𝟏𝟐 | 𝐏𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐥 𝐃𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫
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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the lich!! honestly, he’s gotta be one of my favourite villains, he’s so menacing without even trying. anywho, it was kind of a struggle to draw him initially, but i think after this many doodles i've got the hang out it lol (also dont mind the little bubblegum lich thing, i was wondering how it would've worked out considering that one episode where the lich's soul possessed her)
art taglist: @tinkerbelle05
comment or dm me if you'd like to be on the art taglist!
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 : Satoru Gojo being a simp for you wearing a cute dress :3 contents: pouty gojo, fluff, fluffedy, fluff- cw: mentions of reader wearing a dress, just a teeny bit of suggestive content at the end :D
" 'Toru, people are staring-"
Gojo didn't even pay attention to what other people thought, right now all he cared about was hugging you as tight as earthly possible, because god you looked so pretty in that dress, with that blue silk glowing against your skin, and it matched with what he was wearing!
he wanted that dress for you and he wanted it now.
Letting go to admire you once more, Gojo quickly forced you to twirl, resisting the urge to giggle and kick his feet like a little boy as you stare at him with a amused glint in your eye.
Because he was a massive simp, and all he was actually kicking his feet, just a tiny bit so no one noticed, but it was obvious how in love he was with you.
And, you were pretty sure everyone in the store could see that.
To the giggles, to the whispers, to the stares of the watching employees and people, everyone knew the man was in love.
"Come on, let's go pay for it-"
that simple sentence wasn't even posed as a question, it was practically a plead as he grabbed your hand, and dragged you to the cash register.
"Wait I have to put on my normal clothes-"
"Why?"
You scoff as Gojo adjusted his tie, a pout forming on his face as he glanced down at you with his ethereal blue eyes, a hint of impatience on his face as he saw your frown.
"I'm wearing formal clothes! We can match!"
" 'Toru, that's because you just got home from a meeting, we can't go to McDonalds looking like we came from a five-star restaurant-"
"Who says?"
A few seconds of silence pass as you wage a silent battle with him through your eyes, and you sigh as Gojo gives you his best puppy eyes.
"....fine."
"YAY!"
"But I still have to get my clothes from the fitting roo-"
"I can just buy you new ones!"
Your protests were quickly snuffed out as Gojo nearly ran to the cash register, a sheepish grin befalling your face as you saw the woman manning the register raise an eyebrow at the over-excited man and you still wearing the dress, but she thankfully didn't say anything.
But it did get awkward because the dress you were wearing was the only one in stock and the damn tag got stuck so Gojo had to fish it out of your shirt sleeves.
And fifteen minutes later, you walked out of the store with your new dress, Gojo by your side with a goofy smile on his lips, as he cheerfully swung your hands, before turning back to gaze at you, his eyes crinkling up as he grinned at you, all the love, the devotion, everything showing on his face.
A lovesick puppy, almost.
"You're so beautiful Y/N."
He whispered, hugging you and burying his head in the crook of your neck ignoring all of the giggles and stares he attracted because of the gesture, his breath tickling your bare skin as he whispered a sentence that only you could hear.
"But... I think that dress would look better off, hm?"
(he ended up with a bruise on his forehead)
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when your parents single-handedly get you hyperfixated on another show with blue water people in it just by rewatching it
i think i've decided to change my blog into a writing-centred blog,,, will be making major changes around my profile and deleting a lot of my posts :')
i will only keep the drawings that are related to what i want to do, i suppose, and that probably includes fandoms that im not really active in anymore.
𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏 // 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏 ✧˚ · . 𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝒗𝒊
‣ Pairing: Adult!Neteyam (20) x Fem!Omatikaya Reader (19) ‣ Warnings: Mentions of weapons, death, biting, blood and a teensy mention of vomiting. ‣ Word Count: 3.4k ‣ A/N: The wait is finally over! I want to thank everyone for being so patient, I know this took a while to write but I had to make sure I was in the right space before starting. I'm not going to pretend to understand the timeline of this movie, especially as we don't have Ronal's belly to go by at this point so let's just pretend that the timeline makes sense. This part includes some canon scenes (and another shocking attempt at writing action) with a little bit of creative liberties taken, I didn't want to go into too much detail of something we've all probably read 100 times. I know I've gotten tired of reading the same dialogue over and over again. I also wrote half of this on some strong cold medicine so as always I'll be back in the morning to do an extra proofread. Enjoy and let me know what you think besties. English is in bold italics all other dialogue is in Na'vi. ‣ Na'vi word bank: tìyawn - love, skxawng - moron, sa'nu - mum, eywa'eveng - pandora, uniltìrantokx - dreamwalker, ftang - stop, kä - go
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"What are they doing?"
