Firstly, When You Get This, You Have To Answer With 5 Things You Like About Yourself, Publicly. Then,

here, waiting for updates on the 999 fanfics I follow without thinking that people have to socialize, study, work, eat, go to the bathroom and sleep.

bound 2 , miles morales

miles morales x gn! reader

warnings: death, mentions of weapons, slight panic attacks

synopsis: he was bound to love you in every universe, but he was also bound to lose you in every universe.

a/n: this is really long so i hope you guys enjoy it. i had a blast writing this to be honest, the idea just came to me while i was eating pasta so enjoy.

at a pretty early age, miles’s parents knew and understood how smart their kid was. they knew he had drive and ambition, they understood his passion to learn and his passion to create and they pushed him to explore into that more, pushing him to become a better version of himself.

that drive and passion led to miles getting accepted into visions. a school for incredibly smart people. despite miles sending in his application during the middle of the school year, but nonetheless they accepted him with open arms. or so he thought they were going to.

it was easy for miles to get along with the other students at brooklyn middle. they all shared the same ambition, liked the same music, the same movies and some even shared the same struggles which is what made miles feel at home.

he had thought visions wasn’t going to be any different.

and boy was he wrong.

he was humiliated on the first day by his dad, something miles always expected but it was different this time. being at such a prestige school, where people think they’re better than you, despite the fact that you’re both in the same school.

so at first miles was having a rough time, until he met somebody there that particularly peaked his interests and made his little fourteen year old boy heart beat like crazy.

he walked through the halls, confused as he read the room number on the paper again and again, looking up at all the numbers on the doors. in brookyln middle, all his classes were in one building instead of two, so it didn’t take him this much time to get to class.

“are you lost?” someone questioned him. they were putting their books in their lockers, staring at miles with a confused look in their eyes.

miles flinched, he thought everybody would be in class by now. “uh—no..i’m not—no.” miles said, waving his hands in the air as he shook his head.

“okay.” the person replied, shutting their locker and walking in the opposite direction miles was standing in.

“wait!” miles shouted. “yes—yes i am lost i have no clue where i am.” he sighed, the white paper held tightly in his hand.

the person walked closer towards him, a slight smile forming on their face as they grabbed the paper from miles’s hand. reading the words on the paper, looking around at the buildings surrounding them. “you need to go through the glass tunnel to the other building, then down the stairs and it’s the first class to the left.” they said.

miles blinked in confusion, grabbing the paper back and looking at it. his eyes moving towards the glass tunnel, as he nodded in reply, swallowing a lump in his throat. the persons eyes met miles’s, sending a slight little twist in his stomach as he quickly looked away.

“i can take you..if you want?” they said, tilting their head in miles’s direction. “i don’t have classes right now, we have a sub so there’s nothing interesting.” they said, beginning to walk towards the direction of the tunnel.

miles walked with the person, side by side trying to not get too close to them as he cleared his throat, his uncles words echoing in his head. “i thought that side was just dorms? i didn’t know they had classes over there.” he said, holding onto the straps of his backpack.

“well the last three levels are classes, they had extra floors and they didn’t know what to do with them. the students used to use it as a party area so recently they replaced them with classrooms.” they said, their eyes still facing forward, while miles looked at them like they were the coolest person he’s ever met.

“i’m miles…morales.” he said, attempting to make his voice sound deeper once he said his last name. he was confused on how his uncle made it seem so easy, when it really wasn’t.

“i’m [name]….[last name].” they responded, mimicking miles’s tone of voice which earned a chuckle from miles as he swung his arms.

the two walked next to each other, talking about their lives and what had brought them to vision. for the first time in his entire first day of school, miles didn’t feel alone.

and for the first time in your entire school year, you had made a friend that was truly a good person.

what miles had never expected however, was becoming brooklyn’s next spider-man. he didn’t mean for it to happen, he was just trying to hang out with his uncle. spending the night talking about you, and talking about expectations that have been put against him by his family and his teachers.

but never did he expect to be bitten by a radioactive spider.

he woke up that morning, feeling different than usual. he seemed taller and stronger. his clothes didn’t fit right anymore, he was sticking to his books and papers. miles even managed to get a side of a girls hair buzzed because his hands stuck to her hair.

you remember seeing him run to the staff room, confused as he attempted to shake the excess hair off of his hands. muttering silent words underneath his breath as you watched from the doorway as he held his hands under warm water.

“what the hell did you do?” you questioned, walking towards him, leaning against the sink. “you know you can’t be in here right? this is staff only.” you muttered, watching him attempt to scrub the hair off of his hands.

