#black poc in fantasy

[westidia]

Oh to give him little tanned babies with curly hair that look just like him 🥹

[museaux]

I am gonna rant for a bit here about ‘The Thunderstorm Saga,’ a new story on Romance Club. And before anyone says it, yes, I understand that I can always read other stories and that some stories on RC don't have BIPOC MCs--I just really wanted to dive into this one with a Black MC lol. I would love to hear other BIPOC players thoughts on the character design as well, which is why i am posting this here. well, that and because the reddit page won't let me post it there lolz.

As a Black person who plays these games, whether on Choices, Chapters, or LITG, I can’t help but notice when the ball is dropped in terms of character representation. Since I have yet to get past choosing my MC, you could attribute it to the genre—sure, fantasy often lacks non-white characters—but Time Catcher does exist and offers pretty decent Black and POC MC options. So, I don’t know, I just feel kind of disappointed because RC has had some of the best BIPOC MC representation by far compared to other apps. It just rubs me the wrong way that these are the options available now when they were doing SO well, in my opinion.

[the-readers-archive]

Taryn deserves nothing but the worst. Jude loved her sister and all she got in return is a knife to the back by her own twin.

Taryn can rot for all I care.

[amourdedove]

"If I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more" -Jane Austen

[sucka4pain]

Yandere 42! Miles Morales feeling grumpy all day at school and getting a little more upset when his girl wouldn't answer his texts. Only to see her surrounded in a circle of students cause she's beating the breaks off another girl who was riling her up talking bout her man.

And miles ain't know she could fight like that‼️and how would miles feel about her extreme jealousy?

I absolutely love this wait a damn minute…

A/n: Finally got out of writers block smh, I’m sorry that this took so long to do cutie pie😞 I also made the reader poc cause I gotta give my poc girlys including myself some love yk? I hope you don’t mind that!!<3

Warnings: Violence, fighting, yandere theme, jealousy, blood, pet names (mamas and mami), and cursing

Continue reading below the cut! Be warned as this contains dark content!!

Miles: hey mami, good morning

7:44 a.m

Miles: why ain’t you answering me?

9:57 a.m

Miles: at least leave me on seen or sum shit so I know you seen it.

11:32 a.m

He closed his phone and groaned as he feels his grumpiness getting to him. “Yo Miles, you good?”

His friend asked him seeing Miles is more grumpy than he usually is. “I’m fine.” He replied as his friend knew he was lying but decided to not push it and just thought that he was just having an awful morning. The only times when he did have awful mornings is when Y/n wasn’t around, and this was one of those awful mornings.

The bell rang and Miles got up to leave and as he walked out the classroom whispers were surrounding him. The soft voices going in and out of his ears, they filled the hallways. He managed to make it to his class and sat in his usual seat by the window in the back.

All of a sudden, students yelling and running could be heard outside the class, curiosity got the best of Miles as he got up from his seat to see what the ruckus is about. He used his taller figure as an opportunity to see over the crowd.

He was shocked to see his girlfriend, Y/n on top of another female, punching her as the girl below her was screaming and crying. One of Y/n’s hands was gripping the girls hair to keep her head down and her other hand was in a fist as she laid blow after blow to her face. Her nose was bleeding and bruises started to form on her face.

The female under Y/n was kicking and squirming, trying to get out from under her but couldn’t from Y/n’s body weight being forcefully pushed on her to keep her down.

Students surrounding them were recording and yelling as others just watched in horror.

“You wanna talk shit about my man!? You’re shady and pathetic, say it out loud to me instead of going behind his back.”

Y/n’s voice spat coldly in her face as the girl looked terrified while tears were running down her cheeks.

He was shocked seeing the scene, he never expected Y/n to be the jealous type let alone fight someone who talked bad about him. Miles didn’t and couldn’t care less about people who talked bad about him. Cause he knows that he can easily beat them with no issue.

So seeing Y/n get jealous and protective because another female talked bad about him behind his back, almost made him feel proud, thinking about how he knew that Y/n is really the one for him.

After a while, the principal came and broke up the fight then took the girl and Y/n to his office. Teachers who were there, escorted and told the students to get back to their classes. Everyone went to their classes and as Miles was in his seat, he was wondering what the girl said that made Y/n so mad.

While he was thinking, he smirked to himself, knowing that his girl, his only, did that to another female for him. Pride filled his chest knowing that any other girl wouldn’t have done it. He was proud to call Y/n his and his only.

The school day ended, and Y/n was walking out of school but then was stopped by Miles.

“Ay Mami, what happened back there earlier?” His hand placed on her shoulder as he turned her body around to face him.

“Some girl talked shit about you, and I couldn’t let that slide.” She huffed out pissed off and crossed her arms. He only smirked down at her before letting out a small chuckle.

“Who would have known that Mami would be jealous and protective of me.” His voice teased her with a smirk on his face. She looked at him before rolling her eyes.

“I wasn’t jealous…I was only doing what I had to do.” She glanced at him which only made him laugh as he wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her body closer to his before he started to walk.

“Plus, why would I be jealous of a white girl? One thing that I do question is why would that little white girl talk shit knowing that we don’t play around when it comes to confrontation?”

Her voice spoke as she scoffed with a small laugh.

“You know…I would kill any guy who even dares to breath in your direction..~”

He bent down to her ear to whisper in her ear. His voice was low and deep as it sent shivers down her spine, causing her skin to grow goosebumps.

“You don’t mean that though, right?” Looking at him with a raised brow as he just smirked and stayed silent.

“Don’t play with me right now…you don’t mean it right?!” Her voice slightly raised, giving him an almost flabbergasted expression.

“I don’t know Mamas..do you think I’m playing?”

The tone of his voice was low and deeper than before. It was almost concerning, she knew how possessive he could get. But the way his voice got deeper, it sounded dark.