You squeeze your eyes closed, pressing your face further into the surface below you as the light penetrates your eyelids, threatening to wake you from your slumber too soon. It does little to block out the high voice that rings through your tent but the warmth beneath you easily swallows your body, the soft rise and fall inviting you to slip back to sleep.
"Maybe they were fighting and knocked each other out?” The second agitating, grating voice is determined to not allow your rest. You grumble into the warmth, in hope that the owner of the voice would get the hint and leave before you had no choice to resort to violence.
”Lo'ak, don't be ridiculous." The third voice causes the warmth to unwrap itself from you, it shifts underneath you and all you can do is tighten your hold around it, keeping the heat from further escaping you.
"Oh shut up Kiri, like you can come up with a better explanation for this."
Something vibrates beneath your face, your peace finally ripped away from you and any attempt to return to your slumber thwarted once two of the intruding voices begin their squabble and the warmth groans and stretches out beneath you. Eyelashes flutter against the blue chest as you give in and blink away the sleep in your eyes.
“Lo’ak, dad said to leave them be.” Tuk calls out to her brother, solidifying her position as your favourite Sully with their father placing a close second.
“If he wanted us to leave them alone, he shouldn’t have told us where Neteyam was.”
Whatever fatigue that lingers in your body leaves, your eyes snapping open as your reality hits you. Of where you are, of who is underneath you and how you got there. You roll off Neteyam’s chest, as if putting distance between you now would undo the damage of being caught. An explanation is at the tip of your tongue when you sit up, until your skull collides with something hard and you fall backwards, the head splitting pain stinging at the corner of your eyes.
“Shit.” A solid form catches you, a hand reaching from behind you to press at your forehead as if the firm hold had any hope of dulling the pain. Your eyes open, tears being stemmed by your rapid blinking as you find Lo’ak in a similar state of agony, clutching at his head and letting out howls that would rival a wounded Nantang.
You had never understood what Jake meant when he claimed Lo’ak had a thick skull until now.
“Lo’ak you skxawng! What were you doing standing over me?” A well-aimed kicked to the shin earns another howl from the big baby and a sharp tap to your already tender forehead alerts you to the continued presence of your least favourite Sully. His hand returning to soothe the area once he’d admonished you for your attack on his brother.
He was making it worse, so much worse. You freeze to the spot, a warm chest pressed against your back, an arm wrapped around your waist. The same arm that had spent the night holding you close. A decision made with little thought to the consequences it would have, the desire for comfort overpowering your good sense when you’d allowed him to pull you onto the sleeping mat and intertwine your bodies.
The consequences you were now facing as the three other Sully’s stared at you and their brother. Tuk with bewilderment. Kiri who was making a poor attempt at hiding her laughter behind her palm. And Lo’ak. Oh, Lo’ak who had only stopped his performance of agony to look at you and his older brother with nothing other than a look of horror on his face.
“Me?! What was I doing? I was trying to make sure you were okay. What were you doing?” He gestures frantically and the two of you, mouth opening and closing a few times before he can put together another sentence to express his confusion. “WHY ARE YOU TOUCHING HER?”
Neteyam’s hands release their hold on you, lifting in a gesture of surrender as you finally gather some sense to move your body away from him. You had found it far too easy to lean into his touch when it had become one that soothed instead of caused pain. A betrayal of your body to your mind as you felt yourself missing the feeling of his digits pressed against your skin. You were going mad, it was certain. You needed one of those mind doctors that Norm spoke of and Lo’ak’s face only confirmed that.
“Don’t make a big deal out of this baby brother.” Neteyam stands, reaching out an arm to help his brother to his feet, the gesture accepted with a narrowing of eyes. “Yesterday was tough and y/n was hurt trying to help me, I came to check on her. We just fell asleep while we were talking.”
“Oh yes, and grandmother always advises cuddling to aid the healing process.” Kiri, the only one who seems to both understand and enjoy this conversation, sits next to you in the space recently vacated by her brother.
“Not helping.” You whine, bumping your shoulder against hers.
“Not trying to.” She meets your shoulder with a nudge of her own, and you fix her with a glare that has little annoyance behind it. Kiri at least would lose interest soon enough and her teasing would cease. Lo’ak on the other hand, you could already see the questions forming in his mind, ones you would be forced to answer if you wished for him to drop it. You couldn’t blame him, not really. Not when the last true interaction between you and his brother that he had witnessed was an attempt to cause harm. An attempt that had since been achieved in other ways that you certainly didn’t want your best friend finding out about.