“i don’t even know what i did to be honest, i think i grabbed glue? or something…i have no idea.” he sighed, his hands starting to sting from the amount of scrubbing he had been doing.

you shook your head, grabbing his hands as you attempted to pull of the pieces of hair. gently soaking them in warm water every now and then to make it hurt less. miles’s face warmed up, feeling the softness of your hands against his and watching your confused face attempting to help him as if you were doing your math homework.

the two of you spent almost the rest of the day inside your dorm, scrapping the hair off and making sure his hands wouldn’t stick to anything else. you found it..odd that he was so worried and confused, how could he have not known what he grabbed for his hands to be sticky? but despite that, you didn’t question it.

when the two of you had finished, miles let out a long sigh. his eyes meeting your comic book collection of spider-man. silently, he got up, slowly grabbing the book in hopes that his hands wouldn’t stick—and they didn’t. he flipped through the pages, ones about spider-man’s origen story. that’s when miles realized what had happened to him.

he looked out the window, it was almost time for the spider-man memorial to start. “hey..i have to go, but thank you so much, honestly. i owe you tons.” miles said, making his way towards the door.

“yeah you do morales.” you replied, throwing all the blonde hair into the garbage.

throughout the next couple of days, miles learned that traveling through other universes was a real thing. he learned that, not only was he spider-man but so were a whole lot of people, each in their own little world fighting the same fight miles was.

there was so much going on, miles couldn’t really keep track. all he knew is that he was eager to do this, this is what he wanted to do. if his life had led him to this moment, then what’s stopping him?

miles then soon realized that, with great power comes great responsibility. he realized that—maybe being spider-man wasn’t all it chalked up to be. he realized that when he sat next to his uncles dead body in an alleyway, tears pouring down from his eyes as the only person who truly knew him faded away.

he ran.

miles had never ran that fast in his life, holding back sobs as he turned invisible, running through the streets and onto buildings. he found himself making his way to your dorm, despite his best efforts not to. he didn’t know how he was going to explain all of this to you, but all he knew was that he wanted to see you.

you sat on your desk, listening to music and doing homework before you noticed the shadow outside your window. you were a bit confused, being five stories up and there being no fire escape on your floor made it seem impossible for there to even be a shadow. you got up, making your way towards the window when you saw miles, his hands sticking to the sides of the building.

quickly, you opened the window, letting miles come inside as you looked at him in astonishment. he was wearing a spider-man costume, he had tears in his eyes and he looked—tired.

“miles what happened?” you asked.

he didn’t reply, he simply threw himself on you. his tears staining your shirt as he cried in your arms. you gently wrapped your arms around him, reassuring him that whatever happened, he was going to be okay.

when he was finished, he explained himself to you. everything. he came clean, told you what had happened to him, about the multiverse, about his uncle. he showed you how he could stick to walls, he showed you how he could turn invisible.

he told you how he was destined to become spider-man.

you chuckled slightly, not because you were making fun of him but because you were in disbelief. miles morales, the passionate boy you had met just days earlier was the next spider-man. miles stood there, awaiting from a reply from you. but instead, you pulled him back into a hug.

“i don’t know what those other spider people say, but you are spider-man. nobody can ever take that away from you miles.” you whispered in his ear, giving him all the confidence that he had so desperately needed.

after miles had successfully stopped the collider, stopping kingpin and sending all of his spider-friends back home he started spending more time around you. the two of you constantly hanging out, playing video games, basketball. he even introduced you to his parents.

he started to recognize his feelings for you, knowing how much he yearned to be around you. he stayed up late at night, wondering if you felt the same way also. listening to music that reminded him of you, constantly drawing you in his sketchbook.

you had a habit of watching miles swing around when he was out and about being spider-man. occasionally, you’d get upset with him for skipping classes. but after a while you got used to it, even skipping classes with him to go swinging with him.

miles would visit you at your families store, checking up on you, helping you stock the store. all as an excuse for him just to talk to you. it helped him feel less alone, less confused. because he knew if you could understand and like him still, than maybe so could his parents.

one night, miles showed up to your house. seriously injured, which scared you more than it scared him. you silently shouted at him, looking at him in disbelief as blood poured down from his head and how his legs shook from the fear. but for some reason, miles couldn’t understand why you were so upset. and he made the best mistake of his life asking you.

“why do i care?” you scoffed, wrapping the bandages around his knuckles. “i care because i care about you miles! i care about you more than anything. do you know how worried i get when your swinging around, fighting bad guys?” you said, standing up. “i get scared that something’s going to happen to you, that i’m never going to see my best-friend again.” you said with a shaky breath. “i care because i love you.” you said.

miles blinked in confusion, feeling his face heat up. “like you—like you love me? or you love love me?” he questioned, looking up at you confused.

you crouched down in front of him, placing a soft kiss against his lips, causing him to flinch. when you pulled away, miles had the smuggest little look on his face that made you regret doing it in the first place.