She stayed silent, his hand reaching over to her chin as he lifted her head to look at him. He had his usual cold expression but this time it was even..colder?..

His eyes were completely lifeless. No sign of shine or life in them which made her a little nervous when he stared down at her.

“I asked you a question Mamas, and I expect an answer..”

The sound of his tone was like he was a robot. It didn’t sound human, no hit of emotion behind it. She thickly swallowed before answering.

“No, I don’t think you’re playing..”

She said and he smiled, giving her a soft kiss on her forehead.

“See? It isn’t that hard now was it?”

His arm wrapped around her waist again as she walked with her close to his side. He didn’t let her answer his question before speaking.

“Now let’s go out. I gotta reward my girl for doing something, right?”

Requests are still opened btw!<3

2023-2024©𝐬𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐚4𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐧-- 𝐃𝗼 𝐧𝗼𝐭 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞, 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐥, 𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐢𝗺 𝗼𝐫 𝐜𝗼𝐩𝐲 𝗺𝐲 𝐰𝗼𝐫𝐤-- 𝐜𝗼𝗺𝗺𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬, 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐬, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝗼𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐩𝐟𝐮𝐥 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐜𝗼𝗺𝐞𝐝!!

[miyuhpapayuh]

3thehardway.

Caught between two of the finest men she'd ever laid eyes on was something she'd only dreamt of…

And in the span of twenty minutes, she'd gone from a starstruck, wishful fan to the luckiest woman in the world.

Her mind became completely jumbled as her skirt was pushed up, panties pushed aside, and that wide thumb rubs her clit, making her jerk back into the brick wall of a chest behind her.

“Come back,” he commands, pushing her thighs back open to eye her slick.

“Hold her open for me,” he mumbles, smirking as the hands that were fondling her breasts move underneath her thighs and pull them open, up against her chest.

His thumb is back, rubbing against her, reveling in the moans that leave her glossed lips.

“Oh my god,” she breathes, arching up as a pair of lips attack her neck with supple kisses, driving her insane.

Her hands reach behind to caress every part of him she can feel, as she's slowly losing her mind.

He snaps her panties away from her hips with a tug, humming at the gasp that leaves her, replacing it with another as his lips wrap around her clit.

Her head finds an equally hard shoulder to rest against, those lips and that tongue still moving up and down her neck, making her so wet.

“You're so good at this,” she moans, reaching out to grip the sheets as he devours her.

Pushing two fingers inside, pumping and curling them just right, she's squirming in seconds as it becomes too much.

“Relax, baby... we got you.” Those plump lips whisper in her ear, his hold tightening on her legs.

Her toes curl as her eyes lock with the handsome devil between her legs, only egging him on to plunge his thick digits into her faster and slurp against her harder.

“I'm gonna cum,” she cries, her nails digging into the broad arms holding her in place, throwing her hips towards that godly mouth, making her nut come quicker.

“That's it, get that shit baby,” one encourages, the other slapping her ass with his free hand. The heaviness in her breathing delighting them.

“I'm— I'm cumming, fuck!” She yells, feeling her heartbeat in every place possible, her mouth wide open as he continues to swirl his tongue around her clit.

“Such a pretty pussy,” he compliments as he pulls away, smacking it with his open palm and making her jump.

She throbs, making him do it again, and again... til she is leaking down her ass, cursing up a storm. He licks it all up.

Her heart was beating out of her chest by the time her legs were released, only to be flipped on all fours.

Her skirt is pulled away and his hand comes back between her legs, fingers rubbing through her sticky folds.

A pout finds her lips, making the mountain of man in front of her lick his own, reaching forward to caress the side of her face.

Watching that dick spring out of those briefs was enough to make her cum again.

Long and thick. Pretty mushroom tip just begging to be sucked on.

“Put them pretty lips to work, baby.” Another command sends her into action, forgetting all about her gag reflex and welcoming him to the back of her throat.

“Just like that,” he moans, fueling her fire and boosting the hell out of her ego.

His fingers push into her slit again, making her clench around them.

“Damn girl,” those gruff moans and grunts get a bit rougher, before he pulls her up from his lap.

Those magical fingers work her until she cums again, his soft lips kissing her face as she comes down from another high.

She watches the condom get rolled onto her first fantasy ride, and she can't help but drip down her leg and his fingers all over again.

She’s up close and personal with the man of her dreams as she's spun backwards, while her arch is held in place by a hand at her back.

Calloused hands cuff her face, pulling her in for a kiss so sloppy.

She reaches back to close the space between her and that heavy body, feeling his dick against her slit.

“You ready, pretty baby?”

As soon yes left her lips, he pushed forward and stayed there, loving the tiny gasp that leaves her.

“Fuck,” she moans in between kisses, “please fuck me!”

Granting her wish, his strong thighs relentlessly clap against her ass, his dick feels like it's poking her ribs as she struggles to keep herself upright.

Unable to form anything intelligent, she's a bumbling mess by the time she's wrapping her hand around something longer and thicker.

The front of her tank top is pulled down, those soft lips and wet tongue glide over her breasts. She strokes him in her hand like she's got something to prove.

Pulling her down so she's level with his dick, he winks at her, sinking into that wet, warm mouth and tossing his own head back.

Her eyes roll back at the beating she's taking, her thighs burning and clenching every time they connect.

Their rhythm syncs perfectly, stroking her from both ends; a pair of hands pulling her ass back onto his dick, the other fisted into her hair as his hips gyrate into her face.

She was living out her wildest dream, staring up at her deemed precious man, far from shocked that he could be so filthy. It felt good to be right.

“Cum on this dick, beautiful.” He gruffs from behind her, making her splash back on his lap and the sheets underneath, moaning around the thickness in her mouth.

