch you when you begin to slide down the wall in collapse, “Y– shit– Y/n!” One hand pulls up on your own and the other reaches around your back to try and bring you into him instead of hard against the wooden floor like he’s still a prince and not just a man whose heart won’t stop racing.

“Y/n? Y/n,” he shuffles you in his lap where you landed, and breathes the shapes he hopes make the sound of your name as he searches, distracted. You are limp in his arms and entirely too warm to have been freezing to death a few minutes ago. Lips parted and rolling like you’re trying to speak. Running to safety with you on his shoulder, the seachill must have hidden your fever from him. He cradles your head to check for blood and holds your cheek when his fingers come out dry from your hair, "c'mon, Captain."

“majesty..”

Your heartbreaking laughter still bubbles up in quiet sobs and incoherence murmured through abandoned ego, “..m sorry,” when you manage to see through the tears for a moment before falling unconscious again. Every apology laced always with “mitsuki.” You must have been holding it back. You must have been keeping the fever at bay by sheer force of will because now on the floor against him, your body is so hot it’s making his chest clammy. Sweat has soaked into the nooks of your black tunic and pools in salt licks between your breasts. Fuck Alderan fire.

Your prince gathers your shoulders and chest, your waist hips and exhaustion, into a bundle in his arms and pulls himself up with his doorknob because he will not let you drown, he will not let you freeze, and you will not win by setting yourself on fire. As he rises, blood leaks again from your nose. Tears fall aimlessly against his heart split to six like a pomegranate. When Bakugou is king there will be no child soldiers.

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silly little doodle of a special little guy

ur first and last recent emojis are ur gender now. mine is 🅱👨‍❤‍💋‍👨