“alright morales, i take it back.” you said, attempting to turn around but not before miles grabbed your arm, cupping the sides of your cheek and kissing you again. it was a bit longer this time, but it wasn’t anything too crazy.

6 MONTHS had gone by and there was a lot of changes between the two of you. for one, miles looked a lot more older and matured, despite the fact that he still had the jokes of a twelve year old. but so did you, the two of you were growing up together.

people in brookyln started to appreciate the new spider-man, each and every one of them starting to buy merch, making their own merch. dressing up as miles for halloween, asking miles for help with every-day things.

miles was brookyln’s one and only spider-man.

but he was also your one and only boyfriend.

and currently, instead of him being spider-man he was miles. miles who was sitting on the rooftop of his apartment complex, eating food and having a date with his partner.

“do you think..” miles said, swallowing the food that was in his mouth. “do you think things are destined to be in every universe?” he questions, his gaze meeting yours. “like—i’m spider man here, do you think there’s another universe where i’m also spider man? or is it like a one time thing?”

you took a sip from your cup. “i don’t know it’s hard to say. i mean, peter parker here was spider-man and there was also a peter b. parker in another earth that was spider-man.” you started, “but then there’s other spider people like porker and penni and gwen and you know, so maybe? who knows.” you shrugged.

“do you think in another universe we’re together?” he asked, his look calmly on yours as you started to smile slightly.

“maybe..” you muttered, “i mean look. in every universe where there’s a peter parker there’s a mary jane right? so maybe it’s the same like that. maybe there’s another universe where there’s a miles morales and me, and ganke. just cause we’re a path you cross in your life you know?” you said.

“so do you think we’re bound to be together in every universe and stuff? like it’s destiny or something?” miles asked.

you smiled softly, shaking your head. “i think anything is possible miles.” you replied softly.

miles soon came to realize that anything is in fact, possible.

miles sat quietly on the roof of a building. just two weeks after the conversation about destiny he had with you. he was listening to his music, constantly checking his phone for a reply from you. you hadn’t texted him, but miles didn’t think much of it. you were working after all.

the police radio he had stolen from his dad sat next to him as miles mumbled the words of the song, kicking his feet that hung of the edge of the building. suddenly, the police radio pinged, causing miles to turn down the music that played through his phone.

“we have an robbery at a music shop on fifth avenue, suspect is armed with a gun.”

miles felt his heart sink. a music shop on fifth avenue? that had to be you, you’re families music shop was the only one on that street. miles got up so fast it made him dizzy, throwing himself off the ledge of the building as he quickly swung from building to building, hearing the incoming sirens.

please don’t let it be you.

that’s what he thought the whole way over there.

when he had arrived, he noticed the glass windows were shattered, they had been shot at. soft music played in the background, cd’s and vinyls scattered on the floor. you had tried to fight back.

miles walked slowly through the mess, his heart beating so fast he could feel it in his stomach. then, he felt his spidey senses go off, running into the backrooms of the music shop. there, he saw the man, holding a gun to your head.

“stop right there spider-man, i will kill them.” the man muttered, his arm around your chest and the gun placed firmly on the side of your head.

miles’s stomach was starting to hurt, the sounds of your crying sending pains through his heart as if knives had been stabbing him repeatedly. “please..don’t do this, they don’t have anything to do with this.” he pleaded.

the man scoffed, “why are the two of you so close, huh? i’ve been planning this for a while now…i get to her and i get to the mighty new spider-man of brookyln.” he muttered, noticing the rapid breathing of the kid in front of him. “spider-man isn’t all it’s racked up to be? isn’t it? it’s not all fun and saving bad guys..and i’ll make sure you know that.” he said, his finger moving towards the trigger.

“no stop it!” miles shouted, shooting his web onto the man’s hand.

miles heard a loud bang. one that seemed so familiar, that when he had heard it he could’ve sworn he saw his uncle, just for a split moment. when miles came back to reality, he saw you on the floor. the man hovering above your body, as miles’s chest rose with anger. miles shot out his webs at the man, trapping him against the wall. he could hear the faint police sirens nearing, so they’d have him soon enough.

but his priority was you.

you were on the floor, your head tilted to the side as your body stiffened. tears staining your face as your eyes stayed wide open, your body going limp in miles’s embrace as he whispered sorry apologizes to you, tears falling out his eyes and being trapped in his mask.

miles had lost his uncle, one person who truly knew him.

and now miles had you, another person who truly knew him.

all this at the ripe age of fifteen years old.

for the next couple of months, miles was more distant. he skipped class more, ignored his parents more, went out and did more graffiti. he was still, however spider-man, that hadn’t changed. he knew that if you were here you’d still want him to continue to be spider-man.

it only felt right to help other people since he couldn’t help you.

he found himself missing his other spider friends, he knew they’d understand the pain he was going through. the confusion and the anger. they would understand everything.

miles stood in a dark alleyway, one that was being dimly lit by a street lamp. he looked at the wall, a graffiti of your face on it with the word BOUND2 in the background. miles had still believed that the two of you were bound to fall in love and be together, in every universe.

he found comfort that somewhere, in another universe, you were still alive.

more months and crazy adventures had gone by that miles wishes you were here to see. apparently, he had a nemesis now. gwen was back, and comforting miles and miles found out there was a spider-society, one that he was eager to join.

but miles was soon disappointed.

miles found out that this supposed “spider-society” wasn’t all it seemed to be. he also found out that apparently, your death and his uncles death was an important step to him becoming spider-man. but what really irked him, was the fact that his father was to die next.