“Are you all better now y/n?” Tuk asks and you open your arms to accept her into your lap, her little arms finding their way around your middle as snuggled into your body. “Mom says I give the best hugs!”
You can’t help but squeeze her until she squeaks in complaint, a muffled “Too tight!” Coming from where you have her smothered in your grasp.
“I’m so much better now Tuk-Tuk, your sa’nu is right. You give the best hugs ever.” You release her from your arms, fixing her braids that you had messed up.
“So much better than Neteyam’s, right?” You ignore Kiri’s snort, looking up to find the aforementioned staring right at you. His tail flicking with amusement, he raises his brows to encourage you to answer the question. Your ears fold back and you hope your face doesn’t give away the heat that rushes to it under his gaze.
“Yes Tuk, so much better than Neteyam’s.” It’s a blessing from Eywa herself that you manage to hold his gaze before he breaks the impromptu staring competition himself, his low chuckle echoing through the tent as he turns and rests his hand on his brother’s head.
“I better go and check in with dad. Have fun cleaning out the ikran.” He gives Lo’ak’s head a gentle push as he turns to leave, earning him a scowl as he departs your Marui.
“Well good luck with that, auntie already told him where you were!” You might have fainted if it weren’t for your body resting against Kiri’s. Your mother having seen you was a given, though you hadn’t much thought to it until now, but she’d told Jake? Tuk’s earlier statement that he had told them to leave you alone suddenly made sense. You would never be able to look him in the eye again knowing the assumptions he must have about what you were doing. Assumptions that bordered on being correct. You had no time to spiral any further when the absence of his brother to blame had Lo’ak turning on you.
“What the fuck was that?”
“Tuk, keep up!”
“Bro, why’d you bring her anyway.”
“She’s such a crybaby! She’s all, I’m telling, you’re not supposed to go to the battlefield. I’ll tell mom if you don’t let me come.” You and Kiri come to the youngest’s defence at the same time. Kiri sticking to words but you reach forward to flick Lo’ak on the forehead, which he still claimed to be sore, earning a yelp from him and a giggle from Tuk from behind you.
As you got older, the ban on visiting the battlefield had been seen as more of a suggestion to you, Spider and Lo’ak. You were adults, one of the people in yours and Lo’ak’s case. Not that you’d ever brave sharing your adventures with Jake because while as a father he had to respect that you were grown, as your Olo’eyktan his word was still law.
Bringing Tuk was maybe a step too far, one that you might’ve argued against any other day, but you needed an escape. An escape from the confines of High Camp and any chance that Neteyam might return and attempt a further conversation. This new Neteyam that showed you smattering of the gentleness he treated his family with and served to only muddle your brain even more. You’d sooner go back to the years of snarky remarks or even the weeks in which he ignored you after taking what he wanted. That Neteyam made sense to you.
“Are there any dead bodies up there?”
Eywa’eveng had staked claim on what once invaded her land. The aircraft had now become part of the forest, the vines entwined with its metal husk and moss growing on its propellers. You follow Lo’ak’s lead in scaling the metal husk, confirming the lack of dead bodies before you allow Tuk to follow.
You were cutting it fine to get back to High Camp before eclipse, as you always did. Kiri had wandered off leaving Spider to follow in search of her before you could return.
“What is it?” Kiri questions as Lo’ak strays from the path, crouching to examine whatever he has noticed in the mud. Urging Tuk to stay where she is, you jump down beside him and Spider, brows furrowing when you find what he spotted. Boot prints, large boot prints. Lo’ak vocalises your realisation before you can.
“These are way too big to be human.”
“Avatars?” Spider questions, and you meet Lo’ak’s eyes. You don’t have to speak to know that he has already realised what you have. Whoever had been here, they were not yours.
You pull your knife from its sheath, staying a few paces behind Spider and Lo’ak as they follow the tracks. You gesture for Kiri and Tuk to stay close, pressing a finger to your lips to indicate that they should be quiet. The tracks were fresh, whoever they belonged to were still close by.
You cursed yourself for declining to bring your bow as you found the source of the prints, four that you could see as they searched the old shack that you had been told under no uncertain terms you were not to visit. You held Tuk close to your side, declining to follow as Spider and Lo’ak moved to get a closer look. Risking too much movement was not a good idea, not when you had Tuk with you and only two of you held weapons that didn’t need to be used at close range. You were good with your knife, but it would be useless when faced with a gun. The boy’s return and Lo’ak makes the call to his father, dooming all of you to endless lectures and your worst punishments yet.
