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its-f4nf4n-again · 2 years

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Beneath the Tea Leaves

Children are told from an age too young to recall not to wander into Yuuei Forest alone. There is magic in these woods, and not all of it is kind to visitors. There are tricksters in the trees, strange voices babbling in brooks.

A pretty woman sleeping in the moss, wreathed by pink flowers.

AO3 Link Here Word Count: 4832 Rated T for minor character death

Basil, obsidian, calendula, clove.

“For protection,” his mother said when she pressed the bottles into his pockets and his travelling pack, listing off the properties and intentions for each. One of them, he knows, contains her own tears. “So you’ll stay warm.” Another, her blood. “To keep you brave.” Most, though, include only herbs and crystals, whispered hopes.

Izuku thinks, at least, if breaks the wax seals on some of them, he will be able to season his dinner well with rosemary and sage and salt. Not a poor thought, considering it may be his last meal.

The leaves of Yuuei Forest seem too loud beneath Izuku Midoriya’s feet as he winds his way between the trees, following game trails in search of something he does not wholly know the shape of. The crisp edge of autumn lingers in the air, though the equinox is still several weeks away. He repeats the spells in his mind as he walks, to distract himself from his purpose.

It is easier to recite recipes than consider why he is here.

Raspberry, orange oil, sunflower seeds and petals.

When a twig snaps some distance away, Izuku turns so fast that he spills gracelessly to the forest floor, smearing simultaneously his backside and his left cheek with dirt in an acrobatic display he could never recreate. His nerve-endings snap and fizzle as his eyes dart in every direction, the bottles clinking together in his pockets and his pack. He never finds the source of the sound, and the charms he carries do nothing to quell his anxiety.

He knows each spell bottle is laced with his mother’s anxious desire for his safe return. It is a dangerous course he has undertaken; to go into Yuuei Forest alone is something children are warned not to do from an age too young to recall. Nursery rhymes and old fables all caution against tricksters hiding in the foliage, dangerous magic running along the veins of a butterfly’s wings and the delicate silk webbing of spiders.

Even now, ancient incantations carry themselves on the wind, trickle through streams. Izuku has heard them plenty of times in his life. Even though he is an adult, it is difficult not to think of those stories, now, as he scrambles to his feet, futilely brushing the mud from his travelling clothes. Impossible not to remember all the nights he woke in his bed listening to strange voices claw at his window.

Izuku’s hands appeared steady when he assured his mother he would be fine before his departure. He deftly took the remaining jars and tinctures from her because her own fingers wouldn’t stop trembling, and he wonders how he ever managed to be so convincing. “Don’t worry, I’ll be home soon,” he promised.

If it were a true spell, perhaps she could half-believe it. But it was only hope—intangible and lacking resolve. No teeth, no spine. No magic.

Izuku has never been a caster. He lacks the gift, and it is this deficiency, he presumes, which will likely lead to his demise in these woods. Even without any magic of his own—armed with only the spell bottles his mother has made him—he knows this is something he must do. For himself, for Inko, for his village.

For his missing father.

Tiger’s eye, bay leaf, rosemary, black salt.

Izuku mutters to himself as he continues walking, repeating the contents of every jar and each incantation she desperately shoved at him before his departure. For a short time, he thought maybe he was truly brave. But now his hands won’t stop shaking. He’s like a dry leaf, one swift breeze capable of snapping his stem from its tree branch anchor, sending him whirling to the ground to be stomped beneath the feet of wary travelers and wolves.

For how can Izuku remain brave when he knows not what lurks within the shadows creeping ever closer? How might he be certain he will return to his home when he knows nothing of the monsters lurking beneath the encroaching blanket of night?

He’s heard all those stories, of course, and drawn his own conclusions about why his village suffers. But he never thought he’d be trekking into the wilderness alone in a bid to discover what evil lurks here, killing livestock and ruining crops. Taking those from his village who have ventured too far into the forest’s depths, refusing to return them.

The sounds of their voices linger on the wind, still, teasing the ears of loved ones in the night, too distant to offer any answer, too agonized in their tone to provide solace.

Izuku does not open the spell bottles to season his dinner. But his pockets bulge uncomfortably and for a moment he considers spilling them onto the ground so he will make less noise as he walks. The thought of Inko’s face if he were to do that hollows his chest like a gourd emptied for the harvest, guts plucked out to make room for soup or lentils at the feast.

And besides, any creature he ought to be frightened of surely can track him with or without the clinking.

Instead, Izuku mere trudges on through the foliage, wide green eyes always open, shimmering against the dipping sun, desperate for any signal of what might be waiting for him once it disappears.

He sees nothing but the occasional flickering shadow, and that only serves to stoke his anxiety.

Chamomile, rice, honeysuckle, flushed salt.

Izuku recites every spell he knows the words to at least thrice, begins to lose track of how many bottles are in his pockets and has to recount them to be sure he hasn’t dropped one. By the time the sky is smeared with deep purples and hues of pink so dark they bleed, he is too far from home to turn back.

Of course, doing so was never truly an option. But it had been a calming balm to mutter to himself that he could if he needed to, even if he knew he wouldn’t. Now, though, as the sky shifts from peach to indigo, he knows if he tries to flee, he will only drown in the evening’s ink before he finds his way back.

Better to keep going. Keep reciting.

Without the sun to warm the bark of the trees, the forest turns to ice and Izuku’s breath plumes before him like his own ghost walking just ahead; a pre-meditated shadow.

He wonders if spirits look like vapor, or if they are more corporeal in form. He’s heard tales of both and never knows which to believe. The thought that he might come across his first apparition in these woods sends a shiver down his spine not wholly a result of the chilly evening air.

For if ghosts wander this swath of land, he knows one who must be among them, and he is woefully unprepared for the task of meeting his father silhouetted in the gloom.

The last warm evening he spent with both his parents seems so long ago, now—mulled cider and a bright fire before them in the hearth. His father chatting excitedly about his plans to forage the following morning with a small group of men from the village; to strike out and return with food unspoiled by the recent unexplained blight. Hisashi and his party slipped into the trees so early the next morning Izuku was still sleeping; a thing of little concern at the time until evening fell, and his father had not returned. Had never returned.

Hisashi’s voice still carries on the wind to his window, to his mother’s, calling softly for help.

Inko has made countless sleeping draughts and they try to ignore the whispers, knowing they are meant to entice them into the woods. Too many villagers were lost to the screams of Yuuei in the preceding months. Grieving women wandered in search of their children, their husbands. Newlyweds chased one another’s shadows. None of them returned.

The village elders whispered of an ancient evil returned, something without a name that had not been seen for many generations.

Eventually, even knowing the risks, the Midoriyas could not ignore Hisashi’s desperate voice. And though he has no desire to see his father as a specter, Izuku entered these woods in a hopeless bid to discover what happened to him. To put a stop to the disappearances and ensure healthy food for the village.

It sounds altruistic, maybe, but the impulse is mostly selfish. Izuku can no longer watch his mother drown in her own tears, cannot look her in the eyes until he can soothe her grief, offer closure.

That he refuses to allow his village to starve because some unknown vengeance lurks beyond its borders is mostly a coincidence. Everyone knows the stores that remain will not last through the impending autumn, never mind winter. Those who remain are too afraid to look beyond the tree line, knowing what has happened to the others who have gone searching for answers.

Somewhere in these woods must lie the answers the village requires. But so too does the spirit of Izuku’s father wander, leaving footprints in the frost as he tries in vain to find his way home. Izuku only hopes if he stumbles upon that apparition, the voices will stop clawing at his mother’s window.

Izuku shivers, but continues marching through the dark toward whatever fate awaits him.

Glad tears, a matchstick, marigold, garnet.

The sounds of Yuuei bathed in darkness echo around Izuku as he continues deeper into the forest, tripping over angry roots and splashing through a too-quiet creek until his toes are chilly and trembling in his leather shoes.

It laughs at him after, and he curses under his breath.

Izuku knows he could stop. There would be no shame in settling his back against a tree and covering himself with a blanket of leaves until morning. Certainly, he cannot see well enough to even know where he is going. If not for the brief glimpses of the moon seeping through the canopy, he would already have pitched over the edge of a cliff and broken his body upon the rocks below.

He wonders how many travelers in these woods have fallen prey to misdirection instead of monsters.

But something in Izuku’s gut whispers keep going. It sounds just enough like his father’s voice that he continues trudging through the underbrush with as much coordination as he can muster—which, assuredly, is not enough. Every beast in Yuuei Forest must already know his precise whereabouts and the skin at the back of his neck prickles with the realization.

No matter how silent his observers are, he knows he is not alone. Izuku can feel eyes watching him from the shadowy depths and his heart races like the wings of a hummingbird, frantic and fast. He wonders if whatever creatures watch him now can hear it beating, too.

Lavender, valerian root, howlite, moon water.

Izuku is still walking when the first sunlight filters its way between the trees, slanting through the branches and trunks to illuminate the pollen. The forest is ethereal in the early morning, speckled with golden light, awakening to a new dawn.

Flowers unfurl their petals slowly, shaking off dew. Birds wake, warming up their voices from their perches and nests to greet the day with clear, high voices.

The flourish of activity—the hopeful reminder it is not only darkness that lurks within the woods—bolsters Izuku. His spirit renewed, he climbs the branches of a twisted tree to survey his surroundings, decide which direction to walk in next. It is then, leaning off a branch halfway up a sturdy pine tree, that he sees her for the first time.

Lying on the forest floor, as if waiting for the earth to reclaim her body, wreathed in soft pink flowers, dark moss snaking over her arms and torso like she belongs to it. She sleeps, eyes closed and auburn hair fanned out around her like a halo of warm candle wax spilled over the leaves.

Izuku’s immediate inclination is to rush to her; climb down and try to rouse her, make sure she is okay. She looks so vulnerable, so exposed to the elements and Yuuei’s many beasts. He resists the urge, though, knowing there are plenty of tricks that might be played upon him by the magic creatures here. And she is most certainly magic—he can feel her power radiating, even from his perch so high above her. She is as powerful as she is beautiful.

And then she opens her eyes.

Izuku is unprepared for her gaze. The depth of it, the intensity, startles him. One horrifying moment later, Izuku realizes he is going to plummet to the ground in a tangle of uncoordinated limbs. He knows he will break something, knows his quest is over before it truly began.

His eyes squeeze closed because he has no desire to witness his failure.

His muscles tense.

He hopes perhaps his pack will break some of his fall; even if he will destroy the few meager supplies he’s brought with him—wooden bowls and a spoon, a hunting knife and a water skin. The oiled rain cloak will be undamaged, and that, at least, is something.

He braces for the impact of the forest floor, the splintering of ribs and snapping of tendons—

It never comes.

When Izuku peels open his eyes, he does not know what he expects to find. But certainly, it is not his body swathed in pink flowers, their silken petals cradling him as he drifts harmlessly to the ground. The woman stands, now, the tendrils of moss retracting from her limbs, returning to the ground. She still watches him with those piercing brown eyes, and he thinks Izuku might drown in them.

He wonders if that would be such a terrible death, drowning in caramel.

Star anise, damiana, mint, navy ribbon.

When his feet hit the soft earth, the pink flowers scatter and Izuku feels as if he’s plunged into warm water, the rush in his ears nearly deafens him. The world spins and then rights itself, and suddenly the sun is brighter than it has ever been, the birdsong louder than a tree being felled at his bedside. Izuku’s hands clasp over his ears and he squeezes his eyes closed against the sudden onslaught.

And then, clear as can be, he hears a voice that is not his own emanating from inside his own head.

“I’m sorry to touch you with my magic without warning,” it says, “but it wouldn’t do for you to fall.”

When Izuku opens his eyes again, he realizes he’s collapsed to his knees as he tried to block out the world. The woman, still smiling, kneels before him, palms resting against her thighs.

He tips onto his backside, legs splayed before him as he paddles away on his hands. His mind reels, stuttering through a thousand things he could say or ask, though his mouth remains sealed shut over chattering teeth. He can’t speak; can’t form the words. He tries, but he can’t even scream.

Her magic radiates from her and the raw strength of it frightens him. But the part of him that is afraid is drowned out by her voice, smooth and soothing. The renewed hummingbird wings in his chest slow to the steady, soothing rhythm of a hawk soaring on gentle air currents.

Instead of feeling as if there is a scavenger circling overhead—like he is being watched or stalked as he had all the previous night—Izuku feels like he is the one flying. And when he looks into her eyes—though they remain intense and fathomless—he thinks perhaps she could give him wings.

“Who… what are you?”

Izuku is not certain he says the words. For all he knows, they might only exist in his mind, but the smile that pulls at her cheeks seems to indicate she’s heard them.

“My name is Ochaco,” she says. Or thinks. Either way, it’s the prettiest name Izuku has ever heard.

She doesn’t answer the second part of his question, but he’s too lost in her presence to care.

Brown sugar, hibiscus, pink peppercorn.

Izuku’s second day in Yuuei Forest is much more pleasant than the first. Because Ochaco’s voice camouflages all the strange twig snapping noises and fills his stomach with bees.

He barely breathes a word, but suddenly the woods feel welcoming instead of imposing. Izuku swears the sun shines brighter with her beside him. The air is warmer, the wind no longer carries unintelligible whispers that set his teeth on edge, but songs that make his heart feel lighter in his chest.

They cross a brook, stepping along stones that seem to have been set precisely where they need them, and instead of sinister spells in the gurgling, he discerns nothing more than a happy babble. She brims with so much magic it seeps out of her and into the very ground at her feet. He wonders if it’s in the air as well, if she is why the breeze smells so sweet. Her voice drips with honey, her eyes glitter like spun sugar. When he looks back at the path they’ve carved together through the brush, he finds a trail of her pink flowers in her wake.

“What are you?”

He doesn’t mean to ask the question aloud, but the words snake between his teeth, unbidden. For a moment, Izuku recoils, thinking he may have overstepped. He knows she is powerful, and it’s entirely possible that power could just as well pull him apart as deliver him safely to the forest floor sheathed in flower petals.

His anxiety eases when she giggles. “I’m not going to hurt you,” she promises, “if that’s what you’re asking. We both have the same goal.”

“How do you know what m-my goals are?”

Ochaco clasps her hands behind her back and tilts her head back to bask in the sunshine as it slips between the leaves over their heads. He gasps as her feet lift of the ground, pink petals spilling from her heels as she levitates.

“There are few brave enough to enter the forest alone,” she says. “You must have a good reason for doing so, especially since you have no magic of your own.”

He winces at her apt observation. No matter how many times he hears someone refer to his inability to conjure, it never hurts any less. Izuku’s thoughts spiral like the flowers at Ochaco’s feet. How could someone as powerful as her enjoy walking by his side? The air feels warmer to him, but it must be entirely different from her perspective. His companionship is beneath her.

“You’re a hero.”

The words slice through the static in his brain like an arrow shot through the heart of a stag. Everything stops—Izuku’s entire body frozen as if by an incantation.

“Did you hear me?” Ochaco asks, her nose suddenly so close to his he can see the faint freckles speckled over it. “I said you’re a hero. To your village. And your mother.”

Izuku’s tongue ties itself in knots. He waves his hands and steps back, horrified by Ochaco’s proximity, by the kindness in her voice as she repeats her words.

He doesn’t know what to say, and when she just smiles at him and keeps walking, Izuku follows, eyes trained on the trail of flowers, dumbfounded by the pile of them left in a ring where she floated herself toward the high canopy above.

That night, Ochaco coaxes Izuku to light a fire, ensures him it will draw no ire from the creatures of Yuuei or expose their position any more than it already is.

“The forest knows everything that moves through it. If it saw you as a threat, it would not have let you tread so far.”

Izuku’s brows draw together. “You speak like it’s a living creature.”

“Isn’t it?” she asks.

He has no answer.

As Izuku eats berries and greens he foraged along the way, Ochaco makes tea with her magic blooms and serves it in the wooden bowls from Izuku’s pack. Izuku is unsure at first, sniffing the drink carefully before he takes his first sip. Ochaco only chuckles at his trepidation, but seems to take no offense. She merely drinks her own beverage and gazes at the fire.

When she finishes the drink, she looks into her bowl with a thoughtful expression on her face. Her apparent concentration is enhanced by the dancing flames, which deepen the shadows between her brows and beneath her eyes.

She swirls the bowl with her wrist and then flicks the remnants of her drink into the fire.

“What were you looking for?”

She smiles at him across the fire. “Reassurance.”

“Of what?”

“That we are on the right path.”

Izuku stares into his own bowl, but the wet petals are just petals, whatever secrets they might hold incomprehensible to someone without the gift.

“Can I see?” Ochaco asks.

He passes her the bowl carefully over the flames and watches patiently as she stares into the bottom of it, tilting it this way and that with the same thoughtful expression on her face as before.

When she smiles, Izuku leans forward a little too eagerly. “What does it say?”

Ochaco tosses the remnants into the fire. “Same as mine,” she says, “we’re exactly where we’re supposed to be.”

Izuku is uncertain of what that means, but he decides to trust her. What else can he do?

Amethyst, dandelion, cinnamon, resin.

Watching the moss snake its way over Ochaco when she stills is a strange thing. It’s happened all day, but never to the extent it does now. The longer she sits, the more of her is held in place by it. Izuku’s first instinct is to beat it back, cut the greenery away. But she assures him it is fine, that it is only the forest welcoming her home. She tells him maybe one day, it will welcome him fully, too.

He wonders how long she has been here, floating weightlessly and conjuring flowers. He wishes desperately to ask, but he does not know how.

“Izuku?” He glances at her over the dimming bonfire, but she does not meet her gaze, eyes fixed instead at something behind him. “Don’t scream, okay?”

He whips around and though he stays quiet, it is something he manages only barely.

Because there, in the darkness, is Hisashi Midoriya. He is not made of vapor, nor is he truly corporeal, but something between—milky white and flickering like a moon beam bent by the branches overhead.

“Dad?”

There is no answer at first and Izuku feels his throat begin to close, blinks away the pinprick of tears in his eyes. Then the breeze tickles the hair hanging over his ears and his father’s voice is there, just above a whisper. Izuku.

His face crumples in time with any lingering hope he might yet find Hisashi alive, and he apologizes. For what, he isn’t entirely sure. “I’m s-sorry,” he sobs, all the same. They are the only words he can find in his misery.

The voice on the wind is not as decipherable afterward, but the words themselves don’t matter. Their intention is clear in the way Izuku’s shoulders relax, the warmth that spreads through his chest as a result. His father is glad to see him, and any suffering he may have experienced appears to dissipate in the presence of his son.

The air whispers that Hisashi will be at peace, now, and Izuku hopes the voices will stop vying for Inko’s attention as she tries to sleep.

They spend a lot of time not speaking that evening, the leaves rustle in a restless wind. It whips Ochaco’s hair around her face and snuffs out their campfire. Izuku is dimly aware that other apparitions appear beside his father. He even recognizes some of them from his village.

But there is only one face he can bring himself to look at it, though it feels like he is being torn in half when he does so.

Mother’s blood, thistle, stinging nettle, eggshell.

Hisashi Midoriya dissipates with the first rays of the new sun and Izuku knows in his marrow it is the last time they will ever meet.

He sniffles as they walk that day, wiping at his nose and eyes with his sleeve. Ochaco says nothing for long hours.

“Where are we going?” Izuku asks as the sun reaches its midday arc.

“Where we are most needed,” is her answer.

“How do you know?”

When she smiles it’s like the whole world opening up anew; like the dawn might never stop breaking, even with the sun so high in the sky.

“You are not the only one who communed with ghosts last night.”

She leaves the explanation there and he is grateful not to know more details. Wherever they are going, Izuku senses it is where his father met his end, and he has no desire to know what horror might await them. Not until they are against it.

He flinches when her pinky touches his, but then he turns his palm and lets her lace their fingers together. The tendrils of her magic whisper against his skin and he feels powerful for the first time in his life. Like with Ochaco beside him, whatever evil they may yet face is vanquishable.

It is a sensation Izuku never wants to give up, and so he holds her hand tighter as they walk.

Iron powder, ink, oak moss, myrrh.

He does not know exactly when he realizes they are approaching their goal. Ochaco’s steps are always sure and measured, as if she is being pulled to precisely the place they are meant to be going. But eventually, Izuku realizes there are no birds or bees. The air is still and heavy and cold, like a blanket filled with steel pellets left out in the snow.

“We’re close, aren’t we?”

Ochaco nods and Izuku scans the trees as they turn dark and leafless. This part of Yuuei appears charred, like the whole forest once burned and has not yet begun the process of regrowing.

The trees look the same as the corn Izuku watched die in his neighbor’s yard—shiny and black like obsidian. The blight that plagues his village’s livestock and crops has the same origin as the evil that killed his father. Izuku knows it is the same dark magic, he can feel it—like static that starts in his belly and spreads in his blood all the way to his fingers and toes.