“a captain close to spider-man dies, saving a child from falling rubble.”

miles soon realized what this was. the true reason why all of his friends miraculously showed up, he realized that miguel didn’t want to recruit him, miguel wanted to stop him.

miles was confident he could do both, he was confident he could save his father and save the world.

“i can do both! spider-man always—“

“not always.”

and while miles ran for his life he remembered you. he thought of what you wouldn’t wanted, what you would’ve said in this situation. of course you’d understand right? he couldn’t just leave his father to die. hell, if he could go back he would save you, even if meant the whole world fell apart.

miles realized that these people didn’t actually miss him, they were using him.

miles realized that he wasn’t supposed to be spider-man.

miles realized that he was tired of taking shit from other people.

miles ran, as fast as he could. escaping back in his word, attempting to help his father as fast as he could. except only, he was greeted by his mother. miles came clean about everything, about him being spider-man about the spot, about everything. but he was just as confused as his mother when she uttered the words, “whose spider-man?”

miles found out pretty quickly that he was in the wrong dimension. the dimension that the spider had bit him came from. his thoughts were interrupted by a rattling doorknob, the sight of his uncle walking into the house catching his attention.

he hugged his uncle tightly, he hadn’t seen him in a year. for a moment, miles thought about the possibility that you could be alive also. that he might be able to see you again.

miles followed his uncle, confused and worried about what they were about to do. they both made their way onto the rooftop. in the back of miles’s mind, he wondered where his father was, what his father would’ve thought about all this.

when he got to the rooftop, he heard loud sirens, dogs barking and alarms ringing. something about this brooklyn was different, it wasn’t safe. it wasn’t like the brookyln miles knew.

miles couldn’t help but think about you.

“you finish up the graffiti? it looks good.” his uncle chimed in, looking down at his phone.

miles was confused, he turned to look at the side of the building. one where in his earth there was a mural of his uncle.

miles’s eyes widened at the sight of his dads face, with the words rest in power underneath. his dad was dead in this universe. but what caught his attention even more, was the person next to his dad.

[NAME] [LAST NAME]

CHILD

SIBLING

PARTNER IN CRIME

REST IN POWER

reading those words miles realized that things were really bound to happen. he was bound to love you, in every universe. but he was also bound to lose you, in every universe.

DATING MILES MORALES AS A GIRLY GIRL | HC ❥

♡ pairings & aus: miles morales x fem!black!reader (this is HEAVILY black coded bookies, a little self-indulgent lmao) ♡ warnings: miles being a teeny bit of a watcher, him also being a lil' jealous, thats it? ♡ summary: what it's like to date our boy ♡ a/n: i love this boy sm y'all pls ♡ got a request? | masterlist ♡

when miles first saw you, he knew that he was smitten.

you were just perfect with your dark curls and your bright, glowy makeup...the dark pink lip gloss that shone against your gorgeous two-toned lips...yeah, he was done for.

he watched you for a while before mustering up the courage to even talk to you. he'd sit at lunch with a couple of his friends and as they would talk to him, he would be completely zoned out, too focused on the way you looked so pretty sitting at your lunch table with your friends, head drawn back as you laughed at someone's joke

he couldn't help but stare. you were pretty, and he knew this, but he was upset by the fact that other people knew it too. but he couldn't really be jealous because you weren't even his

...yet.

miles was determined to have you 100%.

but he never found the courage to talk to you. he would wake up in the mornings and convince himself he could do it, that he wouldn't embarrass himself, and then go to school and literally not say a word to you.

he knew it was getting bad when he'd ask mrs. morales to go to football games every single friday, no matter how far away they were. she just wanted her son to get out a little so she'd say yes, but little did she know, he was going for you.

you were a cheerleader, so miles would drive however far just to sit in the lop lefthand corner with his sketchbook cracked open, pencil dancing gently against the pages as he drew you in all types of positions-- smiling, cheering, touching your hair-- he'd draw you in any way he saw you move.