“Damn, girl. Suck that dick just like that.” His moans egg her on to give her best, making his toes curl into the rug underneath his feet and spill down her throat with a roar.

Pulling her back up, he kisses her dead in the mouth and turns her back around, readying himself to dive into the wettest pussy ever.

The moment he glides into her, her eyes roll back and her jaw drops, her hands grip onto the strong arms in front of her as he begins to pound into her from behind.

Her bouncing breasts are groped into both of their large hands, turning her into a puddle.

“Shit,” she helplessly moans, gasping as a hand finds her neck, keeping her flush against his impeccably hard chest, the fat tip of his dick pushing against her spot so good.

“Oooh shit, right there! Right there!” She screams, her nails digging into the hand that's around her neck, and a hand that's still kneading her supple flesh like dough.

“Cum on this dick, baby.” He commands.

Her lewd moans are swallowed in another sloppy kiss, making her head swim.

The other pair of lips attach themselves to her neck, his hips never ceasing their movements against her.

She's breathing in his air, sucking on his bottom lip. A hand goes back against his thick thigh, gripping as another knot forms in her belly.

“You cummin’ again, huh,” his lips brush against hers with every word.

“Yes, yes, yes!” She cries out like a broken record, her predicament getting worse as they sandwich her in between their sweaty bodies, drinking her in completely.

“Cum on it, right now.” A command sounds and she doesn't even know who it's from, sending her orgasm gushing down her legs and his too.

She's way past spent as their mouths lick and kiss every part of her skin they can reach, taking turns tonguing her down.

“How many times can we make her cum, before she passes out?”

@soufcakmistress @504queen @ghostfacekill-monger @hearteyes-for-killmonger @uzumaki-rebellion @blowmymbackout @supersizemeplz @chaneajoyyy @cocoa-puffs @nahimjustfeelingit-writes @daddy-killmonger @twistedcharismaaa @prettyisasprettydoes1306 @headcannonxgalore @quietstorm-thundathighs @sheabuttahwrites @thegifstories @blackerthings @becauseimswagman1 @cecereads209 @nayaxwrites @xsweetdellzx @blackburnbook @darqchilddaydreamz @killmongerdispussy @trippyscotch @emjayewrites @unfriendlyblkhotti3 @blackpinup22 

[musingmanor]

Just a reminder i got a bunch of adopts on my shop rn for anyone to get theyre hands on! Also i used a shit ton of tags

[jesncin]

I love MAWS but your writeup really made me realize how much of a missed opportunity Lois was. I'm generally not opposed to minority characters having stories which don't focus on their identity or trauma because those types of stories are legitimate and deserve to exist, but MAWS deliberately invokes xenophobia as a major theme, so to do that while also having an Asian Lois and Black Jimmy not really interface with that aspect of the story feels like a major oversight.

Exactly! I've said very similar things before. This isn't a made-up planet world like She-Ra or anything. While Metropolis isn't real, it explicitly takes place in America, which is the only country mentioned by name in MAWS. And Superman shines best when he's acknowledged to be an inherently political character, facing problems that reflect our real world issues in some way. My lowest expectations for the show was that it would be like the "American Alien" Superman comic, where it was a missed opportunity that the POC characters' identities weren't integrated more, but there's potential for it. MAWS went so hard in the other direction that the characters are just white under their designs.

Stories about POC not revolving around marginalization or racism are so valid, and we're obviously more than just the hardships we face! But when the narrative introduces marginalization and even specifically xenophobia for only the white characters (and a gorilla) to go through, with characters of color oppressing white characters even?? Like genuinely what's the lesson there.

When an East Asian character tortures a white passing alien man and says "how many of your kind will come through this time?", and another East Asian character spouts Replacement Theory "he's wiping out good American jobs" rhetoric, and ANOTHER East Asian character tells Superman to "try being normal" after he's told to "go back to where he came from", what am I- an Asian superman fan- supposed to get from that?

[gleamiarts]

ok but what if we're in a fantasy romance and we're in love and we're both girls

[bethanvalerious]

Kingfisher

Majestic avian deity, paramour of Freebreather

plz give a reblog if you like my stuff

if you REALLY like my stuff, consider leaving a tip on Ko-Fi

[treefemur]

Double Deer 🖤

[the-owl-tree]

its so annoying to me when ppl talk abt realism in warriors when ti comes to any kind of relationships with characters

real cats don't have the conception of having a mate for one that's a human concept that we projected onto some random animals don't get me started on how cats in wc care about whether or not they can have kits because that's also insanely unrealistic for an animal

i think we can even take it a step further and stop even pandering to the idea that "realism" even matters here. they should be allowed because lgbt+ people are real, not fantasy, and that's that. i think even the most stringent, strictly realistic rp should let people be trans.

[ms0milk]

𝟑 | 𝐓𝐨 𝐂𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐨𝐟 𝐂𝐨𝐥𝐝

ー✧ prince!bakugou x royal guard!reader

"The whistle of something moving too fast sings through the trees and you reach across your body without the privilege of planning your actions."

cw the terrible roadtrip™ part 2/2, bkg does not get better (in fact it feels worse). you finally have his attention/ classic everyone-has-to-bathe-in-the-river scene, a touch of pining. depictions of suspense/panic, the first earnest attempt on your life 3.7k

PREV | M.LIST | TAGLIST | NEXT

Days pass more peacefully than not as the journey progresses. This is the farthest you’ve ever been from the castle without your master and with every unfamiliar step you’re more and more thankful you aren’t permitted a seat in the carriage. Delicate, blue, quilted, or otherwise, carriage rides are stifling and smell too much like blood.