“Son, you listen to me very carefully. You pull back right now. Do not make a sound.” You hear Jake’s orders through Kiri’s earpiece, pressing Tuk tighter into your side. “Move, you copy?”
“Yes sir, moving out.”
“See, I told you.”
You push the siblings forward, taking the rear as you follow Jake’s orders. Your chest tightens around the fear that rampages your pounding heart, you could’ve prevented this. If you had not been so concerned with escaping the consequences of your choices you might have been able to convince Lo’ak that this was not a good idea, that you should not have brought Tuk with you. But you had been selfish, thought only of yourself and now you were all in danger. The little girl you held only hours after her birth was in danger.
“It’s almost eclipse, come on.”
The trees part and little Tuk is swept up faster than any of you can respond, Spider and Lo’ak each pointlessly nocking an arrow as more figures emerge through the trees with threats to shoot. You hiss, stance ready to pounce until you see Tuk desperately pulling at the hands that held her queue tight in her hands, crying out for Kiri.
You drop your knife, hands raised in surrender as you allow one of the uniltìrantokx to take a hold of your arms. Despite your obedience your knees are kicked from under you, and for the second time today your skull explodes in agony when the soldier wraps your queue around his hands and pulls. Your mouth fills with copper as you catch your tongue between your teeth, doing all you can not to hiss as you watch Kiri, Lo’ak and Spider be similarly manhandled.
"What have we here?" The man has a marking of a bird on his arm, one you think you have seen before on a screen in the lab before Norm would tell you to go play outside. Bird man steps into the circle, observing you each in turn, his eyes lingering on Spider longer than the rest of you.
"Colonel, check it out. Four fingers. We got a half breed." Kiri’s hand is raised for bird man, or ‘colonel’ to see. His jaw tightens as he looks at her before he turns on Lo’ak.
"Show me your fingers." You let out a shaky breath as Lo’ak flips him off, something you’d learned as children from Spider. It was disrespectful Jake had told you when he caught you it to Neteyam. But the colonel doesn’t seem offended, doesn’t lash out. Instead he laughs. "You're his, aren't you?" Lo’ak hisses. “You’re his, alright.” He pulls Lo’ak up by his queue and tears swell at the corner of your eyes at the sound of his pained grunts as he tried to look strong, at Tuk’s cries for her brother. "Where is he?"
"Sorry, I don't speak English… to assholes."
"Where is your father?" His Na’vi broken, but it’s clear enough who he is looking for. Lo’ak says nothing, a warrior in his own right, he would give away nothing to protect his father. None of you would, even when the colonel pulls out his knife.
"Really? You wanna play it this way?" Kiri’s cries not to hurt her brother grab his attention and Lo’ak is discarded as he rounds on the elder Sully.
"Kiri, no! Stop!" Lo’ak barely gets an inch closer to his sister before he is pulled back by his queue.
“Ftang!” You cry out, tears finally fulfilling their threat to spill as the colonel advances on your sister. The hand behind you tightens around your queue, sending white spots through your vision.
"Hey, don't touch her!" It’s Spider who stops the colonel in his tracks, as he tugs against his captor.
"What's your name kid?" The colonel asks.
"Spider… Socorro." Spider’s captor is shooed away and the colonel bends a knee in front of him, his face softens, absent of any of the vitriol in which he’d eyed any of you na’vi with.
"Miles?" You hadn’t heard anyone call Spider that in years, often you forgot that his preferred nickname wasn’t his given name. Your brows furrow, searching Spider’s face for any sign that he knew how this uniltìrantokx knew his name. You found nothing in his expression but disgust.
"Nobody calls me that."
"I'll be damned. I figured they sent you back to earth."
"You can't put babies in cryo dipshit." The colonel signals for Spider to be restrained again and presses a hand to the comm around his throat.
"Iron sky, blue on actual. We're standing by for extraction. Over. Be advised, we're bringing in high value prisoners."
"Heads up, three minutes."
Your tail sways nervously behind you as the colonel announces the latest time frame. With each announcement, as they had the five of you lined up held securely ready for extraction, you became less sure that Jake would make it to you in time. Your wrists were tied, the soldier holding onto you had one hand on your queue, another on his gun and you knew that you had failed to protect your family. Would they take you to their city? Separate you and hide you behind their metal walls where Jake and Neytiri could not find you?
Your ears twitch. The familiar hoot echoing throughout the trees, a look shared with Tuk confirming that she had heard it too. Their mother was here. You adjust your stance, getting ready for further signal from the Tsakarem. Kiri utters a soft prayer from where she is held behind you and you hear her groan in pain before all hell breaks loose.