eventually, you picked up on the fact that you saw miles all the time, even when you weren't in school. but your own fantasies began to stir when you caught him staring at you one day as you got up to throw your lunch trash away

he was glancing at you, and he was doing it hard. so you shot him a sweet wave and smile, and he immediately shot you one back

he was cute. very cute. and you didn't even know him, but you started to develop a small crush on him

your passes through the hallways weren't by coincident. miles rerouted his entire way to get to each class just so he could see you for five seconds. but those five seconds were so enjoyable and made his heart melt, so he didn't even mind the extra walking

this went on for months. this man had filled up an entire sketchbook with your face, and he knew that he needed to do something because there were only a couple months left of school, and the only thing you guys have exchanged is a wave, a smile, and a spare pencil.

which, when you offered him the pencil in art class, he literally acted like it was his prized possession. it was a baby blue color with a light pink tip, and it actually smelled so much like you. he felt a little embarrassed by how happy he was about it, but he would find himself placing the item under his nose when he needed to focus on something

eventually, more months passed, and you were starting to think that he didn't really want you, he just liked looking at you. looking at your frilly skirts and pink sweaters, your chunky doc martens, your shiny black curls and your pearly dangling earrings. but your mind quickly changed when he came up to your locker one day, palms sweating and voice cracking as he finally spoke to you

"hi...um, y/n, is it?"

he played dumb, as if he hadn't been watching you for months. but you just went along with it and introduced yourself with a smile, and for a minute, he just stared at you and didn't say a word, until you gave him an inquisitive look.

"miles, everything alright?"

"s-sorry, yeah...i just wanted to, um..say hi?"

it honestly comes out like a question, but you giggle at his attempt to charm you

your conversation is short lived until days pass, and miles finds himself growing more and more comfortable about talking to you.

you even invited him over to your table for lunch, which utterly shocked him because the people you sat with were like...random

as in it was a random assortment. some jocks, some art friends, some musicians..

he was grinning from ear to ear when you invited him to come sit directly next to you. your thighs were touching his and he was freaking out inside because your skin was on his, and although it was subtle, he could still feel it and the contact made him happy.

he was infatuated with you. wherever you went he couldn't help but want to follow because your presence was so warm and welcoming

after what felt like years, he finally asked you for your phone number. he became full with greed-- seeing you at school wasn't even close to enough, he wanted to be talking to you or be with you at all times.

you obviously gave him your number by writing it on a pink sticky note, signing your name under it in cursive with a heart drawn at the end. he admired your handwriting, he's never seen someone write so beautiful, and he placed that sticky note in his journal that really was just a museum of you

anything you gave him he kept. gum wrappers, pencils, sticky notes, little trinkets and gifts-- he kept it ALL.

one night, he was up late texting you and literally grinning at his phone so very hard...he just loved talking to you.

miles: You awake?

you: mhm, can't sleep :( why are you still up?

miles: I dunno, can't sleep either I guess. Why are you up?

you: why not?

you replied to a message: and i'm up just thinking about stuff...my mind won't let me fall asleep :/

miles: I get that! I actually can't sleep either because of that reason

you: oh? whatcha thinking about?

miles: You.

his text honestly threw you for an entire loop and a half. he had finally said something to indicate your feelings for you, and you were literally geeking so hard about it

once he knew you felt the same way, your texting sessions became more frequent, and way longer. he eventually got a hold of your social medias and would check them so often it was borderline unhealthy

he snapped you throughout the day, never left you on opened or delivered without reason. unless it was for spider-man stuff...which, you had yet to know about until you both finally planned a picnic date.

you got all cute, hair done up and makeup flawless, clad in a flowy, long skirt and a white crop top with accented sleeves.

you were literally walking out of the front door until you got a text from miles, apologizing for the inconvenience that he wouldn’t be able to make it. you were so bummed out, you found a tear leaving your eye and you walked back to your room, disappointed.

miles was literally crumbled at the fact that he had to miss your date, your first one at that. so he wanted to make it up to you.

he quickly finished up his patrol work and threw himself back into his house, quickly saying hi to his mother before showering and getting dressed, spraying on cologne and grabbing his wallet and keys.

“mijo, where are you going?”

“out! te quiero, i’ll be back!”

mama rio obviously picked up on the fact that he was seeing a girl, but she just kept it to herself as miles flew out the door, running to the closest flower shop, and then apartment and knocking on the door. he expected you to answer, but your father did instead, causing him to literally shrink in his own skin as he said hello to him.

he was scared that your father didn’t know who he was until he said “you must be my daughter’s boyfriend!”

“oh— boyfriend? i-“

he was very quickly dragged inside your home. he conversed with your parents for a while as they welcomed him, and he eventually found himself at your room’s door with your flowers clasped in his palms, which were sweating with anxiety.

you told him to come in, and your sadness was lifted as he gave you a smile and a wave, handing you the flowers. and you were so ecstatic that you kissed his cheek, and he swore he almost died inside.

he took you to a rooftop and you had your picnic there, where he held you in his arms as you admired the night sky, until he pulled one of your curls behind your ear as you laid in his chest.