Ochaco squeezes his hand tighter. “Can I tell you a secret?” she asks, voice less assured than he has ever heard it.

“You can tell me anything,” Izuku says, and he means it.

“I know where we’re going, but I don’t know how this story ends.”

Izuku swallows thickly, nose wrinkling at the acrid smell of decay that irritates it. His feet sink heavily into the earth with each step, as if the ground wishes to hold him in place—hold him back. He marches forward, though. Slowly, with purpose.

Ochaco’s presence bolsters his confidence. Her magic is strong, he reminds himself. And even if he has no gift of his own, he will do whatever he can to help her. This is something he must do.

For himself, for his parents, for his village.

For Ochaco.

Izuku smells the beast before he sees it. It is sulfur and detritus, swamp mud caked on your boots and left to fester in the summer sun. He feels as if he has jumped into a lake and crawled out to sprawl upon an icy shore—chest tight and eyelashes crystalline, too heavy.

Ochaco releases his hand, and leaves Izuku’s palm cool and clammy. He flexes his fingers, breath billowing before him like his father’s ghost.

It is worse than Izuku could have imagined. A creature of many faces, always changing. Too transient for Izuku to hold its appearance in his mind long enough remember what it looked like only a moment before. Too inconstant to be cast upon, even if Izuku had the gift. There is no way to defeat a creature that isn’t even itself. It is everything all at once and even Ochaco, with all her power, appears uncertain of their chances.

She looks at him and he wonders how he ever felt like he would drown in those eyes because now all he sees is warm molasses, sweet and inviting.

“You can do it,” he says.

Cinnamon bark, wild carrot, dried rose, seashell.

Ochaco gives him an encouraging smile in return. “We can do it.”

A soft breeze cuts through the humid air to caress the back of his neck, and Izuku knows she would never lead him into a battle they could not win.

#bnha fanfiction #izuocha fanfiction #mha fanfiction #fantasy au #izuku midoriya #ochaco uraraka #f4nf4nwr1t3s

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glon-morski · 4 years

Photo

A map of Katsuki’s village from my and @tsukithewolf‘s fanfiction ‘Of Gods And Dreams’. I left out the marking of one detail because of spoilers. Apologies for the poor quality, but A3 paper is sadly too big to scan :,3 Legend and finished map (with the small spoiler-detail) under the cut.

The different ‘sectors’

The whole village is surrounded by a tall, wooden protective wall made of trunks of entire trees. (Think a bit like the walls around the roman encampments or the Gallic village in Astérix and Obélix.) This is meant to be mostly a protection from the creatures living in the wild so they don’t attack the settlement. There are plank-passages on the inner side of the wall where Yuueians can walk, though there aren’t always guards patrolling there except at the main gate, since it’s not like anything or anyone has really any reason to attack the village.

1) The main bonfire – located in the center of the village, this is the place where everyone gathers for special occasions, like the yearly Magic Manifestation Ceremony or the Coming of Age. The bonfire itself is rather massive, the fire (when lit) able to reach higher than the huts are tall. When not lit, children sometimes try to climb it as part of a game or training (sometimes both), despite the adults repeatedly telling them off for it. Katsuki himself was notorious for climbing it all the time and was one of the few children stubborn enough to actually reach its top. As it is seldom lit, it is common for the wood used to make it up to last for an entire season cycle before a new bonfire needs to be built, which is usually done in late autumn or early winter.

2) Main living space - The part of the village where the Yuueians built their huts to live in. Clustered relatively close together, the huts aren’t separated from each other by any fences or anything. As this is the main part where people live and walk, the dirt has been walked barren, though there’s no actual delimited roads to speak of. This part of the village stretches from the North-West to the North-North-East, so that the huts are under the protection of the Twin Moons, which hang highest in the sky and shine the most brightly when they reach the Northern-most point of their nightly journey across the night sky. The Bakugou home is in the North-West area of this part of the village (B – though it marks the general area where it is, not the hut itself.)

3) Even further North are the huts of the Elders, the Village Leader and the Head Healer. These are slightly larger and, although not delimited any more than the regular huts, tend to have small gardens. There’s a lot more space between them as well. The Village Leader’s hut (L) is the one closest to the main living area (2.) and is one of the huts with the closest well. The Head Healer’s hut is in the Nothern-most part of this ‘sector’ (H) and doubles as the village’s main clinic.

4) Directly connected to the Head Healer’s hut and only accessible by passing through it (unless one jumps the fence), this is the Healers’ Garden, where medicinal herbs that are difficult to procure in the wild (either because they are rare or because they only grow at specific times of the season cycle) are grown. While the Head Healer has the main authority and responsibility over the garden, every Healer of the village helps tend to it as part of both their training and their duties.

5) Relatively close to the main gate, this is where the trading wagon is usually stored and/or prepared before a trading trip to Moardret. When it’s not the case, this is the area where some people can set up an equivalent to a small market, although the Yuueians rarely actually trade like this among themselves. It is far more common to just visit someone in their hut and exchange goods there.

6) The main gate, located in the East. There’s a rather vast open area right past it, with a meeting square and grassy fields. A lone road leads to the main bonfire, while another smaller one leads to the trading wagon. This is where the Yuueians converge when a Magicless is exiled.

7) Bathing area - An area where a Nature has been left free reign, allowing for a small, but compact forest to be part of the village. The trees are used as cover, for in the center of the shrubbery are two bodies of water: a lake and a large hot spring. This is where the Yuueians bathe. As they don’t bother separating the lake into two (because it would demand even more wood and they don’t want to harm Mother Nature more than strictly necessary for their survival), they separate genders for bathing by time. Children up to age ten bathe first, boys and girls together, then the men of all remaining ages and the women are last. This is so the women can take care of the children right after they bathe – particularly in case of the older ones where patching up some scrapes and bruises after training might be necessary – before bathing themselves.

8) The training ground, separated from the rest of the village by a wooden wall to avoid potentially catching someone in the cross-fire of an accident, particularly if it’s a magic one. There aren’t any physical delimitations of the different training grounds inside, but everyone is supposed to adhere to them anyway. Basic physical training and Magic training for young children who have not yet passed a Trial is the closes to the gate (marked with trees for the physical and small stars for Magic). The Hunters’ training ground (marked by a footprint and a trap) is the most stretched out because it’s made up of various parkour trails meant to challenge their stealth and agility, and also their ability to use and make various traps. One end of this training ground is thus closest to the corner where (training) weapons and traps are made and stored (marked with hammer, dagger, bow and arrow). The Warrior training ground (marked two crossed swords) is smack in the middle of all of them, being large and circular to allow for the most space to train combat.

9) The farming fields where crops etc. are grown. As with hunting for food, every Yuueian is expected to help out with caring for the fields if necessary, although there are those who are more farmers than others due to personal preferences and/or abilities. The entire community divides the work that needs to be done equally so that everyone pitches in everywhere as needed. (For instance, being a child of two Hunters and a Warrior himself, Katsuki has an affinity for hunting and extremely good skills with working the skins and meat of the provided game, so he mostly does that. However, if there are lacking hands in the fields, he’ll go help with farming as well.)

10) The storage part of the village, situated on the far West, on the opposite side to the main gate. This is mostly due to historical reasons, in order to protect their food reserves and other resources in case of someone attacking the village and breaching the main gate, although it has been centuries since a battle/war like that actually happened, as Lycans don’t bother with the Yuueians as much and other potentially hostile tribes are on the other side of the Draconic Mountain Range.

There are also several wells scattered throughout the village to account for the various places where one can be needed. Notably, one is located exactly between the training grounds and the farming fields, in a built-in shack that’s part of the wall surrounding the training grounds.

Map containing a spoilery detail:

Spoiler-Legend:

S - The Sanctuary, a hut still within the boundaries of the village, but not built by the Yuueians. It has been erected by the Spring and Fall Spirits and, as the name implies, is a safe haven for those in need. Due to the spirits’ arcane magic, it is always perfectly habitable no matter what state it might seemingly be in on the outside. Similarly, as a safe place, it can only be found and entered by people in need of such a safe haven. When occupied, no one meaning the person looking for shelter within may see or come close to the Sanctuary and will automatically give the space around it a wide berth without ever truly realizing as much. This is the reason the space around the Sanctuary is empty and unused within the village, as most people avoid the space around it because they are not in need of it. (And potentially, because there’s someone seeking shelter inside from time to time, as the spirits have made a secret, underground entry to it once the village was errected.) This is the hut that becomes Katsuki’s home once he moves out of his parents’ house for good due to what happens between them.

#BnHA #Glon's writing #Glon's Art #collab with tsukithewolf #Of Gods and Dreams #Myordice #Yuuei Tribe #Yuuei village

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sipsteainanxiety · 2 years

Text

holding out (just for you) [1] || katsuki b.

pairing: dragon!bakugo katsuki x reader

word count: 13.8k+

mentions: female reader, fantasy au, descriptions of injuries + blood (bakugo's), not edited!!, aged up chars (24+), sfw, second pov, denki calls you 'pretty lady', part of the bnha big bang collab!

with art done by the amazing @your-fellow-passerine !!! here is a link to the original post (give it some love!!!!) <3333

masterlist

You were going to fucking kill Denki.

You’d been running low on your stash of Zenith flowers for a while. They were immensely useful for making salves, adding in that extra drop of healing magic to boost the recovery rate of any type of wound. Normally, you would just buy a batch at the village market, but they unfortunately didn’t have a single petal. The shopkeeper had shrugged at you and told you he hadn’t seen any on the usual plateau he went to for harvesting. Zenith flowers required very specific conditions to grow and thrive in, so you weren’t too disappointed about it, but you still needed some. You liked being prepared for any scenario, so to have very little salve or flowers left over in your pantry back at your little cottage made you feel extremely antsy—especially since you were the only healer for miles. Quite a lot of people tended to go to you whenever they were sick or hurt.

You made the mistake of complaining about it to Denki, one of the owners of the small pub nestled in the heart of the village of Yuuei.

“Y’know, there should be Zenith flowers up on Kamino,” he told you smartly once you’d finished speaking, his hands moving as he prepped your order for you. “I saw some growing up there when I went hiking with Hanta the other week.”

“Really?” You perked up, turning your head to look at the mountain looming just beyond the edge of Yuuei through one of the pub’s dainty windows. Mount Kamino was one of the main sources of herbs and food the village used since it was so closeby. You tended to venture along its hiking trails once in a while, in search of particular plants to use for ointments and creams.

“Yeah!” He set down a wrapped pastry in front of you, then gave you a smile. “They’re pretty high up though, so I’d be careful if I were you.”

You waved him off and rummaged around in your pockets for a few gold coins to slap onto the wooden bar between the two of you. “Pfft, I’ll be fine. These arms aren’t just for show, you know.” You winked at him as you flexed, your biceps moving with the motion.

Denki laughed, then shot you a sly smile as he leaned closer to you across the bar. You could practically see the mischievous sparkle in his golden eyes. “We could make it a date, y’know? Go hiking together? Come on, pretty lady, it’ll be fun~” He winked and reached out a hand to tuck a stray strand of hair out of your face.

Rolling your eyes, you pushed his face away with your hand and ignored the way he snickered into your palm. He never relented with his incessant flirting, even after all the years you’ve been friends with him. “No thank you. I’m good. Thanks for the food, I’ve gotta go.”

“You should still consider it!” he called out cheekily after you as you left the pub, getting only a distant laugh and a flap of your hand in response.

The journey back to your little cottage was a bit of a long one. Since you were currently at the center of Yuuei, you had to walk all the way to its northern edge, past bustling families and open booths of food. The paved paths weren’t difficult to navigate, though you constantly had to duck to the side to avoid the people wandering about or to prevent any laughing children from running into you. It was nice to be able to mingle with people like this—hear the gentle murmur of conversation around you and see the bright smiles aimed your way. You weren’t necessarily popular, per se, but well—you waved to what seemed like the seventh person who called out your name cheerfully in greeting—you certainly made a name for yourself here.

It wasn’t long before you were gently picking your way through a slim path in the forest just offset from Yuuei’s perimeter. Canopies of trees rustled overhead, an occasional chirp of the regional teal-feathered birds delicately fluttering by your ears. The sunlight from above was just able to poke its way to the dirt-covered ground, casting everything in a warm, golden light. This part of your journey home was always the nicest, in your opinion. The sounds of bumbling nature were a sharp contrast from those of the village; you found constant peace in it.

A few turns this way and that along the path and you were eventually able to see your quaint cottage nestled comfortably among the green of the shrubs and trees that surrounded it. Before it was a small garden you poured your heart and soul into cultivating. It was organized in a way only you were privy to, a section dedicated to various herbs and magical plants while another was dedicated to consumables like lettuce and berries. You were very proud of it and you couldn’t help but sweep an eye around it to make sure everything was growing well.

The dirt below your feet soon transitioned to a stoned path that led up to your quaint front door. You made sure to take your shoes off outside before stepping in and placing them on the little shoe rack you’d made so long ago. Your home was a bit small yet cozy, with low hanging ceilings made of oak. You had more potted plants scattered about, close to the windows where they could absorb as much sunlight as they could. There were various spices and dried plants hung up on the walls, allowing a fresh, earthy smell to permeate the air. Soft chairs and cushions were arranged neatly around the bricked fireplace to the right, a wooden table laden with small bottles of liquids and creams just off to the left of them. Further beyond that were the crowded cabinets that made up your kitchen, a small hall next to them that led to a tiny bathroom and bedroom. It wasn’t much, but it was yours.

You bustled around, stepping over some books you’d left piled on the floor as you prepared a bag for your trip to Mount Kamino. It was still quite early, so you were sure to be back long before it got dark if you left now—it would only take a few hours or so to walk up, not including the hours you’d no doubtedly spend just looking at all the flora. You stuffed a canteen of water in your bag along with the pastry you got from Denki. A ball of string and a small book with its accompanying ink bottle and quill joined them. After glancing around once more, you donned a thicker pair of leather boots made for hiking along with a light jacket and exited your home.

Your cottage was not too far off from the base of the mountain. You took your time to trek through the winding paths that started to steadily slope uphill, your eyes peeled for any plants you wanted to grab. The canopies overhead were getting increasingly ladened with green leaves the further you walked, blocking out more of that glimmering sunlight. You busied yourself on occasion with stopping to observe certain plants and jotting down details in your little book. You liked to keep track of the different flora around you—your notebook was full of scribbles of various observations and drawings of a multitude of plants.

“Luna flowers,” you murmured at one point to yourself, crouched down near the flat stump of a tree that had small, purple flowers growing in abundance around it. They were good for treating nasty infections. You picked a handful and wrapped their slim stems with a piece of the string you’d brought. Stocking up wouldn’t be a terrible idea—you might as well since you were up on the mountain anyways. Setting the bundle into your bag carefully, you stood up and continued on your way, keeping an eye out for any other flowers you could gather.

You forgot just how dense the paths were on Mount Kamino. You had to be careful of your steps, your gaze steadily trained on the ground beneath you to avoid any tree roots or unstable pieces of rock. You ended up stopping quite a few times to record new plants you’d never seen before on the mountain trails. It wasn’t unusual for the bubbling river along the mountain to carry seeds from other places that eventually latched onto the soil and grew, or for the wind along the leeward side to blow spores down to the dirty ground. In any case, it gave you access to a plethora of material to use for healing. It was your own little treasure trove, in a way.

It always took you a while to jot down small details and sketch realistic drawings of the plants you found. Eventually, you found yourself hoisting a thick bag full of way more plants than what you came for onto your shoulder. You still made sure you had room for Zenith flowers, though. For now, you decided that would be your ultimate goal, so you focused your energy into scaling the side of the mountain. Your thighs were starting to burn from all the climbing as you scrambled over large pieces of rock and shuffled your way up steep inclines. The trees around you thinned out before disappearing, all the dirt being replaced by grey rock covered with slippery moss.

Your eyes darted up to the sky for a moment, finally able to see it clearly instead of all the low-hanging branches heavy with green leaves that made up the forest. There were clouds starting to gather overhead, light grey in color, but still scattered about over the far side of the mountain. It wasn’t anything to be worried about just yet, but you still found yourself picking up the pace. Getting caught out in a storm was not ideal when you were this high up.

Your eyes were peeled for the familiar cerulean of the Zenith flowers, wondering just how far up you would have to go to see them. But finally, finally, you caught a glimpse of them sitting at the edge of a piece of rock that stuck out against the mountain like an odd, upside-down nose. Looked like Denki had been telling the truth—not that you’d doubted him. Flora wasn’t his expertise, was all you were saying. You huffed as you eyed the flowers, already knowing you would have to climb up against the rock carefully if you wanted to make it up there in one piece.

So off you went, slowly picking your way up to the little cliff. Sweat was beading up on your skin, hands getting slippery as you searched for small ledges and holes in the stone wall before you so you could shimmy your way up. It was taxing work, the bag on your back seemingly getting heavier and heavier the longer you wore it. But it would be worth it, you kept telling yourself, once you had a restocked supply of Zenith flowers. They were just too useful and important to pass up.

After what seemed like ages, you managed to hoist yourself over the edge of the little cliff, panting from all the exertion. You crawled forward and sat down on your ass so you could rummage in your bag for your canteen of water. You drained half of it in one large gulp and brought your hand up to wipe your mouth right after. Before you was the wide expanse of the forest, an ocean of green swaying to and fro in the breeze. You were pretty high up, and if you squinted slightly you could see the distant buildings of Yuuei. The wind was starting to pick up and you shivered before wrapping your jacket more snugly around yourself. It was a nice view, even if it was a bit chilly up here.

This was worth it, you told yourself again, sliding your canteen back into your bag. Now all you had to do was gather a bunch of flowers and you could head back down to the warmth of your home.

Standing up, you brushed off your pants before walking over to a patch of blue. You crouched down, intending to pick them quickly, when something caught your eye. Zenith flowers characteristically had heart-shaped leaves with soft edges. But these ones in the ground had jagged, oval-shaped leaves littered with small thorns. Your eyes narrowed.

They weren’t Zenith flowers—they were Nadir flowers, its poisonous opposite.

“Denki, you fucking idiot.” You sighed, hoisting yourself up to glare down at the plants swaying innocently in the wind. Of course he wouldn’t know the difference. The dumbass probably saw the familiar cerulean and assumed they were Zenith. You rolled your eyes and leaned down to carefully pick one of the Nadir flowers and stow it in a pocket within the deepest depths of your bag, away from the other plants you had in there. You’d have to give Denki a lesson on flora—he clearly needed it.

Before you could even begin to stew in disappointment and a low-simmering irritation, a bright flash of light lit up the sky. You paused, eyes widening, as you looked up to see dark, swirling clouds peeking over the tip of the mountain. They were being blown in your direction, finally revealing themselves with a gust of frigid air. One second passed. Then another.

BOOOOOOOOOOM!

The thunder that erupted following the flash of lightning was so loud your eardrums nearly popped. You had hardly a moment’s time to react before what seemed like a waterfall of rain descended upon you, soaking you in an instant.

“Shit,” you cursed, throwing your hands up over your face as the incoming wind battered you with the force of a thousand basilisks. You hadn’t seen the gathering stormclouds from your position on the mountain; you were too close to its face to see that they’d been cleverly hiding on the opposite side, slowly creeping in your direction. Another flash of lightning cracked through the sky and you realized it was getting absurdly dark. It wouldn’t be long before you’d be blind and at the complete mercy of the mountain. You needed to find shelter, and you needed to find it fast.

So you moved, desperately looking around for a cave of sorts that you could duck into. Maybe even some rocks that could at least partially shield you from the wind. Your boots were starting to slip against the wet rock below you—it would definitely be too dangerous to try to climb down the mountain in this type of weather. You’d likely slip and bust your head right open.

Thunder rocked through the air once more, the wind howling ferociously around you as you scrambled along giant fragments of stone. Your eyes were peeled for any obvious openings in the mountain and it was by pure chance that a quick flash of lightning illuminated the gaping maw of a cave somewhere up higher on the path you were on. You cursed at how far up it was, but pressed on anyway, taking your time to pick your way towards it.

With only a few instances where you almost slipped and tumbled down the watery slope you were on, you finally managed to reach the cave. Puffing from the exertion, you retreated a few feet into it, just so you could get out of the torrential rain and raging wind. You whirled around, shivering, as you looked out at the darkness that had settled over the mountain and surrounding forest. You could hardly see a thing apart from the waves of water that poured down, the wind thunderously raging just beyond your temporary little safe haven.

Which brought you to your current predicament—using Denki as a scapegoat as you cursed him to hell and back for trapping you in a cave for god-knows-how-long.