“Contact rear!”
You’re yanked back by your queue as the dreamwalker holding you turns to fire his weapon, the pain splitting through your skull as you try to keep your balance without your hands to help you. The soldier that had hold of Kiri and Spider is dead on the ground at your feet, an arrow protruding from his head.
“Lo’ak!” Neytiri calls to her son from her hiding spot and you lose him and Tuk in a puff of yellow smoke. You wasted no time in ensuring your own escape by sinking your teeth into the arm that held you, releasing your hold once your mouth filled with blood and his grip went slack.
“Kä!” You cry out to Spider and Kiri as you run towards them, pushing them away from the gunfire and into the forest. Your escape is hindered when Kiri is yanked back by her braid, only for a moment before, her mother’s arrow loosing from the trees impales the demon and you move ahead again.
Adrenaline pounds through your veins and you run through the forest, the copper taste on your tongue threatening to bring your stomach contents up. But you don’t have time for that, you have to run, you have to get away to make sure you don’t leave your mother alone. To make sure that Kiri and Spider get home safely and find Tuk and Lo’ak and know that they’re okay.
The heat hits your back before you realise there’s been an explosion, the shock is enough to knock you off your feet and you don’t even realise that you were not the only one affected until you hear Kiri calling out for Spider.
Neytiri finds you, pulling a resistant Kiri away from the edge Spider had fallen from. You hear her call your name, urging you to follow as she drags her daughter away, but you don’t really hear her. Not as you scramble to the edge and see your friends weakened form being lifted from the ground by the colonel.
You’re pulled from the ground before you can even make your move to climb down, strong arms wrapping around your waist as they tug you away from the edge. You cry out, kicking and scratching, doing anything you can to release yourself from your captor until his voice rumbles in your ears.
“Stop Tìyawn!”
“Let me go!” You demand of him, he can’t do this to you. He isn’t this cruel. He can’t make you watch as they take your Spider away. “Please.” You beg as the dam breaks, your tears flowing freely, salt mixing in with copper as they reach the corners of your mouth. His hold only gets tighter, arms wrapping around your shoulder to still your movements.
“There’s nothing you can do for him, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” He whispers in your ear and lowers you both to the ground, releasing his hold on your shoulders as he reaches for his knife and unbinds your wrists. You know he speaks the truth as you watch the aircraft ascend, taking away any hope of getting to Spider.
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𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 - 𝐠𝐨𝐣𝐨 𝐬𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐮
gojo satoru and himiko nakamura have always been rivals, however, working on the same movie has put himiko at her limits.
my masterlist !
✭ pairings: gojo satoru x oc actor! au
✭ warning: gojo's probably out of character, the ending's rushed as hell. actor au.
✭ author’s note: got sick of this just sitting in my drafts tbh
✭ word count: 1.5k words
disclaimer: i’m not of japanese descent and am unfamiliar with japanese honorifics, etc. feel free to correct me!
Himiko hated everything about him. She hated his brilliant blue eyes that glimmered like ocean waves, his charming grin that brought every woman to his knees, and most of all, she hated that he knew how to press every one of her buttons. Every. Single. Time.
At this point, it was well known that the two were rivals in the industry, and it was entertaining for all to see; both actors and fanbases.
And unfortunately, it was during their meeting for a chemistry read that Himiko found out that Gojo Satoru was, a little too eagerly in her opinion, playing the main character. She wouldn’t have minded that fact one bit if it weren’t for the luck she had, scoring her role in the film as his love interest. ‘Quite the dastardly bit of luck,’ she groaned to herself.
She felt her eye twitch as he waltzed into the studio with his cocky smirk as per usual, it was rare to ever see him without it. His circular dark blue sunglasses didn’t hide the mischievous shine in his eyes, and Geto Suguru walked in, his brown eyes grazing over every little detail of the studio. The two were known to never be apart, almost appearing in every film together, with a rare few exceptions.
However, the moment Gojo’s sky-blue eyes met her lilac ones, she knew from the way his smile grew that he wouldn’t be leaving her alone anytime soon.
“If it isn’t little Miss Nakamura!”
“Impale me now,” Himiko sighed, turning to her agent, Chizuru. “Must I work with this… moron?”
Chizuru scrolled through her phone, her thumb flicking the screen, tucking the silky stray strands behind her ear as Himiko’s lilac eyes stabbed into Gojo’s lanky figure, his best friend, another fellow actor with black hair and brown eyes lurking behind him. A click of Chizuru’s tongue was enough to tell Himiko everything.