The prince seems to hate carriages as much as you do because since the morning of the second day, he’s taken it upon himself to climb from the window as it bumps and jitters along the road and hoist his body onto the small flat roof where he lays for hours sending up pale fireworks. He doesn’t speak or grumble or punch up there. There’s no bitching, as Aizawa would say and so no one tries very hard to stop him. There are no fiery tantrums when your little caravan has to stop for Mina’s fourth bathroom break of the afternoon, or when Sero has to hold Kaminari out the window to stave off motion sickness. The prince just runs sparks through his hands paying little, if any, attention to his friends or chaperones.

Your hips are numb now and well-worn, so there’s not much else to focus on except for His Highness idling on the carriage in front of you. He refused to change into the riding clothes provided, so his furs and long red cape are the only vestiges of home for miles. His royal jewelry, red and gold, catch the light. Lying still and quiet like this, a stranger could be forgiven for thinking the fair prince to be docile.

Images of a younger, wider-eyed royal pitter patter through your memory for a second, which you try to dislodge with a shake of your head. Your earrings stir delicately against your face and you’re reminded of home again.

On the carriage ahead the prince raises his arm now to the sky and flickers of white and purple jump between his thick scarred fingers. His hands are heavy. They’re worn from a childhood of trial and error in honing his parent’s magic. The spark he balances on his skin grows from an ember to a star so he rolls onto his knees to feed it with both hands. In seconds, it puckers and sputters between his palms in a new vibrancy, and green smoke winds up like lace across his cheeks.

It’s beautiful. You want to tell the destructive prince that his magic is “so beautiful.”

“Of course you’d think that,” he clears his throat with the words without looking your way and it becomes suddenly obvious that you’ve spoken– all you dreamed of saying– out loud. You readjust stiffly on your horse.

“You’d be dazzled if I took a dump on the carriage.” His voice is thunder, and it’s more and more apparent to you that your prince must be dying of boredom. “What’re you here for?”

“Her Majesty sent me, for protection.”

He doesn’t quite look at you as much as he glances in your general direction. That red cape of his twists across his chest in the breeze while he lingers on the outline of your horse. “What could you protect me from huh? The fucking bugs?” Thunder and lightning now, “You gonna lance the mosquitoes before they land a fatal blow?”

“It’s a halberd, Highness. And yes, if you’d like me to I can keep the bugs away.”

He makes strikingly angry eye contact with you just once, just a blink from carriage to saddle, and it’s obvious you’ve said something wrong. Wordplay isn’t your strength. Whit and whim don’t flow like water for you the way they do the queen, but she often pulls you into meetings or seeks you out on post with quandaries because your honesty entertains her. You think– you hope. You hope the prince is like her in that sense, but he only sucks his teeth and turns away.

Hours pass, then a day, then two, and you’re so far from the comfort of familiar autumnal forests that you start to lose track of yourself.

“I’m starving!” Kaminari whines, and you realize you are too. Kirishima and the prince are all too excited to dive into the trees for a chance to stretch and hunt, so much so that they’re already out of earshot by the time you’ve stepped out of your saddle. Aizawa assures you they’ll be fine and in just a few hours the entire camp is shrieking over ghost stories and roast turkey.

“I’m exhausted!” Sero yawns and kicks the largest burning log to bring down the brightness of the fire. It takes sudden darkness to realize that you’re fighting back sleep. In the morning you pick apart fresh fish a la Kirishima and Mina jumps at the opportunity for a bath. “I stink!” she laments, and you realize much the same. So at Aizawa’s instruction the caravan sets up camp beside the river and everyone but you races to dive into the icy cold for as long as they can stand. Even the prince seems eager for a break and starts unclasping his earrings on his way down through the trees.

The water is just over the flat ridge where Shinsou and his mentor stop the carriage. While the three of you untack horses and otherwise set up camp for the evening, Aizawa continuously fiddles with ties and his long hair. He calls your name, and Shinsou’s, and you look up briefly from where you’re unbuckling your saddle’s makeshift scabbard and tying your halberd to your back.

“You two join the others. Go wash. I’ll finish here.” And you can’t help but think Master Aizawa is much softer than he lets on. He hasn’t told the rest of your western company yet, but Takoba and the sea are only a few miles beyond the break of the forest which is only a few miles away from where you’re standing now. “The city gates close at sundown, so it’s just as well that you all have a swim and we rest here tonight.”

You’re not too keen on bathing in high comapny, but at the very least you are your prince’s keeper.

One more day to Takoba Castle. You imagine just what the city might look like. You’ve studied all the kingdoms on the continent of course, suffering through years of Jeanist’s compulsatory tutelage, but all you really know about Takoba is its royal lineage and basic strategic positioning; it’s a castle on the sea.

At the river, a party is well-underway where Mina has a horribly bashful Kirishima boxed in on a rock between her bare thighs, squealing, “You reek little huntsman!” while she washes his back.

Kaminari and Sero manage a bit more modesty in the deep water of the bend, and Shinsou wades down near the bank with his tunic already up and coming over his head. The sun’s still warm this time of year, warm enough to bathe outside, but the wind is ready for winter. Every time a breeze slips through the trees a collective howl goes up from your wet company scattered along the riverbed. You stand guard next to the beaten path to the bank and watch the group splash happily.

“Get in Bakugou!”

The prince is the only one still dry, only a few steps away from you, taking his time removing his jewelry. He sets it all on one of the large sun rocks and then unlaces his vest with nimble fingers. Those same fingers thumb open the buckle of his belt with a flick, and his boots go next, then his– he’s closer than you realize and he throws his bundled cape to the base of the stone. “Fuckin’ coming, leave me be.”

The water ripples around his bare ankles. A few more steps and he’s already ducking his ash blond head underwater.

“C’mon sweaty, I know you’re the worst outta the bunch of us!”

“I said fuck off!”