“Great.” You frowned, plopping your bag onto the cave’s floor. The material was mostly water resistant, thank god, but it still made an odd squelching noise when you pressed your foot against it to see how much water had been repelled and how much absorbed. You shrugged out of your jacket, figuring it wouldn’t be a good idea to be wearing the soaked material. Rubbing your hands along your arms as though that could warm you up a bit, you turned to face the abyss-like darkness of the cave. Maybe there were some dry materials in here you could use to start a fire. It was a long shot, but it wouldn’t hurt to look.

Something glowing in the near distance caught your eye.

It was faint, almost nonexistent, in the deep void that made up the cave. It glimmered in a way that reminded you of shiny metal reflecting dim light. You squinted at it, edging a bit closer so you could make out just what you were seeing.

The glow was gold in color, and as you crept steadily closer, you saw it spanned across quite a bit of the width of the cave. You blinked, trying to force your eyes to adjust to the low lighting. Your eyes moved from one side of the cave to the other until they landed on two glowing, crimson dots. You tilted your head, trying to decipher what those dots could be, when they suddenly slitted vertically. Your eyes widened, watching as the slits rose up and up and up, over your head. It was then that you realized a low growling had erupted around you, dangerously echoing through the cave.

A flash of lightning briefly lit up your surroundings. You swallowed thickly, hands clenching down on your upper arms where they were crossed over your chest.

You were staring at a fucking dragon.

Dragons were not unheard of in this day and age, though they were rare to see. They tended to keep to themselves, living in the mountainous regions to the north. You’d seen them flying overhead the village a total of two times in the course of your life, mere pinpricks in the vast sky. For the most part, they’d disappeared from the masses, staying out of sight and out of mind for many, many years. You often wondered how it was possible for them to stay hidden from the human population for so long, being such large and attention-demanding creatures.

That being said, the dragon before you was stupidly huge, glimmering gold scales covering it from head to tail. You couldn’t be any taller than its shoulder, honestly, just barely able to make out the golden spikes that popped up along its spine from your position. Though, what really stood out to you were the black and orange markings that fluidly spanned its body. Intricate designs started at the crown of its head and traced down its long, golden neck, before ending at the tip of its tail. They were strangely enticing to look at, especially since you’d never seen them before in your life. If you could stare at them some more, you were sure they’d whisper a story to you, but that was neither here nor there.

The dragon’s glowing eyes were still sharply focused on you, the deep growling from its chest making the hairs on your arms stand up. You could see its jaw open, sharp teeth bared at you in a warning as it raised itself higher above you. You were sure if there was enough room, it would have opened its wingspan to appear even larger. It activated your fight or flight response, seeing it act so hostile. You raised your hands up in the universal sign for surrender, slowly backing away until its growling eased down only a tad.

And it was then that you realized it was injured.

You knew that many people envied dragons for their strength, not only physically, but magically as well. They were intelligent creatures, and it was not unusual for particularly thick-headed people to go hunting for them in the hopes of stealing some of their power. With this in mind, you found your gaze trailing to the horrendous wounds scattered around its body. There was a deep, nasty-looking gash on its side stretching from its right shoulder all the way down to its mid-back. Another similar-looking cut was dangerously close to its right eye, gleaming with the fresh ruby red of blood. The way it gingerly tucked its wings close to its body let you know that it was probably injured there too, though you couldn’t really see all too well in the dark. And those were just the wounds you could barely make out on this side.

A bad fight with a hunter? you mused as you stepped back further. Or with something much, much worse?

You didn’t even want to entertain the idea of there being creatures powerful enough to vy against a motherfucking dragon.

The way said dragon was still sharply watching you, hissing lowly all the while, was starting to make you feel nervous. You didn’t really have many options here: stay in the cave and perish on the whim of a magical beast, or brave the storm outside and possibly tumble off the mountain to your death? Neither seemed very appealing to you.

Though, you glanced momentarily back at the dragon’s vicious-looking wounds, you couldn’t just leave it in this condition, could you? You were a healer—you healed things. And those things didn’t stop at people.

You didn’t think the dragon would just let you tend to its wounds, however. Not when it was still watching you with those blazing, slitted eyes, its body poised in a way that told you it was ready to strike at any moment’s notice. Any wrong move and you’d be a mere smear of ash in a small cave. You would need to tread cautiously. Smartly. It wouldn’t do you any good to underestimate the beast’s knowledge and power.

Come on, think! you thought to yourself as you took another small step back to increase the distance between you and the dragon. You had a book of magical creatures sitting in a small, dusty corner of your cottage. You remembered reading it—tracing the small section on dragons that was inscribed within its pages with your fingers. Not much was known about them, but surely there was something that could help you at this moment?

Let’s see, let’s see… If you were remembering correctly, dragons were very noble creatures—easily offended. They demanded respect and recognition of their strength. You eyed the snarling dragon in front of you. What could you do to show it that you meant no harm? That you knew it was powerful and that you were at its mercy and not the other way around?

Biting at your lower lip, you decided on what you would do.

Maintaining eye contact, you sank into a deep bow, keeping your hands raised near your ears. You knew this would make you appear immensely vulnerable to the dragon, your guard lowered as your bare neck was exposed to it. After a few seconds of watching the dragon, you averted your gaze to stare down at the ground instead. Then, you held your position. And waited.

And waited…

...and waited…

Until finally, the dragon chuffed, hot air heavily expelling from its nose like a volcano expelling ash. You almost shivered, feeling the air rush over your neck and back like a running river. You were reminded of how soaked you were, your hair sticking to your head in a coldly uncomfortable way. The growling by now had abated, a tense sort of silence filling the cave as you stared down at the ground and thanked whatever deity above that bowing had worked.

You waited a little bit more, then slowly straightened up, your hands lowering so you could cross them over your chest. From this position, you could see the silent stare of the dragon, its bright, crimson gaze seemingly burning right into you. It was still tense, you noticed, still poised as though ready to fight. A steady drip… drip… drip… echoed faintly around the cave. You could just barely see its rich, burgundy blood dripping onto the wet floor beneath it. You needed to do something.

“You’re hurt,” you spoke, then immediately flinched when the acoustics of the cave made your voice seem much louder than you’d intended. You got sharp teeth bared at you in response, a displeased growl coming from the dragon. You lowered your voice and tried again, purposely ensuring you sounded much gentler and quieter. “You’re hurt. I’m a healer—I can help you.”

A drawn out hiss was all you got as an indication of the dragon’s thoughts. It tensed further, wings fanning out slightly as its eyes slanted at you. You could’ve sworn you saw the spikes along its back bristle, making it seem much more dangerous than before. This really wasn’t going well, you thought, trying to figure out what else you could do.

“Those wounds don’t look too good,” you found yourself saying, your eyes momentarily diverting to the slash near its eye. “I’m sure dragons like yourself aren’t immune to infection. I can help, if you’ll let me.” With just a tiny bit of hesitation, you took the smallest step forward, hands moving back up in a placating manner. If you could properly see just how bad its wounds were—how life-threatening—it could help you decide on what actions to take and how urgently you would need to work. You did your best to relax your tense muscles, trying to seem aloof and calm in front of the dragon in case it thought you were going to attack. Its eyes snapped down to the small motion you made, and you immediately regretted stepping closer when the dragon snapped its jaw at you sharply. You could almost feel the faint brush of air its snapping jaw made as it hovered over you, its hissing escalating back to a growl.

You took a much larger step back. “Okay okay… I’ll leave you alone.” It was clear that the dragon really didn’t want you doing anything—and you didn’t want to take any chances here either. You slowly walked backwards, keeping an eye on the dragon as you aimed for where you’d dropped your bag. The sounds of the rain got louder the closer you got to the cave’s entrance until it was all you could hear. You stopped once your foot came into contact with the wet material and watched as the dragon unwaveringly kept its focus on you. From your position, nearly at the mouth of the cave, you couldn’t really see much of the dragon’s form. Just the faintest gleam of gold and two pinpricks of crimson that let you know it was still watching you.

Well... at least it wasn’t going to attack you for now...

A shiver ran down your spine—from the dragon or the frigid air, you didn’t know.

You chanced a glance back outside, looking at the way the rain harshly pounded at the side of the mountain, thunder rumbling loudly overhead in a way that reminded you of the deep growls of the creature before you. There was no way you were going back out there—you couldn’t take that risk.

Looked like you were going to be camping here for a while.

Huffing slightly through your nose, you crouched down near your bag and opened it up, making sure to keep your front facing the dragon’s direction in case it decided it wanted to eat you after all. You shuffled around inside your bag’s pockets, pulling out various flowers and other flora you’d picked up on your way to the higher points of the mountain. It was really fucking lucky for the dragon that you’d accidentally come packed with so much material to take care of its wounds. Even if it didn’t realize that yet.

You tugged out a bunch of Luna flowers, the purple petals a bit crumpled, but intact nonetheless. Your eyes flickered up in the direction of the dragon, latching onto those two glowing red dots that made up its eyes. Still watching you. You suppressed another shiver.

After laying out all your collected plants in a neat line before you, you picked up the bunches that were good for dealing with infected wounds and incessant bleeding, unraveling the bits of string you’d tied them with to drop in your bag. You didn’t really have anything to wipe up all the blood with though, but—you eyed your wet jacket on the floor—if you really needed to, you wouldn’t mind sacrificing your jacket. You had others anyways.

With your arms full of flowers of purple, pale pink, and cream, along with the occasional batch of these thin, green stalks, you slowly headed back towards the dragon. There was something eerie about walking towards something you knew was… not pleased with your presence. Something eerie about knowing it was there, even if you couldn’t see it all too well. Wasn’t this how people died?

Maybe you were being a fool, maybe you were out of your goddamn mind for daring to approach a fucking dragon. But well, it wouldn’t hurt to try to get on good terms with it. Especially knowing you weren’t sure how long you’d be stuck in the cave for.

You eventually came to a stop near the dragon. Not too far, not too close. Just enough that you could see it and still be out of reach of its long neck and head. It bared its teeth at you, though it didn't start growling as of yet. You counted that as a good thing.

Kneeling down, you spread out your bundle of plants before it, arranging them in a neat, little line. After a quick glance at the dragon, you gestured your hands over your haul. “These are plants that can help with your wounds”—you pointed to the Lunas—“These are for protection.” Your finger moved over to point at the pale pink ones—Hiraeth flowers. “These help with easing pain.” Next were the cream-colored Eunoia flowers. “For slowing down bleeding.” Finally, the thin Zephyr stalks. “And for infection.”

You then stood up and backed away, putting enough space between you and the plants on the ground. You didn’t want to seem too overbearing. Laying out your hand was the first step of many that you hoped were to come.

The dragon watched you for a moment, the way you clasped your hands in front of you as you waited a respectful distance away. You held your breath as it lowered its head down to the line of flowers, gently huffing as it inspected them with slitted eyes. You didn’t know what it was looking for, but it spent a bit just nosing at the flowers, before it let out a big chuff of air, sending your poor plants awry as they were scattered all over the floor in your direction. Now that was just fucking rude.

You sighed, rubbing the bridge of your nose with two cold fingers. “Okay, I get it, you don’t want my help.” You walked to the nearest flower and bent down to pick it up, spinning the thin stem idly in your hand. Brandishing the flower in the dragon’s direction, you continued, “But if you don’t get those injuries treated soon, you could risk aggravating them further and prolonging your healing process.” You made eye contact with the dragon for a brief moment, before you looked away to start picking up some more of the other plants scattered about. “Or, y’know. You could die. Up to you.”

You busied yourself with grabbing the remaining flowers while you waited for some sign of sorts from the dragon. It wasn’t until you straightened up, arms full of plants, that you finally got an approval. Or, well, as close to an approval as you were going to get.

The dragon made direct eye contact with you, sharp teeth bared as it let out a little growl. Then it huffed, a stream of smoke exiting its nostrils, before it shifted slightly to expose the large wound along its side to you. Right. Well, you’d take what you could get, at this point.

“Great! Glad you came to your senses,” you said cheerfully as you walked a bit closer to the dragon and set all the plants down on the floor. “You’ll need to come closer to the entrance. I can’t see all too well back there.” While the dragon growled again and shifted, you turned to jog over to your bag once more. You rummaged around in it for your canteen of water, then stood up to look about the cave for some flat stones. It took a bit of time to find, but you managed to settle on two decent ones that looked like they could get the job done.

“Good enough,” you mumbled as you jogged over to the cave’s mouth to run the stones under a steady stream of rainwater that dripped from the edge of the ceiling. After that, you jogged back to your jacket to pick up, and made your way over to the dragon.

Luckily for you, it had heeded what you’d said and shifted closer to the entrance. You still couldn’t see all too well, but it was better than before, at least. The occasional flash of lightning helped as well.

You dropped your canteen on the floor next to the flowers, placing the two stones on top of it as you did your best to wring out your jacket. Streams of water cascaded to the floor, some of them landing on the plants to wet them some more. A quick glance up to the dragon told you it was watching you carefully, eyes still slitted.

“They work best if ground into a paste,” you told it, shaking out your jacket so that you could tear a flat piece off. You plopped onto the floor and laid out the piece of fabric in between you and the dragon. You then grabbed a few of the flowers and placed them neatly onto the cloth. Finally, with the two stones, you started mashing the flowers together, rubbing them occasionally between the stones. Water from your canteen was added once in a while to turn the flowers into a more liquid-y mush. It wasn’t the best, but it was all you could do at the moment.

“Normally I use a special solution to make the paste,” you murmured as you worked, grinding and mashing away. “But water’s all we got right now. I didn’t expect to be treating anyone up here, y’know?”

You looked up at the dragon and it growled at you, its eyes sharply focused on watching your movements. “Yeah, count yourself lucky, buddy.”

You rambled on as you steadily mashed all the flowers together, finding a need to at least try to ease the dragon into trusting you a bit more. But it was obvious it was still wary of you, not relenting with its incessant glaring and occasional growling whenever you moved too fast, or did something it didn’t like. That was fine, you thought as you added another Luna to the mash. While it would be really fucking cool to befriend a dragon, it wasn’t necessary for you if you wanted to treat it. Work was work, healing was healing.

Eventually, after what seemed like ages of mashing, you managed to make a decent amount of a brownish paste from all the flowers you’d picked out. You hummed as you wiped your hands on a clean section of the piece of cloth that held the paste, hoping that it would be enough. You didn’t know what you would do if it turned out you needed more flowers.

“Okay”—you hoisted yourself to your feet, shaking out the cramps from your legs—“this should be enough. I hope.” You took a few steps away from the cloth so that the dragon could inspect the fruits of your labor. It brought its head closer so it could huff and eye the paste. “I’ll have to put on really light layers, depending on how many wounds you have.” After the dragon pulled its head away from the cloth with another chuff—you assumed it had deemed the paste good enough—you walked over and grabbed your jacket. You made quick work out of tearing it to pieces that you could use to apply pressure to staunch the dragon’s bleeding.

“All right”—you hummed, stepping closer to the dragon with the pieces of cloth draped over one of your arms—“first we gotta wipe the blood away.” When the dragon growled at you warningly, you looked up at it, gesturing your free hand to the remnants of your poor jacket. “Relax. I’ll be careful. It’s just cloth. Can’t have you dripping blood all over the cave.”

It huffed out through its nose, smoke battering your face that oddly smelled like burnt caramel. You made a face and waved your hand in the air to get rid of it, stepping closer to the dragon until you were right by the long gash on its side. Grabbing one of the longer pieces of cloth, you folded it up slightly and pressed it gently to the edge of the wound.

At this proximity to the dragon, you could almost feel the low growl that thundered through its chest, its massive torso shifting under your hand that seemed entirely too small pressed against it. The gold of the dragon’s scales were amazing to look at up close, a bright gleam to them that shined with every flash of lightning from outside. You were slow and careful with sopping up the blood that leaked from the gash, making sure it was as clean as possible.

Something you noticed, being so close to the dragon, was how fucking warm it was. Like standing next to your own personal campfire. It made you realize how cold you were, your teeth clenched together involuntarily to prevent them from incessantly chattering. In your haste to tend to the dragon’s wounds, you’d forgotten about how soaked you were, the possibility of getting sick looming ominously over your shoulder.

That didn’t matter now, you decided, as you covered a particularly nasty-looking section of the wound with a cleaner section of the cloth. As long as you were close to the dragon, you could secretly enjoy its body heat.

“I’ve got loads of medicinal plants back at my cottage,” you started quietly, still focusing on the dragon. It was silent, watching you press your ruined jacket to its side. Your eyes traced the black and orange markings you could see, amazed by their swirling intricacies. “Actually, that’s why I was up on the mountain. I was looking for Zenith flowers. They’re really useful for accelerated healing, y’know?” You finished dabbing at the wound and tossed the blood-soaked cloth to the floor. Picking up the paste, you started gently spreading it along the wound with nimble fingers. You didn’t fail to notice how much hotter the dragon’s wound was compared to the rest of its body. That couldn’t be good.

“My friend was the one who told me there were Zeniths up on Kamino,” you continued, “The dumbass saw Nadir flowers and thought they were Zeniths. Idiot. Nadirs are poisonous. I should’ve expected it, honestly”—you sighed, coating your fingers with more of the paste— “and of course there would be a storm on the same day I decide to do a mountain trip. Lucky for me, huh?”

The dragon rumbled and you huffed. “Yeah, maybe I’m the fool for believing him in the first place. Not like he’s a herbalist.” You finished coating the wound and set the paste back on the floor. Grabbing another cloth piece hanging from your arm, you rounded the dragon to check its other side, grimacing at the sight of another nasty gash near its hind leg. Its head swiveled around to follow you, content with carefully watching as you pressed the cloth to the wound. “Would’ve been really helpful if they were actually Zeniths, though. Could’ve boosted your healing process.”

This wound was also really hot, almost searingly so. You picked up the pace, wanting to coat it as soon as possible. Dragon physiology was not your expertise, so you had no idea what the heat meant. Infection? You finished covering the wound in the paste, and stepped back to search for any others.

“You’ll have to stretch out your wings for me,” you said as you walked a safe distance away from the dragon, towards the mouth of the cave. “Can’t reach those”—you pointed to the area of its wings that had vicious tears in them—“Maybe shift your body around?”

With what sounded like an irate huff and a bit of maneuvering, the dragon managed to orient itself sideways in the cave, crouching further in a ball so it could extend its wings down towards you. Giving it a small thanks, you made your way to the edge of its wing, where there were a few nasty tears along the edges and towards the center. You could practically see through them, if not for the crusted blood in the way. You grimaced. The dragon definitely wouldn’t be flying anytime soon with those.

You noticed, your hands rubbing in the paste, that while its wings were gold, as you moved to the tips of them, they faded into a black color in an ombré-esque gradient. It was pretty—just like the black designs on its body that you were so captivated by.

And thus, the process continued, with you idly making a rather one-sided conversation as you cleaned and coated the dragon’s wounds. You would’ve never imagined that you’d have the opportunity to be this close to such a powerful creature. It was oddly exciting, though the way the dragon still watched you sharply made it hard to relax entirely. You really hoped it wouldn’t decide to eat you or something after you tended to its injuries. That would just be rude.

Eventually, you found yourself standing in front of the dragon and gesturing to it to lower its head so you could clean the gash near its eye. With its face hovering around your shoulders, you were quite astounded by how large it was. Its head alone nearly dwarfed your upper body, your hand only a bit smaller than one of its eyes. Darkly, you wondered how easily it would be for the dragon to chomp down on you, bite you in half. But you brushed away the thought and continued to clean and coat the gash, ignoring the way the dragon’s slitted, crimson eye was right in front of your face.

“That should do it.” You nodded your head with a sigh, stepping back from the dragon so it could raise its head up once more. “I had just enough paste to cover everything, I think. We’ll have to let that sit for a few hours until it dissolves.”

You walked over to pick up one of the Zephyr stalks from off the ground. “Then I just gotta cover them with these and hope they fight off any infection.” You’d need to crush them into a paste as well, but for now, you were starting to feel a bit tired. Getting a fire going would be a good idea now that you were no longer close enough to the dragon to feel its body heat.

You busied yourself with wrapping the remaining pieces of cloth from your jacket around the stalks and setting them back into your bag with the stones and your canteen for later use. The blood-soaked ones that you used to clean the dragon’s wounds you also set off to the side of the cave, close to the entrance. You’d have to try to clean them, but they pretty much looked unsalvageable with how stained they were, colored in deep burgundy.

You didn’t really expect to find any dry materials in the cave to build a fire, but you managed to scrounge up a few crumbling, brown leaves. Unfortunately, however, they weren’t really enough to start and maintain a fire. And you then realized you didn’t have anything to make sparks either. Looked like it was going to be a cold night.

Maybe you could sidle up closer to the dragon? Leech off its body heat without it knowing? But a quick glance at it told you it would probably mind, its sharp gaze still trained on you. At least it wasn’t growling. You still didn’t want to risk getting your head bitten off, though, thank you very much.