“y/n…can i…can i be your boyfriend?”

it was so random and unexpected, but you whispered to him with a smile,

“yes.”

tags!: @queenesther996 // @wydney // @rinnyisnothere // @brieryann // @starhrtz // @daisydark // @randomhoex // @solanawrld // @whore4hobie // @tanakaslastbraincell // @simp4miguell // @nyrovi3 // @aziulsworld // @enchantingfoxsparkles // @mancerseedu // @cafehyunji // @personofyou // @mcdvsr // @calliarlerte // @pr0wlerpunk // @tzuyuzzs // @clearskiiiess // @vienreina // @pixqlsin // @stvrgrl // @zerosinterweb // @mookiebut // @urmotherswhor3 // @cumbermovels // @asmobeuses // @yanghees // @popeheywardssecretgf // @mxspiderman2099 // @scryarchives // @rksses // @mmst4rz // @ilyless // @milesmolasses // @laylasbunbunny // @all444miles // @thecoloredpages // @bl00dsuccker // @adoremvney // @anikaluv // @qtdenks // @art-598

Sukugo baby: Kojiro

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

PREV | M.LIST | TAGLIST | NEXT

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.

PREV | M.LIST | TAGLIST | NEXT

tagged angels ✧.* @nnubee @nonomesupposedto @zombiewarprincess @kotarousproperty @strawberry-mentos69 @sveetnn @eirlysian @lunrai @km7474 @arayoflia @annoyingleftpinky @noomaisdone @cr33pycrawler @iced-chai-tea-latte @cathwritestragediesnotsins @tragicallygray @idimmadontgiveashit @kooromin @k1tk4tkatsuki @litiri @kiwibao @kiwifuji @mmmaackerel @sarcasticlittlebook @condy-wants-a-cookie @mysticalfridge @dududubebo @falling4fandoms @katanaski @babitchsuki @romiinlove @cherripunch26 @acid-rain27 @madmayo @bakugouswh0r3 @heart-of-haunt @zukowantshishonourback @420mitskilover @ultracrii @nochuonii @carrobrumbrum @bkgthinker @chandiewashere @sleezy-axeriix @screechingdreameater @mecuryxmoonstone @onlysarcasm @ilovemushroomss @when-you-are-just-done @levisbae2 @flyhighinthesky @1astr0id1 @thebluespacecow @mizzfizz @king-shimura @butterscotch-ripple-icecream @phoenix-draws77 @scryarchives @ltadoriyuujl

couldn't tag for some reason :,( pls check your security settings!

inspired by an old little blurb i found in my diary from awhile back

𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔… is not your boyfriend.

deep down you knew it was fucked up to keep sneaking through his window. it's a large window painted white and a chip in the paint in the wood, evidence that you were there because your bag had scraped against the pearly paint job.

it was wrong, but the way he held your hips in place and caressed you was unlike anything you had ever felt before. he wasn't even your boyfriend, just a snobby business major that you met during your freshmen year of college. hell, you hated his guts— but it wasn't enough to stop seeing him.

he isn't yours.

"we— fuck— we should really stop meeting like this." you say in between soft gasps, interrupted by the soft feeling of his mouth against yours— strangely intimate and romantic compared to the roughness you experienced earlier that night.

"why? 'cause you know you'll be back tomorrow night." the white-haired man quips, pressing his warmth and weight onto your side to keep you in place.

his gaze flickers to your parted lips; he doesn't ask before kissing you.

gojo always kisses you after making love.

despite that, he isn't yours.

his lips were so gentle, as if he was lightly pulling the air from you with every little movement. his voice was shaky, out of breath... and gojo almost thinks the nervousness in his stomach is a butterfly, fluttering around at the presence of you.

you look up at him, waiting for him to speak.

he's intensely pretty.

"don't leave tonight." gojo shushes you, removing any possibility that he doesn't want you here with him tonight.

without even noticing it, your eyes go wide. what does it mean? stay here, stay here with him? there couldn't be any way he wants more than this.

he isn't yours.

gojo's nose lightly presses into the crease of your neck, pleading. he knows your heart will depart for the door the minute he stands, but he wonders if your body will still choose him.

"please, stay."

"are you sure?" you whisper, so faintly the words get lost in the sea of darkness that surrounds the two of you.

his eyes meet yours— an indescribable flame bursts into a thousand scarlet fragments and he's at your mercy, again.

"stay."