It’s strange, the way they speak to each other. The prince is no different than you’ve ever known him, but while you lift and shake his cape free of pine needles and watch the scene ahead you consider how often he prefers to be alone. He and Kirishima are brothers, family sure, and he often accompanies his parents but friends have never occurred to you. All you know about him you’ve heard from the queen, or seen through a crack in the library doors when the two of you were meant to be sleeping.

His back tenses with the cold air and cold water so you can see the muscles clearly there while he smooths down wet hair, or when he flexes palm over bicep in a stretch after coming up for air. His shoulders shift like sculptures and they’re sharp. Unlike sweet Kirishima whose whole strong body is soft, Bakugou grew like jagged lighting. He was only just a scrawny boy and now the milky gold of his thighs ripples with muscle like a jungle cat. His waist, dramatic, his boxy hands always itching to be fists. You’d laugh if you were less focused, at just how angry Bakugou still looks even when his back is turned.

“Miss Y/n!” Kaminari has his hands cupped around his mouth, “You too!”

The prince’s cape spills from your arms when you’re, a bit overwhelmingly, brought back to reality and you scoop the bundle up before it can touch the ground again. Now the lot of them are hollering at you, “it’s not that cold,” and, “yes it is!” and, “I’ll wash your back!”

You’re still doubled over when you shout back, “I’ll wash later,” half to the dirt, and, “I must remain at my post.” So you can’t be blamed for your surprise at the prince’s advancing glare when you stand back up again.

He’s already clean and completely out of the water and moving toward you quickly enough that your instinct is to draw your halberd from your back. So much so that you hesitate to make any other movements. His shaggy blond hair lays wet and pushed straight back away from his face in a style Jeanist always says, looks quite handsome (and then will lament about for the rest of the day when it inevitably dries straight up in every direction) and for as many seconds as it takes for him to reach you, you think that Jeanist is right.

“Oi!”

What happened to him you wonder, to make him so abrasive?

“C’mon you creep, stand at fucking attention.”

Prince Bakugou snatches his cape back from your still-processing hands as you look up, up, up from his dripping chest to his throat and stop decidedly on those glassy red eyes to avoid having to look anywhere else. He really does resemble his parents so much it’s almost confusing to hear such a bitter voice barking out orders to you. Behind him in the river, Kirishima and Mina watch with worry.

The prince holds your stare this time, no bristling or darting. He pins the cape like a cloak across his body and jerks his head closer to yours– your– your bad habit takes over and the only thing you can do is look at him.

“You’ve been nothin but eyes this whole fucking trip– got any idea who you’re staring at?”

Of course you do. Unmarred skin, long light eyelashes, a sweet caramel musk– what is he saying? He’s picking a fight. Look away, look away. Your eyes go wide for one more single second, one more second inches away from hot red hatred, and you drop your head.

“My deepest apologies, Your Highness.”

Though he’s already done, gone and shouldering past you, back up the bank to collect his finery from the rocks. He bathes quickly.

You’re not particularly quick to wash in the evening. Your companions return to the camp without much more fuss about your joining them after the prince leaves. Mina doesn’t shriek or holler or dance her way warm again. The boys don’t have stories to tell. The prince soaks up the last few sun rays reading a book atop the carriage at camp and all is quiet.

You carry on with evening tasks, although brushing your horse’s white mane free of filth is much more enticing right now than approaching the carriage for day’s-end checks. Dinner supplies are assembled from the last few ration items. Laundry is a desperate state of affairs and it’s palpable just how excited everyone is to arrive at Takoba in the morning even if they aren’t bursting at the seams to tell you about it.

Aizawa is the only one that doesn’t seem to be acting much differently considering he’s always too exhausted for much of a personality. He’s spent the afternoon mending a tear in his saddle and trying unsuccessfully to keep his long hair tied away from his face so when he leaves his project to speak with you across camp, the lack of frustration in his voice is a kind surprise.

“Go on.” His words are gentle, “They’re safe with me and the sun will set soon.” He gestures towards the edge of the ridge and the river beyond it, which at this point seems more cold than its worth. But glancing back at the camp, Kirishima and Shinsou building a fire, Kaminari peeling apples– the general silence– is less appealing than even pneumonia. You dip your head in thanks.

You’re careful not to wet your hair when you sink into the miserable water, and risk getting sick while on duty. Your survival instincts scream to you that wet hair is the least of your concerns considering the shock of cold that is the river without sunlight. Now you realize why the prince made such quick work of washing himself. Mina is inhuman to have swam for so long. With your riding clothes laid out on the shore you slip into the silty water up to your knees, then to your bare hips, until you’re squatting as deep as you can manage right below the ribs.

The sun is long set behind trees and so you wash in the dark, naked and cold as you’ve ever been in your life, in the autumnal river below camp. The light of Kirishima’s fire crests over the lip of the ridge and carries soft voices along with its glow. Some good nights, and a laugh. Probably the redhead’s. His voice is soft and commanding, but the faint chatter and whispers from the others are distant and otherworldly and you feel all the more naked when you eye Jeanist’s halberd quite out of reach on the shore. Quiet voices don’t sound like ghosts in the castle, only out in the woods.

You bring the water with cupped hands to new skin stiffening, and miss soap. And miss beds and Jeanist, and the queen. She has so much hope for your future with her son and it’s unbearably ironic that the first mission you’re responsible for is the one where he’s realized he hates you. You try to picture Takoba again, having never seen the sea.

Instead of thinking about the prince you think of seashell spires sticking out of the sand. Fifty stories and filled with castle staff dressed all in seafoam lace. What else looks like the sea? Pearls dotting the city walls that Aizawa said were so close– and soft glass for the sentinel’s swords instead of steel. The eastern queen and her children must bathe like mermaids in warm sea water; rivers and streams are always cold and running but the sea is so big, it must be warm. It must be still. Now you’re thinking of baths. And of home and bread, and the library and the prince who hates you– there’s a crunch from the brush.