“You should get some rest,” you told the dragon as you grabbed your bag and retreated into a corner of the cave. Not too close, yet not too far. You plopped onto the floor and curled into a ball, using your bag as a makeshift pillow. Like this, you were facing the dragon, watching it watch you as it settled on the floor. Its head was still raised, though. You wondered if it trusted you enough to sleep first. Probably not. “No use staying awake with this storm.” As though on a cue, thunder rumbled through the sky once more, an agreement to your statement.

You spent a few moments just having an odd staring contest with the dragon, neither of you relenting to your obvious exhaustion. This was ridiculous. You eventually huffed and rolled over to face the cave wall, curling yourself into a tighter ball as though that could stave off the way your teeth chattered and your arms trembled.

You woke up to a particularly loud clap of thunder.

It exploded through the sky like an erupting star, making you shoot up from your balled-up position as though something had shocked you. Your teeth practically rattled in your skull, your gaze darting to the entrance of the cave where an abyss-like darkness greeted your eyes. You couldn’t tell how much time had passed. The darkness of the thunderclouds above, paired with the waterfall of rain, made it difficult to discern what part of the day it was. Probably somewhere close to night, you thought, shifting yourself so that you could clumsily stagger to your feet.

You were ridiculously sore, your muscles aching as you stretched out and rubbed your arms with your hands. Sleeping on the hardass floor was a terrible decision—you could feel muscles that you didn’t even know existed until this moment. Climbing up a mountain probably didn’t help either. Your clothes were also still damp, and the way your nose felt clogged told you that sleeping while sopping wet probably wasn’t a good idea. It wasn’t like you could do anything about it, though.

You shuffled in place, hoping the movement could help you generate a bit of body heat. Glancing over to the dragon, you saw it was awake as well, gaze directed to the rain beating away at the ground outside. It almost looked… forlorn. You watched it for a moment, then decided it wouldn’t hurt to check on its injuries.

The dragon turned to look at you once you’d walked a bit closer; that distant look faded away to be replaced by intimidation. A low growl made you stop a few feet away. You shifted in place, still rubbing your hands along your arms. “Well, good morning to you too. I need to check your wounds.”

When all it did was huff out and rest its head on the ground, you grinned slightly and approached its side. The warmth its body offered was welcoming, and you relished in the way it washed over your body as you inspected the largest gash. By now the paste had dissolved, so you assumed quite a few hours had passed. You’d have to mash the Zephyr stalks now. You hovered your hand over the wound and compared the heat it exuded to the rest of the dragon’s body. It was still worryingly hot. Having a sick dragon on your hands while trapped in a cave was definitely not on your agenda.

“Hey, you wouldn’t happen to know if increased body heat means you’re fighting off infection, would you?” you asked the dragon as you walked over to its head and bent your knees slightly to look down at it. “How do you feel? Sick? Can dragons get sick?”

It huffed out at you, letting out a sound that sounded like a deep click. You tilted your head slightly, then straightened up, a hum escaping your lips. “Hmmm. Well, if you feel like you’re dying, let me know. I just wish I had something that could actually treat that...” With that, you walked over to your bag to pull out the bundle of Zephyr stalks, stones, and canteen. You took a small drink of water before you started mushing the stalks together to make a greenish paste.

It didn’t take too long, thankfully, since you had less material to work with. The rain in the background provided some nice ambience to smush the stems to, though, and you found yourself humming lightly. Your voice was drowned out by the occasional clap of thunder and roaring wind, but you didn’t mind.

“Okay”—you approached the dragon with your bundle of green paste—“let’s just get this on and hope it staves off anything nasty.”

You took your time with applying the mush this time, wanting to warm up some more. You didn’t find the need to fill the air with your rambles, so you settled on continuing your humming from before. The dragon—as per usual—watched you as you worked, keeping an eye on the motions of your hands. You tried not to get too self-conscious, but well, it was hard with the dragon watching you so closely—especially as you were coating the slash on its face. If looks could kill, you’d have been dead a long time ago.

Once you finished up, you wiped your hands and stashed everything back in your bag once more. You walked over to the bundle of blood-soaked cloth sitting at the cave’s entrance and tossed each one outside along with the paste-covered ones, where the rain could batter down on them and hopefully wash away most of the substances stuck to them. You watched, for a moment, as watered-down blood trickled from the pieces of cloth in the rain, slowly running down the slope leading away from the cave. Then, you turned around and made your way over to your bag near the cave’s walls. After thinking for a little bit, you picked it up and headed back over to the dragon, plopping both your bag and yourself down a few meters away from it. Like this, you could feel a bit of the dragon’s warmth—enough to stave away the chills of the cave. You wondered if its body heat was naturally this intense or if it was just a result of its injuries. Either way, it didn’t growl at you or anything, so you counted that as a win.

“Y’know,” you spoke up after a few moments of just staring outside at the rain, your legs stretched out before you and your arms holding you up behind you. “I’m the only healer around here for miles. Lotsa people have come to me asking for help with their illnesses or injuries.” You scratched the side of your face as a brief flash of lightning lit up the darkness of the outside world. “I don’t mind; it’s kind of a duty I’ve taken on. But man, the stories I could tell you…”

You chanced another glance at the dragon; it was gazing at the drumming of the rain beyond the cave’s mouth. Though the way its ears flicked told you it was listening. You turned to look back out at the storm. “One time, this guy walked in—completely normal-looking, not a hair out of place—complaining about how his chest hurt. I do the usual rounds, checking him over and stuff, but I couldn’t find anything wrong. So I asked him some questions, and you know what he was suffering from?” You paused for dramatic effect, rolling your eyes as you recalled the memory. The dragon made a deep rumble, so you continued, “A broken heart. Like bud, I’m a healer, not a miracle worker.” You let out a sigh, a small smile tugging at your lips.

The dragon huffed out in what you would like to assume was an amused manner and you laughed. “That’s what I was like! Long story short, that’s how I met one of my closest friends—the one who mistook Nadirs for Zeniths. He wouldn’t leave me alone after that.”

You didn’t know how long you sat there, just recounting various stories of your healing escapades, but it was nice. You liked to think it was nice for the dragon too, for it didn’t really growl or bare its teeth at you as you talked. It was mostly silent, letting out the occasional huff or rumble at certain things you would say. You liked to think the dragon was slowly warming up to you, but well, did it have any choice with the both of you being stuck in a cave together?

The storm wasn’t showing any signs of letting up.

You found yourself standing at the cave’s entrance, arms crossed over your chest as you frowned out at the battering rain and dark cumulonimbus clouds that stagnated over the mountain. You still had no idea how much time had passed—you’d talked to the dragon and slept for a while, so you were assuming at least the night had gone by. Your clothes, while a bit cold, were thankfully dry from you likely staying close enough to the dragon for its warmth to somewhat dry you.

You sighed and turned around to trudge back to the dragon, its head lifting from the floor to watch as you plopped down next to your bag once more. You were starting to feel hungry; the last time you ate was… a while ago. A piece of bread for breakfast before you’d gone to Yuuei to visit Denki. And who knew how long ago that had been.

You dug around in your bag and pulled out the little wrapped pastry you’d gotten from Denki. Holding it in your hand, however… you knew you couldn’t eat it. A small groan left your lips, your hand coming up to pinch the bridge of your nose in disappointment.

It was rock hard. You shouldn’t have waited so long before eating it. Or, well, attempting to.

You glanced at the dragon. “You want this? I can’t eat it, it’s gotten too hard for my soft human teeth.” You scooted a bit closer to it so you could place the pastry on the floor near its head, then scooted back next to your bag, turning your body so you could face the dragon with your legs crossed.

The dragon eyed you for a moment then looked down at the solid pastry with an expression you couldn’t quite decipher. It glanced briefly back at you, then snorted out some smoke and turned its head away—but not before using one of the claws on its front foot to bat the pastry away. You raised an eyebrow at it, not that it could see.

“What? You don’t want it?” you asked, looking down at the lonely pastry that had rolled a few feet in your direction. It looked fine, other than the fact that it was harder than the very ground you sat on. You reached out and batted the pastry back at the dragon hard enough that it rolled into its front foot. “Come on, you could probably eat it with those sharp teeth of yours. It’ll go to waste otherwise.”

The dragon looked down and let out one of its rumbling growls before batting the pastry back at you. It rolled into your shin and you turned your head to squint your eyes at the dragon.

“I see what’s happening here,” you said suddenly, pointedly looking down at the pastry. You reached out to bat it back towards the dragon, but it let out a growl that only got louder the closer your hand got to the pastry. You sighed and threw your hands up in defeat. “Okay! Fine. I’ll just put it away then.”

You snatched up the pastry and shoved it back into your bag. You’d have to dispose of it later, if anything. The dragon huffed out some smoke as it watched you, then eventually rested its head back on its crossed legs in front of it as it stared out at the darkness of the storm. You observed it for a moment then sighed quietly and stuck your hand in your bag once more so you could rummage around in it and pull out your tiny journal. Might as well do some drawing. It wasn’t like you had anything else to do.

The pages of your journal were cool from being in your bag for so long. You thanked whatever deity above, yet again, that your bag was waterproof and prevented your hard work from getting soaked in all the rainwater. You shuffled some things around in it and eventually pulled out the little ink bottle and quill you’d also packed. Uncorking the bottle, you dipped the quill inside and flipped your journal open to a clean page.

You paused. You… weren’t sure what to draw, really.

But well—you briefly looked up at the dragon that was still watching the ongoing storm—you had a pretty obvious muse in front of you.

It was relaxing just being able to sit and sketch. It was something familiar and it brought you a modicum of peace that you didn’t know you’d needed. At least, drawing allowed you to take your mind off of the pounding rain and occasional burst of thunder. Though, it did prevent you from hearing the almost cathartic scratches your quill made against the paper. You couldn’t see all too well either, but the dim lighting was better than nothing.

Just as you were trying to figure out how to discern the shapes of the dragon’s wings from the shadows that encased them, it turned its head to look at you, ears twitching. You raised an eyebrow, noticing how the dragon huffed out some smoke and stared pointedly down at the journal in your lap. You thought you’d been pretty discreet with your sketching, but it seemed as though the dragon had noticed.

“Hm?” You raised an eyebrow when it let out a low growl and glanced down at your journal. Maybe it was just curious? You looked back up at the dragon, its glowing crimson eyes still looking at your book. “Oh, you wanna see? Sorry, I was bored and started sketching. Here.” You capped your ink bottle and put both it and the quill back in your bag before scooting closer to the dragon. You ignored the way its muscles tensed as you sat yourself close—but not too close—to its front legs. You held up your book slightly so you could show it the drawing. “It’s pretty rough, but I tried. I can’t see all too well either.”

The dragon lowered its head to look at the paper, hovering just above you. You tried not to shiver as its hot breath fanned out over your shoulder. Well, at least you’d be warmer. For now. “I can’t really see the shape of your wings, it’s too dark in here. Maybe if it gets lighter I can try again, I dunno.” You looked at the drawing. It wasn’t bad—at this point it was just a vague shape. You wanted to focus more on the markings that spanned the dragon’s body, but those would have to be saved for later.

You touched the ink on the page lightly to make sure it was dry, then flipped to the beginning of your journal so you could show the dragon the other things you had in it. You pointed to the different flora you’d drawn and explained the notes you’d written next to each. You were kind of surprised it was paying attention, but you supposed it was also pretty bored at this point.

“Oh! These are the Zenith flowers I’d mentioned”—you pointed to the cerulean petals you’d drawn in your book—“Ahh, man, you wouldn’t happen to know about any plateaus with these on them, would you?” You turned your head to look up and over your shoulder at the dragon. It snorted out smoke into your face. “I’ll take that as a no.”

You spent some time flipping through your book, then eventually somehow ended up telling it more stories of things that’d happened to you in the distant past. You scooched away from the dragon a bit so you could properly lay down on the floor with your arms crossed behind your head. If you stared up at the ceiling of the cave long enough, you could almost pretend you were looking up at the night sky, the glistening sheen of the rocks above reminding you faintly of glowing stars.

“You know, I’ve met my fair share of mythicals here and there. There was a time when I accidentally stumbled across a few fairies in the forest at the base of this mountain.” You turned your head to look at the dragon’s head that hovered in the air to your right. Crimson eyes slitted once you made eye contact with them. You continued on, “I uh, I didn’t really know that the fae were pretty… pretty mischievous,” you grimaced, “At that point I was a bit lost, so I was trying to get directions back into the village and they just—they just had me walking around in circles for hours. Hours!”

The dragon snorted at you and you squinted up at it. “Hey, it wasn’t my fault. And for your information, I eventually did find my way back. I just had to give them some of the leftovers I had in my bag and they told me the right way to go.” The dragon only made a low rumble in its chest. You rolled your eyes and yawned, making yourself more comfortable on the ground. You were starting to get a bit tired. “Yeah, whatever. At least they were fairies and not fuckin’, basilisks or some shit.”

You didn’t know how long you lay there, recounting tales, but you eventually turned your head back to look at the dragon only to see it had rested its head on the floor, asleep. You watched it for a moment—the steady rise and fall of its torso as it slept, the glimmer of its scales every time lightning struck, the markings that curved along its neck—then turned your head to look at the ceiling once more.

Man, you thought as you closed your eyes as well, what the fuck am I even doing?

The dragon had been asleep for… a very long time.

Of course, you couldn’t really keep track of just how much time had passed, but you were a bit… worried.

You’d woken up and spent a while just drawing or thinking. There was nothing to do in the cave and it was starting to wear you down mentally. You were growing antsy, and the way your stomach grumbled from time to time just made you grimace. You knew the human body could survive quite a while without food, so you weren’t too concerned unless the storm decided to linger for a few weeks—which you doubted would happen. It just wasn’t typical for this region. And you had water left in your canteen, and though you didn’t necessarily like it, you also had the storm’s rainwater at hand to keep your thirst at bay, so you weren’t worried about dying from dehydration either.

You just wondered how much longer you’d be stuck in the cave for. Sleeping was all you could do to help save energy and prevent yourself from ruminating too much on the hunger gnawing at your stomach. You’d already grabbed the relatively clean pieces of cloth from outside the cave too, wringing them out and folding them neatly to stack in a dry corner on the ground, so it wasn’t like you had anything else to do. The boredom was difficult, and the fact that the dragon was still asleep unfortunately meant that you couldn’t entertain yourself with it.

So you slept, and you drew, and you thought, and you paced, and you slept some more. It seemed like a never-ending cycle, broken only by the few occasions where you would walk up to the cave entrance to stare out at the dark storm. Until you suddenly realized that the dragon had not been awake at all in the times that you were also awake. Which made you wonder if it had been asleep the entire time.

You looked over at it slumbering away with its wings tucked over its long body. There was a slight snarl on its face that you hadn’t noticed before, fangs bared in its sleep. It made you pause and stand up to walk over to its head that rested on the cool floor. You crouched down and reached out a hand to gently touch the furrowed part of its face above its eyes. It felt warm, too warm, its scales gliding smoothly under your palm. You narrowed your eyes and hovered your hand over the wound near its eye.

It was hot.

Much hotter than before.

You cursed at the fact that the dim lighting of the cave didn’t allow you to properly see. The mush of the Zephyr stalks was still there, which wasn’t surprising as it wasn’t something that easily dissolved into the skin. But as you repositioned yourself and peered closer at the wound, you saw that the area around it looked… inflamed. Swollen. It was hard to tell with all the golden scales in the way. Shit. Were the salves ineffective for dragons? Did they only temporarily work? You didn’t know.

You jumped to your feet and ran over to the pile of damp cloth you’d set on the floor what seemed like ages ago. You grabbed a few, then thought it would probably be best to just take it all, so you gathered everything in your arms and rushed back over to the dragon. You plopped it all on the floor near its head, then used one of the pieces of cloth to gently wipe away the Zephyr mush from the dragon’s head wound. The moment it was gone, dark blood started dribbling down, running over your fingers. You cursed as a barely healed injury was revealed. It looked bright red if you squinted at it and inflamed as all hell. You leaned your head closer to it, sniffed, and almost immediately recoiled at the odor it was giving off. The fucking Zephyr stalks hadn’t worked. That, or the infection was just too strong.

“Fuck,” you forced out and scrabbled to press a clean piece of cloth to the dragon’s face to stop it from bleeding. The wounds had looked fine before you’d applied the Zephyr paste! What happened? “Fuck.” You bit your lower lip and piled on more cloth to press to the gash before you let go and reached out a hand to the dragon’s closed eye.

Gently, you pulled at its eyelid until you got it halfway over its eye. You could only see the whites of its sclera. You blew a little on it to see if it would induce a reaction, but it didn’t. You cursed again and let go. This was exactly what you’d been hoping to avoid. You weren’t an expert on dragons—you didn’t know if you should’ve done something differently to prevent this from happening or not. You didn’t know what you could do now to stop the infection—you didn’t have anything on you to deal with it. You’d already used the plants you’d gathered that you believed would’ve helped. Damnit.

You rubbed at your face roughly with your hands. It was likely that all of the dragon’s wounds were infected if its searing body temperature was any indication. You didn’t know what to do. You didn’t… You… You swallowed thickly and looked down at your hands, flexing your fingers.

There was… something you could do.

You hadn’t wanted to do it before—it used up a lot of your energy even though it was so goddamn weak—but it seemed… It seemed like you had no choice now. If you didn’t do anything, the infection would only grow worse.

You made sure the wound on the dragon’s face was properly covered before you grabbed the bundle of cloth, stood up, and jogged over to its side that had the worst gash of them all—the one that ran from its shoulder to its mid-back. You worked quickly to wipe away the Zephyr mush, grimacing at the sight of the inflammation and the smell it was omitting, then did your best to staunch the bleeding.

Inhaling deeply, you raised your hands up to the wound, hovering your palms over it. You felt like you were warming your hands next to an open fire, the heat rolling in waves over your palms and your face. You concentrated for a moment before eventually your palms started to glow a warm honey color. It was faint, and flickered out from time to time, but if you focused, you could get it to remain consistent.

So you stood there, with your glowing palms against the dragon’s wound, and waited. And waited. And waited. Time seemed to pass by so slowly, yet so quickly, as you put everything into tending to the gash. You stood there for hours wondering if you were making any difference at all. You were starting to feel the effects of using your magic for so long, an exhaustion settling into your very bones. It pulled at your limbs, weighed heavily on your shoulders. You blinked slowly, wanting nothing more but to sit down and sleep. But you couldn’t. You couldn’t.

You didn’t know how long you concentrated on that wound for, but eventually you forced yourself to stop to observe the progress you’d made. The bleeding had stopped, thankfully, and it seemed like some of the swelling had gone down. It was nowhere close to being healed completely, but you had to move on to the other injuries. You rubbed at your eyes as you rounded the dragon to tend to the gash on its other side, by its hind leg. You were quick in wiping off the mush and hovering your palms over it to let the light seep inside.

And thus, the process was restarted. You stood there until your legs started to shake and your arms trembled with the effort to keep them up. Your vision was starting to blur out. You had to blink quite a few times to try to clear it up, but it was still fading in and out. You were almost at your limit. Just a bit more—

Your knees buckled. You fell backwards, eyes fluttering shut as you barely had enough time to twist yourself to the side to prevent yourself from hitting your head. Even so, you’d already crumpled into a heap, blacked out before you’d even fully landed on the ground.

When you woke up again, it took you a few moments to reorient yourself.

You slowly sat up, rubbing at your shoulder as you blinked away the dark spots and looked around. You still felt tired, but at least you weren’t on the verge of passing out again. You shuffled to your feet and walked over to peer at the dragon’s face. It was still sleeping. You sighed. You had a lot of work to do.

You cycled back and forth between sleeping and tending to the dragon’s injuries for what felt like days. The lack of food was hard, and there was only so much energy you could replenish by sleeping, but you did your best. You managed to stop the infection at the hind leg before you moved on to the dragon’s wings. Those were a bit harder to reach since they were gingerly tucked above its body. You had to climb a bit onto the dragon to reach some parts and hoped that it wouldn’t move or wake up anytime soon. You didn’t particularly feel like getting abruptly tossed to the floor.

Once you finished on the wings—which forced you to sleep quite a few times in between—you went back to the deep gash on its side to work on that some more. You started to feel like you had a perpetual burn to your eyes, no matter how much sleep you got. Your stomach hurt from time to time, but you learned to ignore it. There were a few instances where you wondered if stepping out into the rain would help you stay awake, but you figured it wouldn’t be worth the soggy clothes.

As you moved down the gash, nearing the dragon’s mid-back, you felt it shift beneath your hands. You froze and watched as the muscles along its back tensed and rolled. Your head snapped to the side, eyes moving to watch as the dragon raised its head slowly up from the ground. It was awake. Finally.