© YUNYMPHS 2024 modifications, reposts, and translations of any kind are strictly prohibited.

synopsis: jjk men reacting to your death :3 contents: angst ofc featuring: yuuta okkotsu, toji fushiguro, yuuji itadori

a/n: it was supposed to be way angstier but since I love you guys, I made it bittersweet-ish :D

𝐘𝐔𝐔𝐓𝐀 𝐎𝐊𝐊𝐎𝐓𝐒𝐔 ☆ (@cafunewon : i love you🥺🫶🏼)

Melted together, like time.

Another ring on his necklace, another person he loved, was gone.

Seconds passed, minutes dragged together and hours flowed, like the tide of the rebellious current of a river.

'you could've taken anything from me.'

tears flowed, like the very rain outside, thunder rumbling, like the emotions within himself, because, you took his soul, his heart, his very person.

'but why did you take them?'

You wiped it clean, you made him want to change, become stronger so he could protect you, protect the one thing he valued over his life and-

here he was.

over your tombstone, he stood over the freshly dug grave, and he thought how much you would've hated the bland, grey, of your tombstone.

The only thing that you would've liked about your final resting place, were the flowers that he planted himself, digging through the rich brown dirt to give you one last gift.

rich purples, deep reds, soft blues, vibrant pinks, all giving him an excuse to go back to you.

to take care of you, even if you weren't in this world.

The sky screamed out its rage, splitting the once beautiful sapphire sky into shades of grey, water pouring down from the heavens, the tears of the angels pouring down on Yuuta's silent form.

Saltwater mixed with fresh, pure water.

Sadness and grief, mixed with renewal and purification.

the petals of the flowers, sag underneath the skies tears and yuuta's deep blue eyes filled up with his own tears, salt now landing on the ground.

Almost like a curse, huh?

everyone he loved, everything he cared for, would always leave him, one way or another.

"please. wait for me, okay?"

𝐓𝐎𝐉𝐈 𝐅𝐔𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐎 ☆ (@unknownspecies you already hate me soooo😋)

He still thinks about you, a year after your death.

The worst year of his sad life.

He still thought about you, each minute, each hour, every. damn. second.

He thought of you when going to bed, his arm already reaching out to the empty space where he expected to feel your warm body against his bare skin, he thought of you when he heard your favourite song on the radio, practically hearing the way your voice cracked on the ridiculously high note, the teasing smile when he gazed at your photo-

your laugh haunted him, leaving echoes of happiness, of laughter, of love, of joy around the now sad home.

Echoes were all that remained of you.

"Together right? in this world, and in heaven as well."

Brushes of your skin, your voice drifting in his air, your smile, the way you held his hand-

How did you go in the blink of an eye?

How did you flood his thoughts, memories, when you weren't there?

Liquor was all that he tasted on his tongue, the taste flooding his mind, the feeling soothing his brain-

But not him.

He stared at the ring on his third finger, still wearing it, still calling you his.

Because you were.

In this afterlife and the next, you would always be his.

Even if you were just a memory.

Just another star in the brilliant, vast sky.

Seconds merge together, time standing at one point as his foggy mind stared at a constellation, the one specific star that glowed brighter than the rest, the one calling him in the remote distance.

"even... if you gave up on me......"

He whispered, his eyes closing as for a second, he could feel your comfortable presence beside him, holding his hand.

in the serene calmness, toji dropped the bottle, causing the glass to shatter, with remains of the liquid spilling out on the floor and one small tear carving it's way down his face, almost like a kiss.

"i.. will never give up on you."

𝐘𝐔𝐔𝐉𝐈 𝐈𝐓𝐀𝐃𝐎𝐑𝐈 ☆ (@delulusioanlol h-hey diane🫣)

'i've been told to get you off my mind.'

He stared blankly at a picture of you, his dull hazel eyes transfixed on your laughing face. He could practically hear your sweet laughter echoing in his head.

But it was just imaginary.

He'd been counting days, seconds, anything to get your face out of his mind, your figure lying so, so still, on the white parchment of the hospital bed.

You died in his arms.

Yuuji let out a shaky sob, his vision blurring as a lump grew in his throat, because without you-?

The one thing, that kept him sane?

The one thing he loved most of all?

If you were gone, what was there to do?

Sobs enclosed his throat, suffocating him, entrapping him in the never-ending cycle of sadness and self-pity as your voice swam around in his messed up head.

But tears didn't slip out of his eyes.

So instead of crying, Yuuji dully stared into space, feeling his heart shatter into millions of tiny pieces.

Each little happy memory with you, cut a deeper hole into his soul, because all that was left-

were memories and photos.

He was falling apart, in the worst way possible.

"i miss the way it used to be......."