You’re leagues faster than quick in pulling yourself ashore silently and slinging your tunic over your wet chest.

“This horrible fucking forest–” What was first a faint sound becomes a voice and it’s clearly the prince grumbling, “–Takoba’s such a shitshow.”

His growl is a comfort that keeps you from reaching any farther for your weapon. Kirishima’s comes next, “You’re just cranky.”

You close your eyes in relief once you’re positive the only thing you hear is the two of them. They’re wandering over the ridge, not close enough for you to see them from where you’re pulling on your pants, but close enough to follow the conversation. You hook your earrings back into place when you’ve settled enough to collect your belongings and continue to listen.

It’s very rude to raise your voice in the forest, so the prince stops short of howling in his anger, “They’re gonna dress me up like a dumbfuck puppet! I hate–”

“Katsuki, it’s just some earrings, they’re not–”

“– those fucking seagulls'll eat this up! First they find me new jewelry, then I need new boots, then my cloak is too worn– I’ll kill them.”

“I’ve never heard anyone complain as much as you do about getting new clothes.”

There’s a rustle and you swear it’s coming from the opposite direction of camp. Then the sound of stifled sputtering anger, accompanying laughter, and their conversation continues above. With Jeanist’s halberd secured on your back, you lace up your shoes.

“You shoulda beat me to Takoba, old man.”

You startle but don’t scream when the new voice announces itself so clearly. Instead you rally your polearm to attention and crouch with your back to the steep rocky ridge.

“Not even a hello?”

“Be careful Ei, the brambles.”

“No hug for your favorite student?”

“Kats wait, ow!”

“No love for an alum?”

The prince and the champion’s voices are just far away enough that they compete with the new one for your attention. You have to be able to hear if they’re safe. You have to make it back to camp. A hum rolls over the babble of the water now. The new voice is coming from everywhere, beside you and across the river all at once. There’s no sound of splashing or of twigs snapping. It’s a ghost moving closer and farther from you through the breeze.

“Should I give you a head start?”

The burnt drawl mingles with the prince barking distantly from above and sends a chill through your heels into the Earth. Like someone whispering directly in one ear and a cold breeze falling out of the other. Bakugou is too far to hear any warning calls you might shout to him. Without that incentive, shouting would only reveal your identity and give away your position. There’s a moment of silence and then a disturbance in the branches hanging low over the river.

“You’re not Aizawa.”

Above and unseen, the boys give up on their search.

“We’ll find your earrings, Katsuki, don’t worry. Tomorrow, when the sun comes up.”

“Where'd they fucking go?”

“Probably dropped them when you threw your clothes at Y/n like some unkempt woodland creature.” The prince stifles a laugh so that his friend doesn’t get encouraged, but Kirishima, never one to rely on cues, dives in. “If I may–”

“You may not,” Bakugou bites. He hikes his cape a bit higher to feign chill and turns back toward center camp, resigning himself to play dress-up once they reach the city. Kirishima trails him through the underbrush back to the clearing. It’s peaceful at camp among friends before you erupt onto the scene.

Shinsou shoos a firefly from Kaminari's sleeping cheek, and the outline of a bundled Master Aizawa rises and falls with deep breath beside the carriage. Next to Sero, Mina is tucked under a blanket on her bedroll, lulling herself to sleep watching the dance of the small fire. Wide empty eyes. Prince Bakugou has his cape wrapped tightly around broad shoulders while he hums and haws some complaint in Kirishima’s direction. He fingers his empty earlobes while he talks. 

When you burst through the branches of the willow tree, the group abandons all decorum at your, “Highness!”

The prince jerks around to face you with a hand on his sword and Shinsou is similarly armed in seconds behind him. The travelers jolt up with adrenaline and much farther away, in a dark part of camp, Aizawa has drawn his bow. His eyes train on the shadows through the trees.

“Wers and mers, Y/n! What in th–” Kirishima startles and accidentally bats the irons above the fire with the kettle he’s using to boil water. The metal thrum rings over the clearing and resets the silence as you back up against the prince. He’s still looking around over your head.

“There’s a man in the trees, Highness, he’s looking for Aizawa. Please return to the carr–”

“I’m in just the mood for a bandit.”

“Highness now is not–”

The whistle of something moving too fast sings through the trees and you reach across your body without the privilege of planning your actions. You press your back into the prince’s chest and draw his sword from his hip with only enough time to grace the clearing with a grunt and slice through the air in an arc in front of you.

An apple connects with the swing of the sword. It shatters from wherever in the distant dark woods it was thrown, and erupts wet across your face and thighs as it is cleaved down the middle. Making sure to keep the prince directly between your shoulders, the halves fly limply to either side of your bodies and the clearing is quiet again.

Your prince’s breath is hot so close to the back of your neck and Kirishima’s features grow sharper in the firelight. Mina has barely moved from her bedroll, “I don’t understand. Y/n what–”

It’s coming. “Kirishima!” You try to issues warnings just as the apple halves ignite in the dirt– as the prince jerks his arms in front of you.

A little ways below your dragontooth, Bakugou’s palm is pressed flat to your ribcage as sword and shield and just a hair’s breadth away from bullseye, his other fist has caught an arrow. An arrow that, in one blink, bursts into a flaming blue beacon.

“Aizawa!”

“Aizawa?”

The first voice is Shinsou’s and it’s full of worry. The second is the ghost’s and he’s smiling. You can hear it.

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[shinsouscatpisssmell]

Chapter 3

Chapter warnings:// none

Chapter summary:// the ball is here! and tension are on the rise as you bring tamaki as your date.