“Oh good,” you rasped out, then cringed at how dead your voice sounded. You cleared your throat as the dragon swiveled its head around so it could look at you standing by its back. “You’re—”

Before you could even process what was happening, the dragon let out a loud snarl. You jumped as it snapped its jaw dangerously close to you and twisted its body away in a motion that made you cringe due to its tender wounds. You found yourself stumbling forward a bit, eyes wide as you darted them up to look at the dragon in confusion and surprise. It was glaring at your hands, teeth bared at you threateningly as the golden spikes on its back bristled in anger. A low rumble erupted from its chest, mixing with the sounds of rain and thunder from outside.

“Whoa! Easy!” You raised your hands up in the sign for surrender and immediately let the light die out from your palms. “I’m not gonna hurt you I promise!”

When all it did was continue to glare and growl, you tentatively activated your magic again, letting the warm, honey glow light up the space between you. It snarled, but otherwise just watched you. “Look, see?” You waved your hands around and passed it over your arms and stomach. “It’s not hurting me.” You didn’t dare mention the fact that your magic had no effect on you. “It’s healing magic—very weak healing magic. You ah”—you swallowed thickly—“you were out cold for a while. Your wounds were infected. I had to um, use it to help you.”

The dragon let out a low rumble, eyes still narrowed at your hands. You let the light die out once more and tried not to let the exasperation bleed through your voice. “Come on, I’ve been taking care of your wounds all this time. Do you really think I’d harm you after that?”

Maybe it was your words, maybe it was the look on your face—the tone of your voice. But eventually, it stopped its growling and exhaled a plume of smoke. You waved the cloud away with a hand and had to suppress a sigh of relief when the dragon made a deep clicking sound and shifted to resume its previous position near you. “Thank you. Now stay still, I’m trying to stop the infection in this wound.”

Once it settled down, you took in a deep breath and stepped closer, concentrating to get your magic up and running again. You hovered your glowing hands above the wound and focused. As you did, you were acutely aware of the dragon watching you, but eventually it seemed to get tired and turned its head back around so it could rest on the ground. You didn’t blame it—if your body was fighting infections this bad you’d probably get exhausted too.

You started to feel the deep, deep weariness settle in your bones again from using your magic so extensively. You did your best to keep yourself going—you didn’t have much more to work on, after all. You could probably finish this large wound and then tackle the one on its head a bit before you collapsed.

And that you did. You finished up at the dragon’s mid-back, then shuffled around it to its head that was still laying on the ground. It opened its eyes when you got near and started to rise, but you flapped a hand at it. “No, no, it’s fine, keep your head on the floor. It’ll make my life easier.” It did as told with a little huff and you smiled faintly as you sat yourself on the ground to its right and reached your hands out to the wound near its right eye.

Being so close to its face was a bit unnerving, seeing that the dragon did nothing but stare directly at you the entire time. You focused your attention mostly on the wound, but you couldn’t help the goosebumps. It felt like the dragon was trying to bore right through you with its stare, not relenting in any least bit. It made you feel a bit self-conscious—you knew you looked like shit from being in the cave for so long and for using your magic practically nonstop.

You were just so tired. You exhaled and moved your gaze away from the wound so you could look into the dragon’s right eye—the only one you could see from your position. “Are we cool?” The way it had reacted before was still making you feel a bit uneasy. You thought you’d been doing pretty well with getting on good terms with the dragon, but now you weren’t sure anymore. It blinked slowly at you and you continued, “Like, you know I’m here to help you, right? You clearly can’t do it yourself.” It made an aggravated sound that had you rolling your eyes. “Yeah, frustrating, I know, but I’d still appreciate it if, y’know, you didn’t bite my head off for trying to heal you.”

The dragon was quiet for a short moment. Then it snorted out some more smoke and made a rumbling sound at your words. You smiled weakly at it and focused back on healing its wound. You’d take that as a yes.

You were laying on the floor, taking a break between healing sessions, when a sudden thought occurred to you that made you slowly sit up.

“Got a name or do I have to keep calling you ‘the dragon’ in my head?”

The dragon turned its head to look at you, a huff of that caramel-scented smoke leaving its nose that fanned over your head. You looked at it as well, an inquisitive hum caught in your throat. “Well, yeah I guess you can’t really tell me, huh?” Another huff. You waved your hand in the air to dissipate the grey smoke, then used the same hand to rub your chin thoughtfully. You snapped your fingers together. “What if I just give you a nickname? Whaddya think?”

This time it snorted and you grinned as it turned its head to watch the slowly lightening storm outside, the sky turning from an inky black color to a more grey one—a relief, considering the fact that it meant you’d be out of here soon. You couldn’t wait to be back at your little cottage. You really needed something to eat and a good night’s rest in a bed that wasn’t rock hard.

You hummed as you thought up a few names on the spot. “Okay… how about… Goldie?” It let out a huff and looked at you with an almost offended expression on its face. You grinned at it again. “Not a fan? Aurem, maybe? No? Hmm…” You trailed off thoughtfully as you tapped your index finger against your chin. “Saphira? Eragon? Ah, you’re so picky!” The dragon kept huffing out smoke at your face, its teeth bared at you in displeasure. “I’m doing my best here! Okay uh…” You had to suppress a smirk as you said, “Widdol dwagon baby?”

You made a sound between a yelp and a laugh as the dragon snapped its jaw close to your head, making you slide to the side slightly so you could avoid its sharp teeth. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding! I think I might off myself if I had to call you that all day.” It let out a snort and retreated, which allowed you to resume your previous position. “Let’s see… Hmm…” This was really difficult, actually. It didn’t help that the dragon was so goddamn hard to please. “Smokey? What, you’re always huffing smoke at me, don’t blame me for offering it!” You rolled your eyes when the dragon made a deep clicking sound. “Uhh… Lord Explosion Murder? Bitch that was a joke, I am not calling you that!”

The dragon had cocked its head thoughtfully when you’d said the prior name, but at your admission it huffed again. You threw up your hands in defeat then plopped yourself back down to lay on the cool cave floor. “Well I’m all out of ideas.”

You stared up at the ceiling of the cave as the dragon puffed out smoke that rolled over your body like a wave. There was a moment where all you could hear was the steady pounding of rain from outside and the faint rumbles of thunder. Then, there was a tapping sound—like something sharp clicking against something rough and hard. You blinked when the tapping shifted into a terrible grating noise. You raised your head and curiously watched as the dragon used a claw on its front foot to scratch at the cave floor. Hmm.

You sat up and scooted closer to the dragon so you could peek at what it was doing. It was still pretty dark in the cave, but the lightening clouds at least allowed you to see better than you had when the storm first started. You tilted your head and squinted at the ground as it finished scratching at it and waited for you to read what it wrote.

“Oh!” You blinked and turned your head to look up at the dragon’s face. “Bakugo? That’s your name?” Who knew dragons could read and write…

Bakugo made a deep sound and snorted a puff of smoke directly into your face as though to say well, duh. You waved it away and gave him a grin along with your name. “Nice to officially meet you.

in another universe, he's not a dragon but a....

part two

#mybigbangacademia #bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki x you #bakugo x reader #bakugou x you #bakugo x you #hojfykb #katsuki x reader #katsuki x you #lets fucking GOOOOO #mha x reader #bnha x reader #tw blood #tw injuries #this has been over a year in the making for me #phew!

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tetsupeach · 2 years

Text

all must descend

prince bakugou x f!reader

summary - you never thought the first time you'd leave your tiny fishing village would be on the back of a princes horse.

cws - game of thrones au, same tone as the show. murder, violence, political intrigue, smut, magic, old gods, new gods, choking, true love, lore, allusions to torture, prophecy, reader has brown eyes. dom!bakugou. sub!reader.

chapter 1 - updates on fridays

please have an age in your bio and be 18+ before interacting with this fic. reblogs/comments appreciated, and encouraged.

With your fishing village burning behind you, you kneel with the rest of the women. When you look around, their eyes are downcast, ashamed. Some of them cry. You, do not. Your hair is loose around your shoulders, your jaw set hard as the smoke from your childhood home blows in your face. You don’t flinch, just stare out at the horizon and the rolling green hills of your homeland, the ocean lying past them, you wonder if that will be the last thing that you ever see.

You don’t recognize the raiders, the huge men who demolished your tiny militia, their armor gleaming in the grey light of a cloudy day. In a town of less than one hundred, your little band of men had been quickly disposed of. You try not to remember the sound your father made as he died, the way your mothers skirt fluttered in the wind as she ran for her life. You wonder if she had gotten away, and if she had, would she return?

You take another breath, watching the patterns of movement in front of you carefully. The soldiers seem almost nervous, one of them is struggling to put out the fire they’d started in your tiny chapel to Nahelenia. The stained glass window of the beautiful sea goddess that you’d all once been so proud of has melted into a puddle of green glinting glass on the dirty street. One of the soldiers shrieks as he steps in the molten liquid, hopping around as it burns the the sole of his shoe.

You hear a sharp sob from the girl next to you, and watch as big childish tears roll down her cheeks. You feel the urge to rebuke her, to calm her, somehow, it feels embarrassing, to show even more weakness to these men as you wait on your knees for near certain death. They’ve gathered about twenty young women, in the town square. There’s a cloud of dust as four knights, in varying levels of armor, and no helmets move around your burning village. They’re young men, you’re sure they’re some kind of nobility, but they’re no one you recognize. Their banner colors are unfamiliar, and you wrack your brain, knowing you were only a full days ride from where your country of Avenia ended, and Yuuei began.

“Oi,” One of the men, you recognize him as the leader, he’d pointed the directions for his men to ride in when you’d seen him through the window of your home as they thundered into town. He’s tall, broad and blonde, and his armor is the cleanest out of all of his men. His eyes are dark and narrow, his nose is delicate and haughty and his voice, his voice is deep and masculine. You’d shunned fear thus far, for shock, for sadness, but when you hear his low rasp again, your heart quickens, and your palms break into a sweat. You see him jerk his head towards the girl next to you, and one of the men, somehow even larger than the leader with bright red hair, reaches for her.

You clutch the small dagger you’ve got hidden in your palm, feeling it bite into your skin and watch carefully as the redhead lifts her to her feet. You only have a second. You know you only have a second, no time to think, or weigh options, or consider the cost. You reach down, grab a fistful of dirt from behind you and spring to your feet.

You throw the dirt in the huge man's eyes, he drops the younger girl, stumbling backwards, you dart around him, sliding on the dry ground, and leap up on top of him, pressing the blade of your knife to his throat.

“Run!” You cry desperately. She takes off, dodging huge hands and large men, the redhead moves to follow her but you press the knife to his neck, blood racing through your veins, roaring in your ears. Your feet are planted on the dirt road of your village, the only home youve ever known, with a blade pressed against the raider's jugular that you can feel him swallow.

“The fuck is wrong with you?” You hear, in that deep, terrifying growl. The blonde knight scowls as he takes in the situation, but no one moves. You peek around the redheads shoulder and make eye contact with the leader.

“L-let them go.” You say, your voice stronger than your conviction. “Let the rest of them go or I’ll kill him, I-I’ll do it.” You look into his eyes, and see the fear there. You press a little harder, blood beads around the blade you’d hidden. “Let them go.” You say again, standing on your tiptoes to reach him. There’s movement behind you and the soldiers in your peripheral vision sheath their swords.

“Get out of here.” The blonde snarls waving a thick arm at the remaining women, and you’re nearly overcome with euphoria as they scatter, see the dust their footprints kicks up, as they carry their children and disappear over the moors. You take a deep breath as the adrenaline fades from your body, wondering what kind of death you’ve doomed yourself to. You feel something cold and metal on the back of your neck.

“Drop it.” The blonde says from behind you. He’s so close to you that you can feel his breath on your skin.

“Not until I can’t see them.’ This time your voice comes out as a whisper, and the metal thing pressing against the back of your neck is withdrawn.

“You’re surrounded.” He snaps, as if you were being unreasonable, a nuisance. “Drop it now, or we’ll kill you and leave this village to burn as your pyre. We got what we came for.” You see the redhead's eyes flick to his leader when he says this, and you know he’s lying. Your teeth graze your lower lip, the quick burst of pain centers you. You inhale and withdraw your knife, whirling around, and leaping for the blonde, determined to kill as many of them as you can before they kill you. But before your blade can even graze his skin, the blonde catches your wrist and uses your own momentum to throw you chest first onto the dry earth. You cough, gasping for breath as you feel his boot on your back, the knife is wrenched from your hands.

“That’s one tough bitch,” Another man, with long, warmer blonde hair and a warm smile says, hopping off of the porch of a half burnt home. “We got the gold but shit,” He says, glancing around, “What happened to the women?” The pressure on your back grows and you rest the side of your face on the dirt, screwing your eyes shut, unwilling to witness your own end.

“She happened to them.” The leader snarls. You don’t speak, just stare blankly ahead, refusing to give them the satisfaction of your tears. “Not gonna say shit? Done talking now that you’ve fucked everything up for me?” He says, crouching down to get a better look at you. “The fuck do you get off pullin’ that kinda shit? Are you a noble?”

“I’m nothing.” You breathe, hoping your genuine insignificance will spare you. “I’m nothing.” You hear him scoff, and he takes his boot off of your back, swearing violently.

“The hell is Mitsuki gonna say?” One of the other men asks. “The gold is nice, but we were here to round up the possible heirs for the prophecy?”

“That’s my fuckin’ problem,” The leader snaps, “Isn’t it,” he takes your foot off your back, you can hear the metal of his armor clinking as he paces, and when the sound comes near you, you brace for pain. It doesn’t come. Instead you’re hoisted to your feet and shoved at the redhead, who keeps a tight grip on your upper arms. The men observe you, with varying degrees of interest as they load the harvest, the food and cloth and riches that had been carefully stored into the back of a horse-drawn wagon.

“Alright,” The redhead grunts, spinning you around to face him like you’re a ragdoll, “C’mere.” He ties your hands in front of you with a short length of rope. You avoid his gaze.

“She can walk behind my horse.” The blonde growls, and for the first time you see the redhead pause, looking concerned.

“Bakugou, can she?” He asks, glancing over at you nervously, but his leader just narrows his eyes,

“I’ll drag her fuckin’ corpse back to the city,” he roars, “It’s what my mother would do.”

“You are not your mother.” The redhead counters and the leader, Bakugou apparently, rakes his hands through his straw hair. You swallow some bile from your throat. Could you have been so unlucky, to have gotten on Prince Bakugou Katsuki of Yuuei’s bad side? You’d assumed this was some group of roguish nobles, not actual royalty. Yuuei was a neighboring nation, and the relationship had always been tense, peace talks failing for generations. The last time your countries met the negotiation tent had gone up in flames, and the famous Warrior Queen Mistuki had murdered your King Amathar’s eldest son in an impromptu duel.

“And I’m about to get a stern fuckin’ reminder of that,” He says, eyes narrow, lifting his clean blade from it’s sheath. “And you assholes,” He calls to the group of soldiers, “The fuck did I say?” There’s a pause as the redhead tightens the rope around your wrists. “I said don’t fucking kill anyone?” He roars, and the soldiers look sheepish. You study the ground, counting pebbles embedded in the road.

“No one’s going to say anything?” The redhead’s voice cuts through the silence. “You disobeyed a direct order from the Prince? And no one’s got shit to say?” Your surprise and fear at the confirmation that Bakugou was royalty must show on your face because the raven haired knight snorts when you look up.

“I told you you have to stop swearing so much Bakugou,” He snickers, “No one’s gonna believe you’re royalty.”

“Sero, I’ll stop swearin’ when one of these shitheads tells me what the fuck happened here?” Bakugou whirls around, looking at each of the men one by one, who mostly shrug or stare out at the sea.

“Got carried away.” One of them mumbles eventually and Bakugou kicks his legs out from under him, eyes blazing.

“People are dead.” He snarls. “What happened to leave no fucking trace?”

“Isn’t a bigger problem that the women escaped?” The soldier on the other side of him says quickly, “Since they’ll tell other villages that we’re coming?” Bakugou mashes his palms into his eyesockets.

“Of course that’s a fucking problem. One you’re all going to pay for.” He turns to you, and you bite down on your lip again, hoping to stave the fear off from your face, distracting yourself with the burst of self inflicted pain. Prince Bakugou stalks off in a huff, mounting his horse and tugging you along behind him by the rope at the end of your wrists. He ties it to the end of his saddle and the rest of his men get on their horses and start to leave your village.

You stumble forward, following him to the best of your ability, but the princes dappled grey mare is already at a trot, and your foot catches a hole in the dirt. You trip, falling hard, kicking up a cloud of dust. You brace yourself for the drag of the road against your body but it doesn’t come. You see that despite the other horses moving towards the exit of the town that the Prince has stopped, allowing you time to stand again. You swallow, and push yourself to your feet. He goes to start moving again before smacking himself in the forehead, cursing his own weakness.

“Kirishima,” He barks, “Hold.” He leaps off his horse and walks to you. “Normally,” He grunts, “I’d throw you in with the cargo, but you’re fuckin’ trouble.” He undoes the knot around your wrists quickly and for only a moment you're free, before his huge hands lift you by the waist onto the saddle of his horse, hiking up your long skirts so that you can ride straddling it like a man.

A second later, he joins you, sitting in front and grabbing your flailing hands as you attempt to steady yourself. He ties them together again, with the same rope, but this time, around his waist, forcing you to cling to him for stability, your chest pressed up against his back. “Let's go!” He yells, and the horses take off, pulling the wagons off towards the horizon.

“Hold on.” He says to you lowly, as if you have any choice, shamefully pressing your body and face up against his leather clothed back as his horse pulls to the front of the group, hooves kicking up a large cloud of dust in the heavy summer air. You’ve been riding for almost half an hour when he speaks, well out of earshot of the rest of his soldiers. “And the fuck am I gonna do with you, huh?”

“I don’t know.” You breathe, and the quality of your voice takes him by surprise. He’s expecting something harsh, or sad, or angry, but there's so much air in your tone. “Will you make it quick, if I ask you to?” He turns around to look at you quickly, keeping a tight grip on the reins.

“I’m not gonna kill you.” He says incredulous. “I wasn’t gonna kill any of the people in your stupid fucking town.” This doesn’t have the effect he’s hoping for, you don’t betray any emotion, he can feel you sigh against him.

“So you would rather we starve? Since you took all of the food we’d stored?” You say coldly, and his horse leaps over a small brook, forcing you to hold onto him tightly, pressing your face between his shoulder blades.

“Better you than us.” He says gruffly. He waits for you to respond, but you don’t, just holding onto him tightly, shivering even in the heat of summer. He tries again, reaching for words. “There are more important things than one fucking village, alright, we, we’re following orders, but this is bigger than just you.” You don’t respond, and his words leave a bitter taste on his own tongue.

As the sun begins to sink below the horizon you come to a huge stone wall, the largest thing you’ve ever seen. It’s made of a grey stone that glitters in the low light, and it’s as tall as the chapel in your village stacked over itself three times. drawbridge extends with a loud groan for them. The horses thunder over it, their hooves loud on the hollow wood.

You hide your face as best you can, trying not to think of your family, if they’d escaped, if they were alive, focusing only on your immediate surroundings. Bakugou can feel the contours of your face pressing against his back though his leather armor when a cheer erupts from the people at his return. You keep your eyes screwed shut, unsure of what kind of people would cheer for such bloodshed. He keeps one hand on the reins, but you feel his right hand close over yours, absentmindedly rubbing his thumb across your tight fists. You don’t open your eyes until you hear the crowd quiet, as you move into another part of the city.

You look around, you’re in a stable, other men getting off their horses and handing them to squires. You feel your wrists being freed, and the Prince roughly pulls you off the saddle and onto your feet. A few squires run over, taking the reins of his horse and leading it away. Two of the men stride over, chests puffed out. One of them reaches for you, running his wet pink tongue over his lower lip.

“Shall we attend to the prisoner, your grace?” Bakugou catches the lascivious spark in their eye, but his decision is made final when you cower a little, flattening your back against his chest.

“I’ve got her.” Bakugou says plainly. “I’m keeping this one.” The two men exchange a quick glance.

“We could see to her gettin’ cleaned up?” The other one says. You avoid his watery blue gaze, studying their dirty boots. He takes your arm and attempts to draw you away from the Prince, who yanks you back and snarls,

“Are you fuckin’ touchin’ what I’ve said is mine?” They blanch, and immediately both men are flapping their hands in apology, and backing away.

“No, no sire, of course not we would never-”

“Then fuck off.” The prince snaps, rolling his eyes as he turns to face the other knights, who are gathering behind him. The redhead, Kirishima, speaks first.

“That’s a good call.” He says quietly, glancing at the soldiers who are now rushing to put Bakugou’s horse away, and then he looks down at you. “So,” he shoots you a weary smile, rubbing the little scratch on his neck from your handiwork. “Do I get to know the name of the girl who held me at knifepoint?”