“Unfortunately, yes…” Chizuru winced, “The movie’s set to be one of the biggest names this year, and if you back out now, it’s going to be a great loss for both your reputation and in terms of revenue. It’s a little late for that in my opinion.”
The shorter woman then leaned closer to Himiko, whispering in the fierce lady’s ear, her voice barely audible over the blasting of the air conditioning, “Besides, as your cousin, I just say go for it. Grit your teeth and bear it – in the end, you’re probably never gonna see his face again.”
Himiko dragged her manicured hand down her face, her black nails softly scratching against the side of her face in irritation, her lilac eyes rolled back at the pesky white-haired man in the room.
“Bargain for me,” Himiko sighed, crossing her arms as she made her way to the seats where the men all stood around, and she watched Gojo interact with the directors and producers with a ridiculous amount of energy that he could’ve been mistaken for a child in a candy shop, “I’d like a higher pay as compensation for dealing with his stupidity. I’ll add a small percentage to your pay as thanks for handling my nonsense.”
Chizuru sighed, fixing her bun the slightest, pocketing her phone, “You got it, Miss Nakamura. Just don’t try to tear his face off while I’m gone.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” The star huffs, hearing her younger cousin leave the room with the ‘click!’ of the studio’s door.
Seeing how much the man-child she despised with a burning sense of rivalry managed to light a fuse of anger in the producer, Utahime Iori; an already well-established actress often known to be patient, amused the lilac-eyed actress. At least she wasn’t the only one who felt a tingling sense of irritation at the sight of Gojo Satoru.
Himiko felt her irritation build as Gojo sauntered his way towards her, his friend watching from the corner of the studio, his arms crossed as he watched Gojo’s antics towards the irked actress.
“Nakamura! Have you watched my latest movie? It’s a box office hit, as per usual,” Gojo smirked, Himiko’s hands on her hips as she raised her eyebrows.
“No, I didn’t watch it. I don’t waste my time on cheap catchphrases and explosion effects, Gojo,” Himiko huffs, Gojo opens his mouth again to say something back, but the clearing of a throat pulls him out as he turns to the blonde man in the room.
Nanami Kento, the director of the whole film, rubbed his temples in annoyance, his baritone voice muttering silent curses at Gojo before beginning with a tone of a sigh.
“Please, Gojo,” Nanami sighed. “Let’s get started on the chemistry read between the both of you.”
Gojo shrugged with a smile, “No objections here!”
Reluctantly, Himiko sat herself at the table, joining the younger director and the thorn in her side. Despite Nanami being younger, she admired him quite a bit, and it was enough to keep her around for the movie – with the exception of the paycheck, of course.
Himiko eyed Gojo’s partner-in-crime, Geto Suguru, as he sat on the couch behind them, her thumb pointing back at Suguru with her voice low towards Nanami, “What’s he doing here?”
“Moral support, ever heard of it, Nakamura?” Gojo smiled over at Himiko with a teasing smile, leaning closer to whisper in her ear. “Don’t worry about him, he’s harmless.”
Himiko grimaces, gently pushing Gojo with two of her fingers, Geto snickering from behind them in amusement. He could clearly see why his best friend liked to irritate her, and she made it all the more fun by not lashing out like Utahime does. Her annoyance with Gojo’s antics was like a pressure cooker, building up until it exploded.
“Now, we’ll be recording this whole session,” Nanami spoke, dismissing Gojo’s antics, “We’ll let you know when we start rolling the cameras. I assume you both have memorised your lines?”
“Of course, who do you think we are, amateurs?” Gojo chuckled, not missing the way Nanami rolled his eyes.
“Then we’ll start in three… two… action.”
Himiko takes a deep breath before turning to Gojo, running her hand through her hair, getting into character, her expression morphing the moment her eyes meet Gojo’s.
He can almost feel his heart wrench with the hurt in her eyes, and he sees exactly why she’s made it as far as she has as a rising actress. The crack in her voice really sells it all for him.
“So what now?” She whispers, her eyes filled with betrayal and ruin, “You’re just gonna take off and leave me alone again?”
Tears began to appear in her eyes, and Gojo felt his heart lurch seeing her pretty lilac eyes all glossy and shiny, tears falling from her eyes that glimmered like amethysts. His hands reached up to touch her cheeks, his expression softening into a matching one of heartbreak.
“Baby, that’s… that’s not it at all,” He shakes his head, his voice soft. “I promise, I promise I’ll come back. I could never leave you, not even if I tried.”