As the chilly air nipped at your nose, you took Tamaki's hands, grateful for his assistance as you disembarked from the carriage. The Todoroki mansion glowed with the warm light emanating from various areas, instantly triggering memories of a time when you were once a playmate in this very place. Running around with the future crown prince and the slightly older Tamaki, you recalled the bittersweet moments of your childhood. Tears were shed when Tamaki was taken away for princely training, until the gates closed following the disappearance of the first-born prince. Despite the twists and turns in your stomach, the happy memories associated with the mansion provided a comforting warmth as you made your entrance.

"Now entering the future crown princess and future duchess to the L/N estate, accompanied by the future count of the Amijiki estate," the announcer's voice sounds surprised, and the crowd, too, is taken aback as the person by your side is not your betrothed. Ignoring their reactions, you proceed down the long steps, feeling engulfed by the crowd, only realizing minutes into the conversation that Tamaki is nowhere to be found. Excusing yourself to go outside for some fresh air, you step into the cold night, letting the brisk air wash over your face, enjoying the tranquility until the music grows louder for a brief moment before the door clicks open.

"Lady Y/N, do you have a moment?" The voice of the man you've been ignoring all evening prompts an eye roll from you. "I suppose, but only for a moment, as I'm sure Sir Tamaki is wondering where I've gone." You turn around, leaning against the ledge. "Ah, yes, you were always close to Sir Amijiki. I remember you two always playing together." Izuku's voice coughs lightly, and you respond, "Yes, he is precious to me. That's why I came tonight with him." You can hear Izuku attempting to justify his actions, mentioning that he was only dancing with Lady Uraraka as friends. Frustrated, you retort, "How is it acceptable for you to come with a friend, but I cannot?" He counters, "It's unseemly for a lady to come with another man, Lady Y/N. Don't you understand the rumors that follow your newly acquired title and how it reflects on me?" Fed up, you retort, "Ah, yes, there it is, how it reflects on you. You have no concern for me; you only wish to preserve your image. Please, continue enjoying your evening with Lady Ochako. Good day, Prince." Dismissing him, you left the terrace, embarking on a night stroll, unaware of someone who had overheard the entirety of your exchange. On the walk you had discovered the mansion the ball was being held in by itself was tremendous. The ball alone was breathtaking, with glistening crystals and elegantly dressed individuals, resembling a scene from a fairy tale. However, if someone were to inquire about your whereabouts, you would confidently say you were in the garden. Filled with an array of flowers, it reminded you of the times you would pick them for your father during playdates at the Todoroki estate. But among all the blossoms, it was the blue roses that illuminated under the moonlight that captured your attention. As you walked through the garden, gently touching the dew-covered petals, you arrived at a bridge with a grand gazebo in the center. Standing near a pillar was a man with striking red and white hair - Shoto Todoroki, the reason for the celebration and your childhood playmate. Approaching him, you witnessed a longing gaze from his eyes, directed towards the other side of the gazebo where the glowing roses reflected on the ocean, and the moonlight accentuated his features.

"You don't have to hesitate, Y/N. Please, come stand by my side," he spoke aloud, acknowledging your presence. He turned towards you, extending his hand for you to take. His grip was gentle and tender as he led you to his side. Both of you embraced the tranquility of the moment, accompanied by the melodious chirping of crickets and the soothing sound of fish splashing in the distance. "You are a dear friend, despite the passing years since we last played together."

"How I've missed sharing this space with someone," you thought to yourself, silently agreeing that the past three weeks of adjusting to an unfamiliar place, with no one to confide in, had been exhausting. Recognizing that Shoto, known for his few words, had something on his mind, you remained quiet, allowing him the space to express himself. "You know, it can be suffocating at times, all of this," he began, holding one arm behind his back. You offered an agreeable hum, indicating your willingness to listen, as he continued, "Sometimes I feel as if I'm drowning whenever I try to find a way out. It's not always the same person holding me down. Sometimes it's my mother, and even Fuyumi, with their attempts to mold me into the perfect prince for the king's kingdom. Rarely Natsuo, but most of all, it's my father, and strangely enough... myself. I've lived solely as this machine, meant to fulfill my father's vision of the perfect prince, but its facade is slowly crumbling. Every day, I miss Touya more, not for him to replace me, but for the moments when he would sneak me out to the marketplace, granting me a taste of the freedom he possessed. I don't mean to overstep my boundaries, but may I ask why you had such a heated conversation with Prince Midoriya earlier?"

You turned your gaze towards him, and in that moment, both of you understood the shared struggle you were facing.

"You wonder why I show hostility towards Izuku," you sighed, guiding him towards the swing on the veranda. Feeling that he wouldn't judge you, you decided to reveal the truth. "You might think I'm crazy, Shoto, but... this isn't my first life." Although his face didn't portray his shock and confusion, you could sense a shift in his demeanor, as if he was trying to comprehend the weight of your words.

In the past, Izuku had crossed paths with Ochako. The exact circumstances are unknown to me, but she was quite the talk of high society, so naturally, I had heard of her. I even attempted to befriend her, but it seemed that her attention was solely fixed on Izuku. He, in turn, reciprocated those feelings. Soon, strange situations began to arise. It started with minor incidents, such as accusations of me tripping her or sending her the wrong invitations. At first, Midoriya believed it wasn't me," your voice cracks slightly, "but then it all escalated. Suddenly, it emerged that my father was involved in money fraud."

"That's impossible. Your father was always wise with his finances. He even played a part in our kingdom's prosperity," Shoto interjects.