“No.” You don’t even look at him, eyes on your warped reflection in his breastplate. Unlike the Prince, the rest of the knights were in full metal armor. Kirishima’s eyes widen with incredulity.

“She’s fucking wild!” Kirishima turns to Prince Bakugou, “What the hell are you going to do with a woman who won’t even tell you her name?�� Bakugou scowls, tying the rope around your waist and then pulling your arms behind you, looping the rope around them and holding the end of the rope tightly.

“We’ll have to wear her down.” Bakugou says in his low threatening rasp, speaking as if you can’t hear him. “You’re gonna take her on a little walk, through the dungeon, and she’s gonna behave after she’s seen that shit.” Kirishima shudders and nods.

“Yeah, actually, I bet she will.” He watches you struggle against the ropes butYou struggle against the ropes but Bakugou leads you forward, you step out of the stable and into the cobble stoned streets. It’s busy, people coming to and from the market, carrying sorry looking vegetables, some coughing in the dusty air. The prince causes quite a stir, people part for him and his knights, staring at you, obviously foreign in your tattered dress, obviously a prisoner.

“Heretic!” Someone yells, and you artfully dodge some rotten fruit.

“How fucking dare you!” Bakugou yells, whirling on the drunken man holding more rotting food, and the street quiets. He looks around, eyes dark and wild. You stare dead ahead, not speaking. He draws you closer to him, you feel his hand on your hip. “C’mon.” He says lowly, and pulls you deeper inside the city walls, moving more quickly. You step eventually, into a huge stone gate, the dirty residential landscape changing into a lush garden, a huge palace built into the side of a mountain in front of you. Most of the men have fallen away, it’s just Kirishima, the darker blonde, Sero and a knight you barely recognize with long lilac hair.

“Should we get our stories straight?” He says, and you notice the bags under his eyes match the violet hue of his locks, “Since we have her, and no one else?” Bakugou sighs, absentmindedly rubbing your hip in a way that sends your stomach somersaulting towards nausea.

“I’ll take care of it.” He rubs his eyes. “I’ll take the fall for the other women escapin’ but not for the deaths at the village. That’s bullshit,” he turns to the purple haired knight, “Shinsou I’m gonna lean on you and your network to figure out what the fuck happened there.” He nods.

“I’ll see what’s being said but,” you hold his gaze for a moment before he drops it, and goes back to looking at the Prince, “But you and I both know where the trail leads.” He looks ahead and you follow his eyes to the spire of a huge cathedral, made from a dark stone, with black wrought iron and bronze accents. It’s one of the largest buildings you’ve ever seen. You shrink a little in it’s shadow.

“We told them,” Kirishima pipes up, coming to walk next to the Prince, “Denki, Sero, you were there, we told them, no harm comes to the villagers.” You’re having trouble focusing your vision, dehydration creeping in, your stomach is aching and empty.

“I know,” The prince grumbles, as you come to a heavy iron gate, that opens to reveal lush gardens, green grass and well kept pathways. The sun hangs low in the sky, painting the courtyard with a golden light. The difference between life outside this gate and here is so jarring you blink a couple times, wondering if you’re finally going into shock. “S’not good though.” He presses his lips together and you stumble, bracing yourself to hit the ground hard. The prince moves with catlike agility, wrapping one muscular arm around your waist and righting you. He stands you back up, the hint of an apology in his face. “Speakin’ of uh,” he swallows, “You uh, how are you holdin’ up?” You balk, narrowing your eyes at him.

“My family may be dead.” You say quietly, interrupting their conversation. “If this performance is helping you sleep at night, I would ask that it be conducted outside of my presence.” All five of them stare at you, dumbfounded but you refuse to look at anyone but the princes. Bakugou’s jaw drops open.

“Performance?” He growls.

“You don’t have to pretend you’re sorry,” you shake your head, “I”m no spy or noble, there’s nothing to be gained from my favor. I have little doubt that when you want something from me you’ll take it, like you took our food and our gold.” Your words hang heavy in the summer air.

“And what the fuck do you think I want from you?” He says, voice so quiet his words are nearly swept away by the breeze. Your mouth gets even dryer now. “Besides for you to keep your fucking mouth shut while I’m talkin’?” He grabs your jaw so hard that your cheeks squish around his calloused hands. He tips your face up to his. “Maybe I shoulda introduced myself I’m Prince Bakugou Katsuki, your royal-’ “You’re not my royal anything,” you barely get the words out around his fingers. “You don’t rule in my country.” There are a couple of nervous chuckles from the nights as the princes eyes blaze.

“Prince Bakugou!” Someone rushes out of the big stone building across the courtyard before he can respond, “You must dress to see your parents.” He reluctantly releases your face and shoves you toward Kirishima who catches you and stands you up again.

“See if you can do something about her attitude before I have to explain her existence to my parents.” Bakugou hisses, before jogging towards the castle.

“We’ll getcha cleaned up!” Kirishima says cheerfully, “Come on.”

“You can’t be serious,” Denki says, as Kirishima pulls you along the pathway beside the castle. “You’re gonna take her into the mens baths?”

“She’s filthy!” Kirishima protests, “Bakugou stepped on her!”

“That was a touch dramatic,” The raven haired man, Sero, muses. “But I suppose it was necessary, given the resistance she’s been showing.” You lift your head and turn to the men, unwilling to let them slip out of this easily.

“What did you kill for?” You ask, voice barely audible, having not eaten or drank since that morning. “What is the reason your armor is bloodied?” Kirishima looks uncomfortable, walking a little faster.

“I can’t discuss the finer points of holy war with you.”

“Holy war?” You repeat, “Our countries are not at war we-”

“This is not about Avenia and Yuuei.” Shinsou says softly. “This is about Yuuei and Aed.” You reach into the back of your memory, to the one room schoolhouse you’d attended with five other children in your village.

“The sun god?”

“He’s a lot more than a sun god,” the honey blonde says, flipping some hair out of his face. “He’s the god who consecrated our royal lineage. Prince Bakugou’s great, great grandfather.”

“He doesn’t behave like a god.” You mutter and Kirishima chuckles but Shinsou looks troubled.

“Question,” he says, his voice utterly emotionless. “Up until this point you seemed rather determined to live through this ordeal, correct?” You open your mouth to respond but he cuts you off, rubbing his chin as he muses, “I’m wondering at what point you acquired your desire to become intimately acquainted with the hangmans noose?” You whirl on him.

“Maybe it was when I had to listen to you discuss the deaths of my family like they were a mere inconvenience for you?” You snap and he seems genuinely taken aback. There’s an awkward silence.

“Are you,” Shinsou says, crossing his arms and walking in front of you, “Are you determined to die, or do you want to live?” You take a deep breath, wondering if it’s worth it to hold onto hope that anyone you know truly escaped, whether even the women you freed would be hunted down like rats in a kitchen. “It’s a simple question.” He drawls, “I know you’re likely undereducated, but-”

“I want to live.” You lift your head to his. “And I can read. And write.”

“Just your name or-” You take a step forward and Kirishima yanks you back against his chest.

“I think Shinsou’s point,” Kirishima says, giving the man a stern look, “Is that if literally any other person heard you disparage Aed or the Prince you’d already be dead.” You turn, looking up at him, the first sign of genuine concern in your eyes. “And it wouldn't be a quick death, either." He pauses, and impulsively spins you around, inspecting you.

“You’re right,” Sero says, speaking the group of mens thoughts into being, “It’s weird that you’re not crying.”

“Like I’d grant you the satisfaction.” You say, but there’s no venom left in your voice, only exhaustion.” Shinsou rubs his eyes.

“I give her until sunrise.”

“I’m not going to let anyone hurt her!” Kirishima protests, “If that means I have to gag her, I will.”

“I don’t think I’ll live long past sunrise.” You argue, “And I'd like to be able to tell my parents why they’re dead when I join them so whatever you can tell me about the holy war and Aed would be appreciated.”

“You’re going to be fine.” He says and you scoff. “Fine. Fine.” He says. “There’s a rumor, that has become deeply substantiated, that King Amathar of Avenia sired a bastard daughter among the women in your part of the country while on vacation there at his summer castle.” They start walking again, towards a white building with dark brown accents, built right up against the side of the mountain. Behind it is the face of a huge cliff, made of unfinished glittering grey rock, speckled with light green.

“He’s got dark eyes, like you, dark ones.” Sero explains. “And they’re a rival nation, so we’ve been ordered to round up all the dark eyed women from those villages and bring them back here. We’ve got a tower full of em.”

“Bakugou doesn't want her in the tower.” Denki sneers. “He wants her tied to his head board. Maybe gagged, though.” You whirl on him, fear in your eyes.

“What?”

“Don’t scare the maiden!” Kirishima snaps, his warm voice almost unkind but Denki rolls his eyes. The purple haired knight massages his temples. “We just calmed her down.”

“We’ve been raiding for weeks,” Denki shrugs, “How many women rode on his horse?”

“None.” Sero pipes up helpfully. “But no one else freed the other captives and made themselves a threat either. So-”

“Prince Bakugou,” Kirishima says, through his teeth, “Was doing his due diligence as an heir to the throne of Yuuei.” he sighs and turns to you. “It was prophesied that the daughter of King Amathar would bring peace to our warring nations with her power. As the great grandaughter of Nahelenia.” You test the ropes around your wrists again, they hold fast. You remember the pool of melted stained glass, the smoking chapel.

“My father was a tailor.” You say quietly.

“You only think your father was a tailor,” Denki says with a smile and a teasing tone, “You don’t know what your mother was doing, maybe gallivanting around castles, meeting strange men-”

“My father bled out on the floor of my childhood home this morning.” You snap, tears almost welling in your eyes but you’re just too dehydrated to make them spill, your voice cracks under the weight of your emotion. “At the hands of your men.” You yank on the rope in Kirishima’s hands but he’s too fast, holding it tightly all you can do is snarl at the blonde, “So I’ll thank you to keep his memory out of your fucking mouth.” There’s an awkward silence, Denki stalks off without another word. You feel hands on your waist and Kirishima steers you away, forward towards the bathhouse.

“You have to be careful.” Shinsou says lowly, dismissing the other men with a wave of his hand. “About what you say, and how you say it, and particularly, who you say it to,” He looks behind him at the other knights, who look mostly entertained by your outburst, if not a little shocked. “They’re not trouble, alright, they’d die for Bakugou.” You swallow. “Not everyone feels that way at court. It’s dangerous.” He touches your arm softly. “And I’m so sorry about your father, if I’d seen them, I would have stopped it.”You feel Kirishima’s hand on your arm, Shinsou reaches out and brushes some dirt from your cheek. They wait, for the vulnerability they’re accustomed to, from the women they’ve shepherded back to do the paternity test on, wait for you to burst into tears, to cling to one of them, but you don’t move. You just stare angrily off into the distance. He speaks again, feeling a little awkward. “Do you need anything?”

“Water.” You say, and Shinsou nods, uncapping his skein and bringing it to your lips. It’s sweet, if a touch stale, cold and clean and you gulp it down so quickly that it dribbles down your chin. Kirishima wipes it away with his thumb.

“I’ll get you some clothes.” He says, ``Since Bakugou asked me to attend to you.” He looks a little sheepish. “I uh, We can’t be alone, really,” he gestures to the other knights, “With you, since uh, you know we need to make sure you don’t have children with anyone but the prince.” You gape at him, dumbfounded.

“I’m not a virgin.” You say, and he blanches.

“Really?”

“Really.” You say dryly, wondering if you’ve signed your death warrant.

“Have you bled since-”

“Yes.” you cut him off. “I’m a widow. He passed a year ago.” Kirishima looks relieved.

“I’m sorry to hear that. But uh, I can’t be alone with you either way, so two of us at least will watch you bathe, so that we can be sure you are, ah, untouched, at least while you're here.” He looks intensely uncomfortable, and you decide to let him stew in that feeling for a while.

They guide you through the doors of their quarters, tossing their armor and dirty clothes on animal skin couches. Shinsou leaves them, pulled away by some servant nervously rambling about tomorrows ceremony. You stand awkwardly, still bound in the corner. You study the rafters, avoiding their varying degrees of nakedness.

“Alright,” Kirishima grunts, and he knocks you off your feet, carrying you down a flight of stairs, followed by the other men. The basement of the building is a hot spring, the walls are white plaster, the floors are stone. It’s lit with torches, and there’s a small stone bank before it gives way to a pool of crystal water. There are bars of soap and jars of oil beside it, and the other two knights bypass you, jumping into what must be warm water by the look on their faces. Kirishima hesitates, turning to you.

“You’ll be provided new clothes.” He says. “But if you do not wish to bathe with them on, you have my word that no one will touch you.” You swallow.

“I’ll leave them on.” You mumble, and he nods, carefully loosing the rope around your waist and wrists, guiding you into the water slowly. It is warm. In your shoes, petticoat and full skirt, your movement is limited, but you can't help the deep sigh that escapes from your lips as you sink beneath the water, only to have Kirishima yank you out of it by the waist

“I can’t let you drown yourself!” He says, dark eyes full of worry. You shake your head at him indignantly.

“I can swim, I come from a fishing village!” You retort, and his face colors, and then he looks pensive in a way you can’t quite put your finger on.

“Oh.” He swallows, looking sheepish. “Just uh, okay, fine. Stick by me.” Denki and Sero strip completely, luxuriating in the water. Kirishima watches you clean yourself, fully clothed, your hair soaking, tendrils of it sticking to your face. You take the soap they left and wash your face and hair, the mud leaching from your clothes. You’re a little ashamed of how the water darkens around you, but you don’t let it show on your face, locking your jaw and holding your chin straight. After some time, you are led out of the water, standing in your sopping wet dress, long skirts dripping on the floor of the bath cavern. Kirishima runs up the stairs and leaves you alone with the two other men. The dark haired one, Sero, you remember, speaks.

“Sorry, again. About your family.” You don’t even spare him against a glance. “In all seriousness,” he says lifting himself out of the water, “Prince Bakugou is upset. That’s not how we conduct ourselves normally.”

“We are alone, correct?”

“We are.” He says, cocking his head in confusion. You sigh deeply, wrapping your arms around yourself for warmth in your drenched clothes.

“Then know that I don’t mean this combatively, genuinely, is it supposed to make me feel better,” you say, voice barely audible, “that their deaths meant nothing to you?” Neither man speaks again, and when Kirishima returns to eerie silence, he hands you some clothing.

“We’ll avert our eyes.” He says, and you scoff, but it seems like they do, even Denki seems at least to fear Bakugou enough not to look. The clothing is different than anything you’ve experienced, a pale pink gown, tight at the waist, long and flowing down to the floor. It pushes your cleavage up, framing it high on your chest. You are not, however, given new shoes and Kirishima winces when you look at him, confused.

“They don’t want you walking much.” You swallow. “Alright, but I’ll take you to where you’ll be staying and we’ll getcha comfy, hopefully this can be over soon.” You let him lead you up the steps, rope back tied around your waist, but your hands free. The two men dress quickly and follow.

“Can you hold onto my clothes?” You ask, and he looks at you, seeing the genuine sadness in your eyes.

“I will see them returned to you.” He says, very seriously. “And the paternity test is ah, a bit of a spectacle, but something tells me you’ll be alright.”

“Any luck so far?” You ask, and he shakes his head.

“Not a drop of royal blood among the women we’ve taken. But we hold onto them for now because if they ran free they could spread the word about the prophecy.” You exit what must be the knight's quarters and cross the courtyard under cover of darkness, the bugs singing in the wet grass.

He opens a heavy wooden door on the side of the palace and you descend several flights of stairs. It becomes cooler, and darker, but as you move through the stone hallways you realize with a shiver where you are.

“A dungeon cell?” You ask, incredulous, “For a tailor's daughter? I’m, I’m nothing, I’m nobody.” For the millionth time, Kirishima looks contrite, avoiding your gaze.

“You should ah, I should have said, but you’ll need to call us, uh because we’re Knights, you’ll need to call us Sir. I’m Sir Kirishima.” You roll your eyes and he takes the ring of keys off of his hip and opens a side door, yanking you inside quickly. You find yourself alone with the huge man, the last thing you see outside is Denki and Sero moving to guard the doors, in a dark closet, and you feel his fist close around your throat.

“If you’re a spy, tell me now, and I’ll spare you a traitor's death.” He says, an honest desperation in his tone.

“A spy?” You wheeze, clawing at his fist.

“A traitors death in Yuuei horrible,” he says, inspecting you carefully, like he doesn’t even feel you fighting him, “Sometimes women are boiled alive, or thrown to the masses, so if you’re a spy, I’ll spare you, it will come out. Tell me now,” You claw at his fist,

“I’m simply,” you choke out, “A tailor's daughter, please Kirishima,” your eyes water, and he tightens his grip before dropping it, letting you fall to your knees coughing.

“There are things at work,” he breathes, eyes darting towards the door, “And we could, we could use allies. I’ll let uh, I’ll let Bakugou talk to you, but I’d like your proof, right now, that you’re not from Avenia to spy on us, that you weren’t a plant in that village.”

“I can swim. That’s-That’s rare.” You say gasp, desperately peering into his eyes for a hint of mercy. “And,” you gulp air, you’re exhausted, “And you’ve got my families blood in the tread of your fucking boots, so if you think I’d goddamn help you you’re insane.” He looks a little relieved.

“I see.” He doesn’t give you a chance to respond to that, kicking open the door and dragging you into the hallway - right in front of a very confused looking guard. Denki and Sero had been flanking the door, listening intently it seems. Kirishima wastes no time conjuring an excuse, groping your ass through the cushion of your dress, hands lingering on your waist.

“Ahh,” the guard says, a sly smile on his lips, “Carry on.” You feel Kirishima’s lips on your ear.

“Think about it. You’re not going to have a lot of offers of allyship.” He says gruffly, before silently taking the lead on the rope and dragging you down the hallway. The cell is dark and cool, you swallow nervously at the lack of windows, a wet spot on the wall glistening in the flickering torchlight. He pulls you inside the heavy barred door and picks up a chain from the floor, loosing your wrists and then chaining them in front of you. He stops, taking a step back from you, looking at you one last time.

“Trust us.” He says quietly, “If you can stomach it. And maybe you’ll survive” And just like that he’s gone, leaving you alone in the bowels of a palace with only your thoughts and the soft snores of other prisoners down the hall for company. You curl up in a corner, close your eyes, head throbbing. You think about your father, the man who raised you, of the fear in his eyes when he’d dove for the man kicking your door down, the pain in his voice when he told you to run. You let out a single, dry sob, holding your face in your hands, and the sound echoes down the hallway, following Kirishima out of the dungeon, and into the cool night air.

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aurumalatus · 2 months

Text

𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐞 (𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭) [1]

pairing. bakugo katsuki x fem!reader, eventual slight todoroki shouto x reader

word count. 3.7k

genre/warnings. magic!au, bodyguard!au, eventual romance, eventual smut, blood and violence

summary. in which bakugo is entrusted with the life of the "hikari no yosei", the blessing of yuuei village. but the yokai are getting bolder, and when tragedy strikes and more mysteries uncover themselves, he finds himself certain of only one thing—

he's willing to burn everything away if it means protecting you.

𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 ↣

come hell high water

His day begins the same as everyone else’s: a prayer offered to the gods, right as he rises. The sun is still barely cresting the horizon when he kneels down beside his futon, the floor there worn from the routine. The wind and flowers greet him through the open window, head bowed in supplication, whispers of invocation falling from his barely parted lips. There is no devotion in the words he speaks; after all, Bakugo does not believe in any god. Yet, his employer—the village head—holds deep faith, and Bakugo does not dare draw his ire by ignoring his will.

Under his feet, the tatami is warm, soft—it yellows with age, with the years it has served this house. He moves to his dresser, readying his clothes. He’s methodical as he prepares for the day—a dagger slid into his belt, clothes loose enough for easy movement.

His breakfast is as simple as it is most days—he slices from the fresh loaf that he’d bought yesterday. Next is the jam, a strawberry mix that the old woman at the edge of town sells in the right seasons. It’s Bakugo’s favorite—it’s not as sweet as most others he’s tried, and the tartness wakes him well. He enjoys his meal alone, birds chirping outside in greeting.

Outside, the trees wave and sway in greeting, bastions protecting the borders of the village. The morning air is a bit heady, weighted with the feeling of springtime and dew as he begins his walk.

The village rests on the edges of sleep at this time—few are already awake, already moving, already living. He passes the baker’s home on his way, listening for the characteristic sound of stoking oven fires and popping embers. There is still business to be had, even this early; a young boy, the farmer’s son, runs up the dirt path, basket in hand. He raps on the door three times, a sunny smile on his face as always, ready to receive the baker’s first batch.