“Then stay.”
Gojo couldn’t tell if it was the way she leaned into his palm when she said it, or if it was her watery amethyst eyes, but it made a knot grow in his stomach. He tucks her ebony hair behind her ear, cupping her cheeks as his thumb swipes over her waterline.
“I’ll stay,” He whispered, “Just for tonight. Just for tonight, I’m yours.”
“I don’t want it to be just for tonight,” Her hand clasped his, tearing it away from her face as she entwined her fingers with his, “I want to be by your side as long as you’ll have me, whether it’s for months or years.”
Himiko’s heart fluttered like a bird in her chest having Gojo’s blue eyes staring so intently at her, so gently, as though just the slightest touch of his fingers would break her.
She couldn’t deny that he was attractive, it was a worldwide fact at this point – however, Himiko refused to boost Gojo’s ego further, even if she couldn’t help the pink blush that grew on her cheeks as Gojo’s face neared hers.
“Then I guess we’re stuck together for a long time,” He cupped her cheeks again, leaning down to gently press his forehead on hers. Himiko’s breathing hitched as he softly placed his lips on hers.
She felt her eyes slowly close and her lips glide over his soft ones, their kiss soft and gentle, and she felt herself get lost in his touch, letting herself lean into his touch as he still cupped her face.
“And, that’s a wrap,” Nanami called out, the two actors pulling away, Himiko’s cheeks dusted with a warm shade of pink as her frown returned, clearing her throat into her fist. She could feel Satoru’s eyes on the back of her neck as she turned back to Nanami, smiling at him as she put on her façade of confidence.
Utahime’s was one of disgust, but really, when was she ever not disgusted at Gojo?
“That concludes today’s session, so you’re both free to go. Thank you,” The blonde-haired man curtly nodded his head. He didn’t say much, only turning to Utahime as the two began to talk in hushed whispers, Geto lingering around as Himiko dashed out, Gojo following hot on her trail.
Neither began to question why they returned on set a few weeks later, holding hands, and a scarf around Himiko’s neck despite the warm weather.
taglist: @mooncleaver @underwateredwrld @mcmisbehaving @neteyamrealgf @khany2026 @tinkerbelle05 @iheartamajiki @sad-darksoul @yunymphs @cindol @rrairey @yurislotusgarden @kesshavx
< comment/dm me if you’d like to be on the taglist! >
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
to love you the best I can || miles morales
warning/s: arguing, descriptions of injury, use of unprofessional medical tools.
a/n: there is one sentence in spanish here, I used a lot of posts people made on here about adding spanish to write it. it's literally just four words but it could still be wrong so please let me know so I can change it if ever. ( ˘ ³˘)♥
"You know, if you think about it I'm kind of helping you further your education," Miles joked through a grimace as you cleaned the gash on his chest with nothing more but a freshly laundered shirt and warm soapy water.
He was laying on his bed with the top of his suit removed, and you were kneeling on the floor at his side. The look you gave him was enough to make him wince more.
"You're not funny Morales," you hissed, your tone juxtaposing the way you wiped the blood off him. The wounds weren't even that deep, there were just so many of them.
And that's what made you almost shake as you worked.
"I'm sorry," is all he can say as he looks at you, dead focused on his chest, your lip between your teeth, and tears threatening to spill from your eyes.
Your worry only became more clear to him as your head snapped up at him.
"Well you should be sorry," you almost growled, dipping the shirt in the now pink water.
"I thought you called me to hangout," you said, shaking the shirt before ringing it out.
'"Not play doctor," you glared at him, resuming your cleaning for emphasis.
"You could have at least told me that you were hurt so I could've brought the right things to help you!" You said, a little too loud this time, gesturing to the other shirt on his bedside table.
Beside it was a pair of scissors that you were gonna use to cut it up into makeshift bandages.
"Hey tone it down a bit," he whispered, trying to get up only to be stopped by a sudden jolt of pain before he continued.
"My parents are still asleep."
"Maybe I want them to hear," you tell him, placing your hand on his chest to push him back on the bed gently.
"At least your mom would actually know what she's doing," you sighed, moving on to the smaller gashes on his stomach that he didn't even know was there.
"Seriously Miles, just because I help at the clinic does not mean I'm medically trained."
"I'm sorry," he said again, hands moving to grasp at the bedsheets. His chest was on fire, for more reasons than one.
"I didn't know who else to call."
"Well if you were gonna call you should've at least told me the real reason why you did," you said through clenched teeth.
"Don't give me that I miss you bullshit."