"I know, but he's ill...someone, I don't know who, framed him. They stole from him, but that's just the beginning. Ochako would mysteriously find her jewelry in my pockets or my room. That's when Midoriya started to distance himself. That's when they began growing closer behind my back, falling for each other while he knew my heart still belonged to him," tears well up in your eyes, and Shoto pulls you into a comforting hug. "What pushed me into prison was sudden evidence that showed me supposedly leaking secrets to the barbarian king of the Almighty Kingdom. I told them I had never met him, that I had only heard rumors of his battles, but they didn't believe me. They painted me as this evil person, this vile villainess. I didn't even get to say goodbye to my father when they took my life away."

As you both sat there, Shoto's gentle touch wiped away your tears, his hands caressing your cheeks with tenderness. The intensity of your gazes locked once again, his mesmerizing heterochromatic eyes searching every depth of your soul. The air crackled with an electric energy as you inched closer, feeling the warmth of his breath against your skin, until your foreheads gently touched. In that moment, time seemed to stand still, the world narrowing down to just the two of you, lost in the depths of your emotions.

And then, as if guided by an invisible force, your lips met in a soft, passionate, and soul-stirring kiss. It was a brief yet profound connection, filled with the unspoken words and unyielding emotions that had been building between you. In that single touch, the weight of your shared burdens and past hardships melted away, leaving only the overwhelming sensation of love and comfort.

"Shoto... I-I think we should return to the ball," you whispered, your voice trembling with a mixture of vulnerability and longing.

He tenderly caressed your cheek, his touch sending shivers down your spine as he leaned in closer, his warm breath caressing your lips. "Yes,I believe we should. let us go back before they come searching for us."

Your foreheads still pressed together, neither of you were in a hurry to break the intimate connection. With a gentle squeeze of your hand, Shoto led you out of the enchanting garden, his touch creating a sense of security and reassurance. Before leaving, he paused, his eyes drawn to the beautiful blue roses that adorned the surroundings. With a delicate touch, he plucked one of those exquisite blooms, its vibrant color captivating against the night sky. With utmost care and affection, he placed the rose behind your ear, a symbol of his adoration for you.

"Lady (Y/n)," he spoke softly, his hand gently cradling one side of your face, "I firmly believe the opposite of what they have accused you of. You are not a villainess, but rather a thorny flower, both graceful and delicate, yet fiercely protective of yourself. You are willing to defend yourself against anyone who dares to harm you. If Prince Midoriya fails to see this, then I am grateful to have the privilege of witnessing your strength for myself."

A rare smile graced his lips, illuminating his face as his pearly white teeth flashed. It was a sight that made your own laughter bubble forth, an echo of joy in response to his genuine expression.

As you walked back together, there was no trace of awkwardness. It felt as if you were children again, returning from a playful adventure and eagerly anticipating snacks. However, the carefree atmosphere was abruptly shattered when a wet Ochako slapped your face upon entering the ballroom. The sound of others' conversations ceased, their attention drawn to the scene unfolding before them - Shoto holding you protectively, his touch gentle against your cheek.

"What reason do you have to strike her?" Shoto seethed through clenched teeth, his voice laced with anger. Ochako smirked, displaying the damp clothing she wore.

"She pushed me into the fountain outside. She claimed to be jealous of me dancing with Zuzu," Ochako retorted, her tone filled with spite.

In that moment, the ballroom was engulfed in a hushed silence, the tension palpable. Shoto's eyes narrowed, his protective instincts flaring. He released your hand, stepping forward to confront Ochako, his voice firm and unwavering.

The mention of the name "Zuzu" caused your gaze to shift towards the green-haired male who had been silently observing the scene. "Zuzu? Really?" Anger seethed within you, your words laced with frustration and betrayal. "I can't even hold hands with Tamaki, an old childhood friend, and yet you allow this harlot to give you a pet name? You let her slap me? Fuck you, Midoriya." The intensity of your emotions radiated off you, leaving others in the room gasping at your outburst. Izuku, however, remained silent, refusing to acknowledge your innocence.

"I couldn't have pushed her into that damn fountain because I was having a conversation with Shoto in the garden," you continued, determined to defend yourself.

Ochako visibly paled at this revelation, and Shoto nodded in confirmation. "She was with me for the majority of the evening. Accusing her is not only unsightly but also unfounded. Such baseless accusations make the accuser appear no better than filth on the streets," Shoto's icy stare pierced through Ochako, his disapproval evident.

"It had to be her! I clearly saw her dre--" Ochako's words were swiftly cut off as Shoto unsheathed his sword, positioning it at the side of her neck. "You dare defy a prince's word and go as far as to commit blasphemy by calling me a lowly liar?" his voice dripped with authority and menace.

"Prince Todoroki, lower your sword," Izuku demanded, pulling Ochako into his side. Your eyes rolled at his actions, but you swiftly intervened, guiding Shoto's hand away from the vulnerable girl. "When my name is being dragged through the mud, you remain silent. But when she puts herself in danger with her own words, you speak up?" you faced Izuku, staring directly into his green eyes, your disappointment evident.

Without hesitation, you delivered a resounding slap across Izuku's face, the force behind it surpassing anything Ochako had done. The impact also struck Ochako, a clear sign of your determination to end the facade of your engagement. "Take this as my declaration of ending this charade. I no longer want you near me, and I will personally inform King All Might of my decision."

As if on cue, Tamaki rushed into the room, his heaving form catching everyone's attention. " (Y/n), we must leave. Your--your father has worsened. Aizawa wants us home immediately," he gasped out between breaths.

You turned to Shoto, who gave you a curt nod, signaling his support. "I promise to write you, Shoto," you assured him, swiftly picking up your ballroom gown from the floor. With determination in your steps, you ran as fast as you could, the sound of your heels echoing into the night.

That night marked your first taste of victory, and you held onto the hope that more triumphs would soon follow.

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An//: KISSING ON THE FIRST TALK??? SHOTO YOU DAWG.

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