Bakugo has seen the farmer’s kids around the town; sometimes running around the well, sometimes playing at the edges of the woods. There are five of them, still young, cheeks sun-kissed and spotted with grain dust. They’re one of the nicer families—the kids offer him flowers picked from the meadow, and the farmer offers him a spot at their table, sometimes.

Your home lies solitary at the outskirts of the village, a stone’s throw away from the southern gate.

Bakugo drags his feet up the rolling hill, toward the familiar sound of the koi pond bubbling outside your front home. As he slides the front door open, he wonders about the size of the place, especially for one person—it seems lonely, the kind of place where ghosts would gather in the middle of the night.

It’s nearly empty inside, devoid of any furniture—of any life. Empty rooms with intricate cobwebs spun in the corners. He’d asked you about it once, if the vacant rooms bothered you.

“Why would I need any more rooms?” you’d replied, a tinge of bitterness in your smile. “It’s just me here.”

He hears you before he sees you, padding quietly toward your bedroom—a gentle hum easing through the air, a song that he barely recognizes. His mother used to sing it to him, he thinks, the lyrics something about the balance of the elements and the mercy of the gods. The thought makes something twist in his chest.

He stops at the threshold of your room, glancing down at the markings carved just before the door—protective symbols, blessings that protect you from fear and strife. It’s the same as it was last week, tatami mats dotted with sparse furniture. Your sleeping robes sit in a pile beside you, a pool of silk. A futon in the corner, a chair on the opposite side—he’s seen you sit there often, tracing shapes on the translucent shoji.

You’re sitting neatly on your knees atop your futon, chin tilted up—the door to the veranda is open just a few inches, sunlight slithering through the crack and spilling across the floor. He clears his throat as a greeting; your eyes widen when you turn at the sound, then soften in recognition. You smile patiently as he bows his head, offering a short prayer before gingerly stepping into your domain.

“This place is fuckin’ filthy,” he comments, a stark contrast to his previous gentleness. He kicks aside a blanket that had been strewn across the floor, then thinks better of it—he bends down to retrieve it instead, neatly folding its edges together before placing it on the chair.

“Good morning to you too, Bakugo,” you say; your eyes follow him across the room, more amused than offended. “The flowers bloom.”

The flowers bloom in your presence. A common greeting in your village, one that conveys excitement for the appearance of a friend. You’re teasing him—at least he thinks you are. The serene expression on your face betrays nothing.

“Fertile is this land,” he returns sarcastically, the customary reply—asserting gratitude for one’s existence in your life. You smile, pleased at his cooperation. He notes the way your robes hang off your shoulder, a bit looser than usual—you haven’t been eating well. And really, it’s not technically his job to notice these things, but he notices them all the same; it would be almost impossible not to.

It was five seasons ago that he had come here, that he had been assigned as your protector; four since he had officially been sworn in as a member of the guard. He knows your cultures and customs now, but he does not know your people as his own, still. They are not his people, and he is not one of yours.

But he knows you.

You’re looking up at him quizzically, his silence too long to be natural. He coughs.

“Maybe a little too fertile,” he continues. He looks around for something to talk about, and finds it, face contorting in disgust as he toes at the half-eaten bento at the foot of your futon. “Something might seriously be growin’ in here. Clean the hell up.”

You ignore his frustration, attention drawn elsewhere, suddenly serious.

“You hunted?” you ask, voice like a mouse.

Bakugo follows your stare, gaze flitting to the small cuts and bandages crisscrossing his arms, his legs. He hails from lands further east, ones that had been ravaged by war, by conquest—the kind of place where these injuries would’ve been common. He thinks about it sometimes, his hometown—on nights when his scars burn and keep him awake. It’s one of the reasons your village makes him feel on edge; he can’t see himself getting used to the way it breathes, calmly and quietly.

He doesn’t bother lying; you more than anyone would know that a deer would not inflict wounds of this nature. Instead, he shrugs, nonchalant.

“The yokai have been more aggressive lately. It’s no big deal. Got nothin’ to do with you.”

A bird flies past behind you, shadow visible in the thin squares between the lattice of the shoji. It mimics your fast-beating heart, wingbeats aligning with the pulses of your core’s rhythm.

“It’s everything to do with me,” you say, disheartened, then glance down at your hands. Your voice comes out soft, weakening in your throat. “The magicks are fading.”

“They’re always bolder this time of year,” Bakugo counters, too quickly—defensive. You frown. “The weather fucks with ‘em, makes ‘em crazy.”

A faint silver glows under your skin testingly—a god-given magic, the nymph’s blood that runs through your veins. Your blessing.

The hikari no yousei, one of the farmer’s children had told him once, a chubby hand cupped at his ear. She was a little, messy thing—dark hair in uneven pigtails, reddish stains at her lips from the berry bushes in the forest. Bakugo had, admittedly, felt a little stupid crouching down at her side, hearing secrets from someone decades younger than himself. Ma says she keeps our village protected, keeps us strong.

“Listen,” Bakugo starts, one hand running through his hair. His words are uncharacteristically subdued. “stop worrying about it, okay?”

You stare at each other, too long, neither willing to look away. It’s pensive and meaningful, even without words. Finally, you sigh, dusting at your robes and rising to your feet. You slide the door open further, padding out onto the veranda—a rush of fresh air fills the room. Bakugo raises a brow as you turn to face him.

“Are you coming?” you say, a faint, tired smile tugging at your lips. “I think I’d like a bath.”

The bath sits in the courtyard at the center of your home, the heart of your days. It’s sun-warmed today, a perfect temperature, or so you tell Bakugo as you dip inside. He rests against one of the wooden posts that upholds your home, facing away from the sound of trickling, splashing water. You’ve never been shy about your naked skin, as long as he’s known you. He grumbles to himself, an irritated frown etched on his lips at his thought—he wishes you’d be a bit more self-conscious, for your own sake.

You like bathing this way, in the open-air, especially when it rains—he’s caught you once or twice, on days when a sea of clouds coat the sky. You like to sit shoulder-deep in the water, neck craned heavensward, letting the raindrops dot at your weary face. The bath sits as a nice contrast against the enduring gray, bright flowers lazily floating along in the water.

“Bakugo,” you call, voice gentle as the breeze, tearing him from his thoughts. He turns at the sound, just as you pull the sleeve of your robes over your shoulder, climbing out of the water—Bakugo’s stare follows the motion, despite himself. The fabric sticks to you like a second skin, still wet, but you don’t seem to mind.

A single flower petal rests in your clasped hands as you approach him. When you’re just a step away, you take the piece between your fingers, carefully tearing it in half. Bakugo’s eyes flutter shut, on reflex—your touch is as fleeting as always, barely a whisper against his skin. You press the petal halves against his face, drawing symbols he doesn’t recognize as you drag down his cheekbones, hands still damp from the bath.

A protection rite, you had told him once, fingertips dragging gently over his face, that no harm befall you. That the winds and the lands protect you.

There’s a brief pause at his forehead—he knows this part, a cross drawn directly in the center—before your warmth disappears. You gather the petal back into your grip, murmuring a prayer before your hands open, allowing it to soar away with the wind. Like a peace offering, he pulls a cloth from his belt, shoving it in your direction.

“Dry off,” he spits, skin still hot, “so you’re not drippin’ all over the damn place.”

Your lips thin into a smile as you step away, pleased, beginning to pat at your hair.

Your protective ritual became commonplace, somehow. The first few times, he had thrashed in your hold, a piercing scowl marring his face. Someone like him didn’t need you or your village’s protection; as a mercenary, he’d been through far worse than babysitting jobs like this. It had been a long process for him to accept your blessing—he justifies it by telling himself it was because he was tired of arguing with you all the time.

The small waterfall in your bath splashes noisily—Bakugo welcomes the sound, feeling awkward just watching you towel droplets off your skin. You’re humming that same song again, crouching near the flowerbeds, fingers trailing gently across each one, petals feather-soft.

“Can we go into town today?” you ask, hopeful. You hand the cloth back to him, and he takes it, a bit surprised. You don’t typically ask to go out at all.

Bakugo looks up, then, at the cloudless sky and the pulsing sun that lies within it. The trees and leaves rustle before him—an answer to your plea. The weather is fine enough. “As long as you don’t act stupid, sure.”

Your sharp gasp is a shock to his heart; he flinches in alarm.

There’s a small, rosy flower between your fingers—it’s dry, clinging to the last of its life. The petals crumble at your touch, fleeting; Bakugo watches the pieces escape in the wind, a parade of fading color that disappears beyond the facade of your home. Then, he watches your expression—shock, then sadness. Your lip quivers as you carefully release the flower from your hold—in your eyes, a mercy. He’s careful as he approaches—a hunter to a doe—afraid that you’ll flee at any abrupt movement.

“These things die sometimes,” he tries, hesitant. “Not like it’s anyone’s fuckin’ fault every time a little flower dies—”

“It’s spring,” you interrupt, harsh. His words die in his throat. “Things don’t die in spring. They don’t.”

Bakugo’s lips press together thinly, unable to say more.

“I’ll wait for you at the front,” he finally says, turning on his heel. Only silence follows.

When he looks back, you haven’t moved an inch, still staring at the empty stem.

It’s midday now, the town finally fully roused, bustling with life. One of the older men is yelling at a shopkeeper over a few gold—Bakugo’s never particularly liked him, the drunkard. Mothers carry bundles of cloth, hanging their laundry in neat lines outside the cottages. Through the busy movement and passing noise, Bakugo can feel the attention drawing to your form. In a place like this, where every day yields the same faces and routines, people are bound to notice your presence. You seem genuinely happy to be in town, able to forget what transpired earlier, at least a little bit. Bakugo takes solace in that fact.

In the center square, the children run circles around Midoriya, one of the farmhands, laughter following in their wake. The green-haired man smiles, all freckles and teeth, dropping handfuls of sweet berries into their waiting hands.

“Don’t tell anyone I gave them to you, okay?”

Midoriya’s eyes widen when his gaze lifts to you—it’s not often that you make an appearance here. The bow he offers you is rushed, a small portion of his harvest spilling over the edges of his basket. The berries roll down the paved path—Bakugo crushes them underfoot with a roll of his eyes.

“Thank you for your blessing,” Midoriya squeaks out, nervous. A smile tugs at your lips, gaze following an apple that falls from his basket.

“Don’t go wasting the harvest, then.”

He gasps, straightening out immediately, messily balancing the remaining produce within his grip as you try to hold back your laughter. More villagers bow as you pass, but not all seem to be particularly happy about it—the more devout ones eye you suspiciously. There are those types too, Bakugo knows; the ones who believe your existence a farce, your power a mere mockery of the true gods themselves.

A twinge of irritation unfurls in his chest at the thought—he may only be pious for show, but their palpable disrespect for you is vexing.

Still, you don’t seem to care, eyeing the various merchant stands as you walk.

“I think I want to buy some cake,” you say, holding a thoughtful finger to your lips, “the kind with the berries and the fresh cream.”

Your stare is expectant, and Bakugo’s eyes narrow. “Then go buy it, dumbass.”

“You’re not gonna buy it for me?”

“Why the hell would I buy it for you?”

You pout, arms crossed. “You’re frustrating.”

“You’re observant,” he replies mockingly. “Keep pissing me off, and I’ll take you straight home—”

A commotion rushes past you—a group of guards, sprinting, twisting and weaving through the meandering people. A faint scream echoes in the distance.

Bakugo’s brow furrows, and he takes a cursory step toward you, hand wrapping around your wrist. You look to him, panicked, but he doesn’t meet your stare; his gaze is quick, darting, searching for something. Everyone else had heard it too—a blanket of confusion and worry falls over the square.

One of the other guards—Sato—runs by, and Bakugo catches him by the shoulder, teeth gritted.

“What the hell is going on?” he demands, pulling you into his side. Sato’s bends at the waist, supporting himself on his knees.

“At the northern gates,” he heaves, out of breath. “The patrols came back with ill tidings, injuries.”

Your eyes widen, flickering to the sky—the sun is still up and bright, offering a false sense of protection. Tragedy doesn’t strike during the day, you think. Sato collects himself, salutes, and leaves.

“We have to go,” you say to Bakugo, hurried, ignoring the rest of the villagers who are escaping back into the safety of their homes. He looks pensive, hesitant—he knows he should check on the situation, but remains unsure if it would be safe for you. You try tugging him along, but his grip is much stronger than yours. “Come on!”

Bakugo hisses out a sigh, then runs, pulling you along.

It’s all you can do to keep up with him, one hand lifting your robes as you try not to trip over them, try not to trip over the stone-paved paths. Bakugo takes you through one of the alleyways, avoiding the merchant’s circle—too many people, likely.

You can see the crowd faintly in the distance, a circle of people surrounding something under the arch of the northern gate. Bakugo curses at the sight, running faster; you curse in answer, trying to follow.

The people who recognize you part upon your approach, a tide receding; Bakugo follows closely at your back, one hand ready at his sword. You smell it before you see it—the metallic tang of blood and gore. It’s more potent as you run towards the source, and your lack of athleticism forces you to take deep gulps of the tainted air, lungs unable to handle the exertion.

Just as one more person steps out of the way, you finally catch a glimpse of what sits in the center, a haunting image on a backdrop of dirtied stone.

It’s Ojiro lying there, eyelids heavy and fluttering. He clutches at a wound in his side, pierced straight through his armor, the bandage there already saturated with darkening blood. Shuzenji, the village doctor, is there too, crouched at his side—she’s too focused to look at you, barking orders at her apprentices and grinding herbs in her mortar and pestle. The crowd parts further still, and Bakugo has to catch you when you can finally see the damage in full.

Ojiro’s tail, his blessing, the power vested to him by the great gods, now a mere bloodied stump. It had been his pride and joy—a blessing was the badge of honor for every guard.

Bakugo says your name once, twice; it sounds far away, perhaps in another plane of reality. One where your friend hadn’t been mangled and nearly murdered.

“You gotta be strong,” Bakugo scolds in your ear, without any real bite. There are eyes on you, certainly. You try for your knees; they wobble beneath you, so he holds you at the waist a moment longer until you regain your balance. Even he seems disturbed, vermillion eyes blown wide in shock.

Be strong, you tell yourself, taking a step forward. You make eye contact with one of the children in the crowd, round cheeks reddened with tears. Be strong.

A few of the guards stand at the edge of the circle, silent. As you approach, Kirishima—another with a blessing, possessing skin like stone—is the first to turn to you, armor clanging in protest at his movement. The sword at his side flashes in the light, still shining with anointment—water steeped with florals and honey, and your prayer. It is a promise of protection, of safety from harm.

At least, it was.

“An oni,” he says, predicting your question. A few of the villagers gasp, imagining the grotesque creature encroaching on the borders of their small town—their haven. You shrink under their disapproving, fearful glares. “It came all the way to the meadow, just before the trees.”

Past the barrier.

Bile rises in your throat, rotting from the inside out. The meadow—the children like to play there in the warmer months, on days like today. You had only been fortunate that they had been occupied with other things; if they hadn’t—

Your fault. Your fault. Your fault.

“In daylight?” someone murmurs, a mother. She takes her child’s hand, pulls him into her skirt, trying to hide him from the carnage. A few others nod pensively, expressions marred with terror. The yokai are usually so easily deterred in the light, instead opting to slink around in the shadows of the forest. Never had they approached your village while the sun rode in the sky, not until today.

Another entrance rumbles through the crowd, a path cleaving down the center.

It’s Endeavor, the village head, closely followed by Shouto, his son, both tall enough that you can see them over the crowd before they reach the center. Bakugo releases his grip on you, bowing and saluting to the man as he passes, the other guards following suit.

Shouto assesses the damage with a careful eye, crouching down before Ojiro’s mutilated form. He turns to Iida first, one of the captains. “This morning?”

The dark-haired man nods, teeth gritted, unable to meet the other’s eyes. You note the deep gash on his cheek, then another on his leg—he must’ve been involved in the fight as well.

“Yes, just as we were coming back to switch patrols,” he explains. His eyes flit to you, guilty for what he is about to say. “I’m…not sure how they made it past the barrier.”

It draws everyone’s attention to you instantly—Bakugo steps closer to you, a reflex. Your bottom lip tugs between your teeth, fingers curled into the front of your robes. Endeavor raises a brow, an action that makes your stomach drop to your feet.

A moment passes, and Shouto calls your name, soft, testing.

The stares of the villagers feel sharp and suffocating—the feeling gnaws at you, deep in your bones.

“I…I don’t know why,” you admit, ashamed. Endeavor’s blazing stare does not leave you.

Bakugo looks to you, trembling lips and watering eyes, then to Ojiro. His jaw tightens, eyes sliding shut and hands clasped before him.

For the first time in his life, Bakugo genuinely prays.

#my hero academia x reader #mha x reader #boku no hero academia x reader #bnha x reader #bakugo katsuki #bakugo katsuki x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #mha fluff #mha imagines #bnha fluff #bnha imagines #bakugo x reader #bakugou x reader #adeptus ink

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kerosene-insomniac · 3 years

Text

The Hanging Tree (BKDK)

Pairing: Katsuki Bakugou x Izuku Midoriya

Warnings: A/B/O dynamics, Omega Deku, Alpha Kacchan, Fantasy AU, mentions of m*rder and witchcraft, witch hunts, Feral Deku, Supernatural Elements

Word Count: 6,094

Summary: Katsuki seems to attract trouble like metal to a magnet. After a village in the middle of the woods shoots him off his dragon, Katsuki wakes up to a feral omega witch that holds more power than anybody he’s ever met.

{0.1} no stranger would it be

“This witch had been crafted from the darkness between the stars.”

― Sarah J. Maas

K A T S U K I

Son of a bitch.

Katsuki feels a swarm of arrows tear through his flesh, knocking the wind from his lungs. A few deflected off of Kirishima, who released a thundering roar as the blond barbarian lost what little balance he had.

And before he knew it, Katsuki was free-falling.

This was never supposed to happen. The journey was one that seemed so cut and dry, yet Katsuki’s now free-falling (likely to his death). The old hag wanted him to fly over an enchanted forest and towards Mount Yuuei, which had their supplies for the winter. However, Katsuki hadn’t anticipated such an aggressive attack from Musutafu, which had always been an odd village outside the forest.

Katsuki coughed, watching blood spew from his lips and fly through the air. Oddly enough, the dark liquid seemed to match Kirishima’s scales.

Dammit.

****

When Katsuki comes to, all he can feel is pain.

Its sharp and red-hot, blooming across his chest like a fire lily and spreading towards each of his limbs. Fading sunlight is filtering through the trees, bathing everything in a soft light. The more he looked around, the more he noticed.

Shit.

I’m in the middle of the fucking forest.

Katsuki’s lungs struggled to expand, making the large alpha wince. The enchanted forest is full of magic and monsters of all kinds, most of whom have clear hatred for outsiders. Its likely that the creatures would kill him, even through the fall hadn’t.

Fucking bullshit.

The blond alpha struggled to pull himself upright, spitting out pieces of dried blood. To put things lightly, Katsuki feels like his entire body is in flames. Everything movement feels torturous, damn-near thrice any injury he’s experienced in the twenty-four years of his life.

Katsuki coughed again, grinning slightly as he successfully sat upright. That’s more like it! I’m not gonna let a fall kick my-

BOOM!

A loud, thunderous explosion rang through the trees. The ground shook as even more sounds rang out, sending Katsuki flat on his back yet again.

Son of a bitch.

Katsuki gasped loudly, since the sudden movement had knocked what little air he had out of his lungs. If he wasn’t so weak from pain, the dragon-born barbarian would feel much more pissed off about his lack of progress.

“You pesky little bitch!”

The blond alpha stilled, cocking his head to the side as the voice rang out. It was followed by the sound of sword-fighting, filling the air with the clanging of heavy iron.

What the fuck-

Through his hazy line of sight, Katsuki saw two figures tumble through the thick brush. One man was much smaller than the other, but was clearly holding his own against his foe. However, it was hard to tell the difference between the smaller male and the flora around him.

The taller man was clearly an alpha, considering how much larger he appeared to be. Plus, angry alpha pheromones seem to come off the ugly fucker in waves.

With a crazed grin, the smaller man met every attack head-on. Wild green curls stuck out in odd direction, full of leaves and a wilted flower crown rested on his head. Every movement he made was calculated and strong, which shouldn’t have caught Katsuki’s hazy attention.

Greenie’s eyes glowed red, his fangs elongated as he snarled. “I’m the bitch?! This is my territory, ass wipe!”

The alpha snarled back, swinging his sword again. “I’ll kill you.”

“Yeah? Get in line, scum.”

What the fuck is going on?

The alpha scowled, but quickly gained the upper hand as he disarmed Greenie. The latter’s sword clattered to the ground, which was kicked to the side by the angry alpha. For a second, Katsuki considered getting involved. However, he’s much too weak.