"i....hope your happy y/n."

tagging you: @no-b10g-here @anxious-chick @aleluvsuu @funky-writes @oneofthesevensins @ladywinterfell13 @kazhyloveslaw @dazaisms @cyb3r-c44t @princessluvz @notherenortherejustaway @okaydokeyyo @iheartamora @haloswrld @churipu @lysaray @olivianyx @desihopelessromantic @kiri1330 @scryarchives

unfortunately, ive yet again joined another fandom, so metal family fans, hmu /lh

(unfortunately, these two are my newest kins)

((also, i dont feel like making an oc for this fandom, even if i do, itd mostly be platonic purely cause i dont id feel any romantic interactions these characters lol))

NEVER HAD NOBODY AS SWEET AS YOU ♡

FEATURING: O.Yuuta + Fem!reader

♡ You're boyfriend is the sweetest person you've ever met, and you plan on showing him that!

CW: fluff, petnames, kissing, first time writing for yuuta

A/N: wow red's posting jjk stuff for ONCE?? also @saelique here's ur man <33

"♪ You said you love me exactly the way I am ♪"

"Yuuta?" He looked up at you, placing the book he was reading on the table beside him.

"Yes love?" Yuuta tilted his head to the side, lips curled upwards and the corners of his eyes crinkled as his easy gaze rested on your pretty face. You strolled over and planted yourself on his lap, giggling as a flush settled on his pale skin.

"What's wrong, yuuta?" You giggled, fingers sliding into his hair and carding themselves through the smooth, dark strands.

He blinked a few times, eyes wide and a flustered smile against his lips. Shifting yourself on his lap, you hummed and ran your fingers down the side of his face. "You're so pretty, y'know?" You sighed and gently planted your lips on his. You smiled into the kiss as you felt yuuta sputter and squeak. Pulling away, you playfully tapped his nose and giggled as yuuta stared up at you with his dark eyes.

"Pretty. My pretty boy." your lips trailed across his face, brushing his hair back and tugging him a little closer to you.

"D-darling...what are you doing?" Yuuta chuckled and placed his hand between your shoulder blades.

"Appreciating you." You hummed and kissed the tip of his nose.

"Why?" Gentle fingers brushed your hair behind you ears, smoothing down fly-aways.

You pulled away and pouted. "Is it a crime to?" Your lips curled up at your boyfriends laugh, warm breath brushing against your jaw as yuuta rested his chin in the crook of his neck.

"Of course not dear." He sighed and pressed a kiss to your shoulder. yuuta turned his head towards you, bringing his fingers up to gently press into the plush of your lips.

"Can I kiss you?" His words were so soft, and the love-sick gaze swirling in his eyes made your heart skip a beat.

"You don't need to ask, y'know? It'll always be 'yes'." You giggled and sighed as his kissed you, eyes dropping shut as yuuta placed his hands right under your ribs.

Yuuta pulled away, bringing your hand up to his lips and peppering kisses along the bone. "I know, I just wanted to make sure."

..♡♡♡..

©Cheriiyaya 2024

- synopsis: gojo misses you :D

a/n: HHAHREHRAHRKJEHRKJER- oops. sorry, i meant hehe-

Seconds pass by, slower than the next as Gojo dully stares at the blackness of his blindfold.

For once, he was glad that the blindfold covered his eyes because if anyone, anyone saw what the blindfold was hiding-

he couldn't let that happen.

Your voice swirled around his head, like a hurricane.

Except in his mind.

Echoes upon echoes bounced off his mind like an endless pattern, of tears, of heartbreak, grief, of loss.....

and of you.

everything, everything he looked at, he touched, he smelled, he felt-

reminded him of you.

but at the same time, it didn't.

He remembered how you would say his name, how you laughed, but he couldn't remember what you looked like.

Just a hazy memory.

He fell, harder then he fell for you, down into the endless abyss of 'i couldn't save them.'

'i had so much left to say.'

But he couldn't say them, and the bitter taste of unspoken words fell upon his tongue, souring even the sweetest of candies.

Candy was a close enough taste of your lips, but it wasn't it.

Pooling up in his heavenly eyes, Gojo attempted to close his eyes, close off his feelings, and close off the thoughts of you, but tears still fell from the eyes that held his power.

His blindfold soaked the tears up, a comforting touch, a comforting replica of your touch when you brushed his tears away.

But your touch remained buried deep in the ground.

Engraved on a stone, covered in a bland, simple, grey.

Everything was such a simple word to him.

everything meant something priceless beyond repair, everything was a different word from forever, just a different meaning.

everything was you.

It didn't matter, because everything was gone.

All that was left, were fragments and shards of a broken heart, and an even more broken mind.

his everything was gone.

taglist: @no-b10g-here @anxious-chick @aleluvsuu @funky-writes @oneofthesevensins @ladywinterfell13 @kazhyloveslaw @dazaisms @cyb3r-c44t @princessluvz @notherenortherejustaway @okaydokeyyo @iheartamora @haloswrld @churipu @lysaray @olivianyx @desihopelessromantic @kiri1330 @scryarchives

h-hey folks!! hows your day going😇