"I didn't want you to come here worried," he explained, his hand moving to stop your wiping, and inevitably your shaking. That's when you finally looked back up at him.
"Miles," you breathed.
"It's my job to worry about you."
This is when the dam broke. Choked sobs began to escape your lips, and the shaking of your hands moved up to your shoulders.
Miles' eyes began to glaze over at the sight.
"No matter what," you said in between breaths.
"I will always worry, because I love you," your lips quivered as you placed the shirt in the bowl so you could hold Miles's hands in yours completely.
This made his chest tighten.
"So please, if you're hurt like this. Or if anything else happens and you need me, just tell me right away, tell me the truth right away," you practically begged, moving up on your knees so your eyes locked with his honey brown hues.
"So I can help the best I can," you explained, bringing his hands to your lips, kissing them despite your constant shakes.
His throat began to burn at your actions.
"So I can love you the best I can," you ended, a new round of tears trailing down your cheeks.
"Okay, Miles?"
The room stood silent for a second, and you searched him for confirmation. But all he gave you was a look you've never seen before, and that scared you.
"Miles?" You repeated, the shake in your voice becoming worse.
And he nods, closing his eyes as tears begin to trickle down his cheeks and under his chin.
Your gaze instantly softened.
"Oh, ligaya," your voice rasped as you gently moved to straddle his waist, avoiding his wounds as you did despite your shaking.
You had dropped his hands and brought yours to his cheeks, wiping away his tears gently with the pads of your thumbs. You tried so desperately to calm yourself down so you could comfort him.
And he knew that. It only made his cries worse as he tried to look away from you. But you held him firmly, the best you could, placing your forehead on his.
"I'm sorry" you cooed, bringing your fingers to his ears, pinching them gently and rubbing smooth circles behind them.
"I'm not mad," you whispered.
"I was just scared."
"No, I know," he finally responded, a slight crack to his voice. He moved up to your level, despite your efforts to stop the strain.
He needed to do this.
"It's okay, I was too," he explained, opening his eyes and now wiping your tears that still spilled down your cheeks despite yourself.
He hated himself for causing them.
"Thank you so much for this," he tells you, even though he knew it wasn't enough. It would never be, but he'd try to make it for you.
"Thank you for being here for me," he took a deep breath, moving back to place a kiss on your nose before placing his forehead back on yours.
"I promise to be more honest with you about the spider stuff," he swore, moving away so he could look you in the eyes.
"I love you, so much," he said, making his voice crack again.
You gave him a smile that told him it was okay. You were okay.
You both would be okay.
"Te necesito, mi tesoro," he whispered, his thumb tracing your bottom lip, and he smiled as you placed a gentle kiss on it.
"I don't know what that means," you chuckled, voice still raspy, but now better as you stopped shaking.
"But thank you."
He echoed your chuckle, now placing his cheek on your shoulder, turning to kiss below your ear before he translated his words.
"I need you, my treasure," he whispered, beginning to trail his fingers up and down your spine.
And you hugged him back while still keeping a safe distance between you.
You both stayed there in silence for a while, basking in each other's presence. You breathed in each other's scent and memorised the way your bodies felt curved into one another.
You would have stayed there forever if you didn't still have a job to do.
"Let me finish cleaning you up," you said, pulling away from him.
"I just need to do one final wipe and I'll wrap them up. And I guess I have to stay the night to monitor you," you began to ramble as you transversed through all the medical knowledge you knew.
"You might run a fever and I wanna be here if you do. But hopefully you don't because things can only go downhill from there," your voice has suddenly become panicky, and Miles was quick to calm you down this time.
"Staying the night," he said with a teasing tone, hand moving down to your waist, squeezing the curve softly.
"Are you flirting with me doctor?" He quirked a playful brow.
"I heard it's wrong to mess around with patients."
"Shut up," you smiled, making his efforts not for naught.
"Don't tell me you don't like my bedside manner," you played along.
"Well actually you could be doing better if I'm being honest."
"Oh please," you rolled your, moving to get off of him, and his hands chased you to pull you back, but you gave him a scalding look as you picked the shirt from the bowl.
"Let me finish this up okay, so you can finally get some rest," you bargained as he began to pout.
"I'll lay next to you of course," you added, making him smile once more.
"Alright babe," he sighed, watching you ring the shirt out for the final time.
"I'm all yours."
And he was, and always will be.
As he watched you wipe him down with the utmost care, sweat dripping on your brow, and tear streaks on your cheeks, he silently promised you that he'd be better. That he'd treat you the way you deserve. That he'd love you the best he can.
let me know what you think hehe
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