With a dark laugh, the alpha pointed his sword at Greenie. “You know, this wouldn’t have happened if you just gave me what I want.”

Greenie glared, his eyes still red. “I’d rather die.”

“That can be arranged, omega. I’ll still fuck you, dead or not.”

Omega.

The small omega fell silent for a few moments, his red eyes flitting around them. For a split second, his green almost landed on Katsuki. However, the shitty alpha used the tip of his sword to force Greenie’s head upward.

The alpha grinned. “Do you wanna comply now?”

Silence.

Greenie took a shaky breath, digging his fingers into the damp earth beneath him. Ever so faintly, the rumbling of thunder could be heard above them. “I’d rather die. Your shitty knot couldn’t even satisfy the tightest of holes. How’s that for an answer, asshole?”

The alpha snarled, raising his sword. “You little bitch-”

BANG!!

A bright white light exploded from the omega, heating the air around them. Katsuki ducked his head, wincing at the pain that spread throughout his body.

Thunder was crashing loudly overhead as rain started to pour.

Katsuki coughed, his ears ringing as he forced himself to look up. His vision tilted and shook, but he could barely make out either man. He’s not sure of what he was expecting, but what he saw was something fit for nightmares.

Greenie was on his feet, his clawed hands embedded in the alpha’s chest.

The small omega radiated power as white lighted glowed from his skin. His freckles were glowing white, while his eyes matching with a tint of green. His hair floated around him, completely unaffected by the falling rain.

Thunder crashed again as the pouring rain grew heavier.

Greenie’s arms and front was bathed in blood, which was slowly being washed away by the rain. Katsuki blinked, his mind still much too delirious to properly understand what he was seeing. Hell, he couldn’t even process this shit properly.

Before he can stop himself, Katsuki felt a wet cough tear itself from his lungs. Blood trickled past his lips, slowly being washed away by the storm.

And just like that, the rain stopped.

Katsuki continued to cough, wincing from pain as his blood continued to leave his lips. He’;s much too tired for this shit, and his limbs feel like lead.

The injured alpha doesn’t even notice that he’s not alone anymore. Hell, Katsuki isn’t even sure that what he saw was real. However, the omega smell of rain and vanilla breached his senses. His inner alpha huffed, making Katsuki open his eyes.

“What are you doing on my territory, scum?”

Katsuki stared at the sword, which was pointed much too close to his face. Then his ruby eyes trailed upwards, locking eyes with bearer. Much to his surprise, a green-eyed omega scowled down at him with spiteful eyes. Dark, shoulder length, green curls clung to his skin, making him appear much more feral than any other omega Katsuki’s ever met.

In fact, something about the feral omega seems…off.

The omega snarled, his eyes narrowed to slits as he jabbed the sword at Katsuki again. “I asked you a question, scum. Who are you and how did you find this place?”

Katsuki took a shaky breath, wincing as pain shot through his chest from the action. “I was shot off my dragon when we passed over Musutafu. I don’t even know where I am, asshole, so don’t threaten me with a good time.”

Wow, that was a lot more words than I expected.

Greenie’s eyes narrowed, but then they flickered to Katsuki’s multiple injuries. Then they widened. “They shot you with hemlock arrows. Shit.”

Before Katsuki could even question what those were, the small omega spun on his heel. Placing his fingers against his lips, a sweet bird song echoed throughout the clearing. It sounded beautiful, but also somber at the same time.

Katsuki coughed, his vision tilting again. “What the fuck-”

Greenie hummed, looking down as Katsuki as he sheathed his sword. Then he knelt down, sending sweet pheromones straight into the alpha’s face. “You’ve been poisoned. I’ll get you to my den, okay? I have an antidote there.”

Antidote?

Even if he could respond, Katsuki was interrupted by the loud sounds of cries. Then, a pair of pups burst through the brush. A boy and girl, both in raggedy clothes, bolted straight in their direction.

“Mama!”

“Ma!”

Greenie chirped as both pups collided with his body. His body didn’t even budge as the pups started to aggressively scent him. Katsuki could only watch in clear confusion by the sight, which would’ve confusing for anyone.

The boy chuffed, clinging to Greenie as he eyed Katsuki. “Ma…Who’s that?”

“He’s injured. I need you to carry my things back to camp, Hiro.”

The girl, who sported an adorable little horn, let out a squeak as she noticed the injured alpha. She looked up at Greenie with tears welling up in her eyes. “Y-you’re taking him home? B-but alphas are bad, Mama!”

Greenie hummed, running a thumb along the pup’s scent gland. “The village shot him down, Eri. Now, help Hiro while I carry this alpha.”

Those words echoed through Katsuki’s brain as he finally slipped from consciousness. The darkness of sleep felt nice and warm, completely void of pain. In fact, the relief felt so good that Katsuki almost wanted to stay.

Almost.

*********

When Katsuki finally reaches consciousness, his body hurts like a motherfucker. Not to the extent of earlier, but it definitely still felt like shit.

Where the fuck am I?

The blond alpha is flat on his back with his left foot elevated. His chest is bare, which is confirmed since his cape and jewelry were neatly folded into a pile near him. He’s laying in a room that is large and full of many things, which means that this area is definitely lived in.

A large bed (cot?) is in the corner, full of furs and miscellaneous object weaved together to form a nest. A multitude of weapons leaned against the wall, glittering in the soft firelight from the center of the room. A large bow, two swords, and a handmade crossbow stood out.

In the center of the room, a small fire crackled. A makeshift pot was positioned above it, which smelled heavenly and earned a faint growl from Katsuki’s stomach.

The air was thick with omega and pup pheromones, sticking to Katsuki’s palate like syrup. First, the omega pheromones smell like a pleasant mix of rain and vanilla. It even holds a subtle hint of cinnamon, which made Katsuki’s inner alpha purr.

The pups smelled pretty standard, though, but there are definitely more than one.

I don’t even remember how I got here…

What the fuck.

Before Katsuki can even attempt to move, the door (a thick flap of bear fur) moved. A small girl appeared, holding a handful of objects in her hands. She’s small, with silvery hair and blood-red eyes. Even a small horn poked out of her skull, which was more cute than scary.

The pup froze, here eyes widening as she stared at Katsuki.

Katsuki blinked before slowly parting his lips to speak. “Oi. Do you know how the fuck I got here, pup?”

Silence.

After a few seconds, the small pup swallowed and nodded nervously. Then she approached Katsuki’s side, placing a bowl of water on the ground and dipping a cloth into it. Then she gingerly started to clean his leg wounds, almost as if she’d done this before.

“Can’t you speak?”

The girl hummed, nervously avoiding Katsuki’s stare. “I-I can, but alphas make me nervous. Mama says they’re bad.”

Mama?

Katsuki huffed, wincing as the pup applied pressure to his injured leg. She mumbled a quick apology before dipping the cloth into the water and ringing it out. “Where the fuck is your dam, then?”

“Outside. Do you want me to go get him?”

The blond alpha huffed, clicking his tongue. “Please.”

I hate saying that word.

With a small smile, the girl placed the cloth in the water before leaving. She moved quickly and purposefully, obviously relieved to get away from Katsuki. The alpha can’t blame her, especially if its just been the three of them for so long.

Katsuki scoffed, struggling to sit upright.

He only remembers bits and pieces of what happened. Katsuki knows that he got separated from Shitty Hair somehow, and he definitely remembers the weird magic show he saw in the forest. Specifically, he remembers a freckled omega ripping some bastard’s heart from his chest.

“I was expecting you to wake up so soon.”

Katsuki’s eyes snapped to the doorway, where a familiar omega stood. However, he looked much cleaner than before. His curls were tied back with a leather strap, and his soft skin is completely bare.

The omega hummed, slowly approaching Katsuki and picking up the rag from the water. “I managed to get most of the hemlock out of your system, thank the gods. I thought you died on the way here, honestly.”

“Who the fuck are you, and where am I?” Katsuki growled, earning a chuckle.

Greenie’s mouth twitched into a small smile as he ran the warm cloth long Katsuki’s leg. “My name is Izuku. Right now, you’re in my home.”

Izuku, huh?

Katsuki winced as a stinging feeling raced up his calf. “Bakugou Katsuki. That doesn’t tell me much, though.”

The green-eyed omega pursed his lips, keeping his gaze focused as he rung out the copper-tinted cloth. “I live in the deeper part of the enchanted forest. We’re pretty far from Musutafu, which is the village that shot you down.”

Shit.

Why the fuck does this idiot live here?

With pups, too!

Izuku’s eyes snapped to Katsuki’s face, narrowing slightly. “You should consider yourself lucky, you know. If I wasn’t nearby, the hemlock would’ve killed you.”

The blond alpha scowled at Izuku’s stern tone. He’s definitely grateful, but this is all just a little too much to take in. Plus, Kirishima is very much still unaccounted for. “Fucking hell. I can’t believe that stupid village shot me down, dammit!”

“Southern Isles, right? You were probably on a dragon.”

Katsuki stilled, processing Izuku’s words before looking at the omega. “What does that shit have to do with anything?”

Izuku swallowed thickly, a rueful smile on his lips. “A lot, actually.”

His tone sounded…bitter?

The blond alpha studied Izuku before clicking his tongue in clear distaste. The small omega suddenly smelled sad and angry, but who is he to judge? Izuku’s been dealing with his own shit long before Katsuki showed up.

Izuku blinked multiple times, clearly trying to center himself. After a few seconds, he stood and went towards the makeshift stove. “Musutafu doesn’t take too kindly to magic of any kind. They call everything witchcraft, and judge people as such.”

Witchcraft…

Katsuki watched the omega, whose back was towards him. “What the fuck does that mean?”

The small omega stirred the food before glancing back at him. In the firelight, Izuku’s pretty green eyes shine. “They burn people at the stake. They drown children for being born with a gift, or even with a birthmark.”

Holy shit.

Izuku laughed dryly before covering the pot again. “Like I said. You’re lucky to be alive.”

Katsuki still could shake the dread from his bones. He’s a dragon-born barbarian, but this is far beyond anything he’s ever encountered before. He stared at Izuku, who had busied himself with picking up the bowl of bloodied water. Suddenly, the omega seemed much more intriguing than before.

Before Katsuki could ask Izuku anything further, the door-flap opened again.

“Mama! Hiro won’t give me my doll!”

The girl pup from earlier appeared, basically bolting for Izuku. Tears were streaming down her cheeks, which almost made Katsuki snicker. He may have been an only child, but he’s quite familiar with sibling dynamics at this point.

Izuku hummed, gingerly wiping the girl’s tears. “Alright, sunshine. Why don’t you introduce yourself to our guest while I go grab your brother?”

She nodded, her tears still streaming. “A-and my doll?”

“I’ll grab your doll. I’ll be right back, okay?”

And with that, the mysterious omega left Katsuki with the sniffling pup. She looked over at him, but thankfully she had stopped crying. Her horn seemed a bit bigger than before, which was odd but maybe normal?

The small pup walked closer, offering Katsuki a shy smile. “M-my name is Eri.”

Katsuki blinked as his inner alpha softened like a traitorous bastard. “Bakugou Katsuki. Are you still scared of me, brat?”

“Not really. Mama trusts you, I think.”

The blond alpha huffed, studying Eri with narrowed eyes. She smiled at him, her face completely empty of tears. His inner bastard chuffed happily, which only annoyed Katsuki even more. “Good. I’m not here to hurt any of you.”

Eri chirped as the flap opened again. “Mama says that you couldn’t hurt us if you wanted to.”

HAH?

Katsuki scoffed, his red eyes flickering to Izuku. Behind the omega was a small boy who looked exactly like Eri, except his horn was on the opposite side. “He did, huh? You’re lucky that I’m injured, brat.”

The small girl laughed. “You’re so funny, Kacchan!”

The fuck-

Izuku (who seemed to laugh a bit at the new nickname) interrupted before Katsuki could properly react. He pushed Hiro forward, who continued to glare at the blond. “This is Hiro, Bakugou. He’s a bit mad right now, so he’s giving everyone the silent treatment.”

Hiro huffed, still glaring at Katsuki with dark red eyes.

Katsuki glared right back, completely unafraid of the little runt in front of him. Then he looked at Izuku, who looked like he was vaguely apologetic. “That’s fine, Izuku. This isn’t my first encounter with brats.”

Izuku smiled slightly. “I’d like to think that my pups are a bit different, though.”

“I’m sure that every dam thinks that way.”

The small omega hummed before he handed Eri a misshapen doll. The small pup cheered and bolted right back outside. Then Izuku nudged Hiro, who’s clearly pissed, towards the nest. The pup complied, but continued to glare at Katsuki.

Fucking brat.

Once the pup was settled, Izuku turned to look at Katsuki again. “Your wounds will take a few weeks to heal, unfortunately. The hemlock toxin is often debilitating.”

Katsuki’s eyes hardened. “Are you fucking serious?”

Izuku shot him a stern glare as he approached Katsuki’s bed. The alpha huffed under his stare, crossing his arms like a petulant child. “There’s only so much I can do. You’re blessed enough to be alive, Bakugou. Don’t be greedy.”

“From what I saw, you fucking capable of plenty.”

And just like that, the atmosphere of the room darkened.

Izuku’s expression had gone stony and pale, which was even more eerie as the fire started to fade. Katsuki sensed his error immediately, but he’s not really known for taking caution. If anything, he a bit of a firecracker.

The small omega scowled, his bitter pheromones stinging in the air. “You don’t know anything about me, Bakugou.”

Katsuki clenched his jaw. “You’re an elemental. I’m not stupid.”

Thunder crashed in the distance, only proving Katsuki’s point. Hiro whined from the nest, flinching with every roaring sound.

Elemental magic isn’t like anything Katsuki’s familiar with. It’s a rare form of chaos magick that died out centuries ago. Elementals were often hailed as gods and treated as such, mostly due to the insane power they held. Fire, Water, Air, and Earth are the standard Elemental classes.

However, there are a few classes that are much more terrifying.

Chaos Elementals were wiped out long before humanity even existed. Then there’s Peace Elementals, who (despite their name) are their own branch of crazy.

Finally, there are the Storm Elementals.

Storm Elementals aren’t as strong as Peace or Chaos, but they’re much stronger than the standard classes. They can bend any element to their will and harness even the wildest storms. These are the elementals that were hailed as Gods, specifically because their emotions were enough to wipe out entire kingdoms.

“I suggest that you hold your tongue, Bakugou.”

Izuku’s voice had gone scarily quiet and hushed, almost drowned out by the thunder outside. His eyes gleamed as they glared at Katsuki.

Katsuki scowled, swallowing down the growing dread in his bones. He’s not one to get scared, but he also knows better than to piss off a powerful deity. Izuku’s breathing was labored and his hands were clenched into fists, almost as if he was trying to control himself.

Before either adult could say anything, the door opened.

“Mama? You’re making it rain again.”

Eri.

The small omega blinked, snapping out of his angered daze as he looked at the small pup. Eri stared up at him, her silvery hair wet and sticking to her forehead. To Katsuki’s surprise, the thunder slowly ceased.

Izuku took a shaky breath before pushing Eri’s wet hair out of her face. “Sorry, sunshine.”

Eri smiled softly, leaning into Izuku touch before looking at the nest. Hiro was still whining, clutching furs to his chest. “I think the thunder scared Hiro, Mama. Can I go cuddle him better in the nest?”

“Of course. Go on, sunshine.”

Katsuki watched as Eri chirped and bolted for the nest. She climbed into it with ease, carefully minding its intricate design. Once inside, the small pup hugged her brother and burrowed him against the soft furs.

The sight was cute, even though Katsuki would never say that out loud.

Izuku took another shaky breath before looking at Katsuki. His eyes were still angry, but much more muted. “Don’t disrespect me in my own home, Bakugou. You are a guest, but I won’t hesitate to put you outside. Understood?”

His true threat went unsaid. ‘I won’t hesitate to let you die.’

Shit.

Katsuki clenched his jaw as certain memories flashed through his brain. Specifically, he remembers Izuku ripping the heart from the alpha’s chest. “Understood.”

“Good.”

++++++

{0.2} of monsters and men

“People," Geralt turned his head, "like to invent monsters and monstrosities. Then they seem less monstrous themselves. When they get blind-drunk, cheat, steal, beat their wives, starve an old woman, when they kill a trapped fox with an axe or riddle the last existing unicorn with arrows, they like to think that the Bane entering cottages at daybreak is more monstrous than they are. They feel better then. They find it easier to live.”

― Andrzej Sapkowski

I Z U K U

Truthfully, Izuku prefers the dense wilderness to people.

The enchanted woods of Musutafu is not for the faint of heart, but that how Izuku likes it. Its full of all kinds of magical creatures if you know where to look. Plus, it was rare to see human of any kind venture into it. The village labeled it as cursed, so it allowed the feral omega to live in solitude.

After all, he’s lived like this for nearly fifteen years.

Izuku’s home rests in the deepest part of the wood, near a cave system he had stumbled upon when he was eleven. It had everything he needed, including a steady stream, an abundance of herbs, wildlife, and the best timber to build things from.

His main living area was in the largest cave, which he had hand-built an opening for. He kept it insulated with furs and even dried brush in an attempt to make it hospitable. The other, much smaller caves, had various uses. Food storage (for winter), a heat room (which is pretty self explanatory), and a room he specifically used for medicinal supplies.

On the outside, Izuku had constructed a decent fire pit and had a place for skinning meat off to the side. It had a nice view of the dense woods and the stream, which damn-near sparkled during sunset.

Closer to the stream, Izuku has garden that he works hard to keep up and running. Living out here isn’t easy, especially since he has pups to feed.

Until Eri and Hiro were born six years ago, Izuku had lived in complete solitude. He had the pleasure of helping a few injured fae here and there, and once he had the opportunity to nurse a sick griffin back to health. While the circumstances of their birth were less than ideal, but Izuku had been so happy not to be alone anymore.

However, it came with certain drawbacks.

Since the pups were sired, humans suddenly seemed to pop up all over the woods. Not only did they pose a threat to Izuku, but to the forest as a whole. And, to protect his family, the small omega made sure that no human ever got out alive.

At least, until he found a large alpha in the middle of his home. At first, Izuku had every intention to kill him, but he has certain beliefs that must be upheld.

Katsuki is from the Southern Isles, a clan full of magic and age-old traditions. Ages ago, long before giving birth to his twins, Izuku vowed to never harm a magical being. Thus, he carried the brute all the way back to his home.

Which he’s kind of regretting.

“Fuck you. I can feed myself.”

Izuku huffed, placing the spoon back in the bowl he’d crafted out of bone. Katsuki glared at him, still pale and sickly-looking from the poisoned arrows. “The poison is still affecting your nervous system, Kacchan. Your hands are shaking so bad that you can’t lift anything!”

The blond alpha scowled even more, glaring at the bowl of deer stew in Izuku’s hands. “I’m not a helpless pup!”

“Clearly.” Izuku muttered, shooting Katsuki a pointed look before glancing to his twins..

Closer to the fire, Eri and Hiro ate their own portions with eager mouths. As usual, their faces were messy but Izuku didn’t really mind. Messy eating meant that they enjoyed the food, which is the most important thing.

Izuku glanced at Katsuki again, who was staring shamelessly at him. “My pups are more mature than you are. It’s ridiculous.”

Katsuki bristled, his vermilion eyes flashing in the firelight. “Fuck-”

The small omega snarled sharply, making the alpha fall silent. “Watch your mouth. If you teach my pups how to curse, not even the gods could save you from my wrath.”

After few seconds, Katsuki huffed.

“Whatever.”

Izuku clicked his tongue before scoffing, With steady hands, the small omega scooped up another mouthful of food and held it up to Katsuki. “Eat. You won’t be able to leave if you don’t heal, Kacchan. I’m trying to help.”

Katsuki glared at the spoon again. “I never asked for your help.”

The small omega felt his eyes twitch. “You would’ve died if I hadn’t done anything. I refuse to live with your death on my conscience.”

A beat.

“You had no problem killing that rogue alpha.”

At that, Izuku’s face finally twisted into a scowl. Katsuki is quickly grating on his nerves, so he needs the gods’ help to keep a clear head. “He threatened my life and the lives of my children. You, however, have done nothing of the sort.”

Katsuki’s eyes narrowed immediately. “You ripped his heart out.”

The small omega huffed. “And I’m sure you’ve killed in much worse ways. I may live like a savage, but I’m well aware of your customs.”

Besides, you’re hardly the first dragon-rider I’ve met.

And you won’t be the last.

After a few minutes of intense staring, Katsuki sighed in defeat and allowed Izuku to feed him. For the omega, the interaction felt pretty standard. He spends plenty of his time tending to injuries, especially if a wandering fae experienced a human attack. However, Katsuki is clearly a bit more affected by the intimate task.

Izuku watched as Katsuki chewed, making sure that the alpha’s muscle movements weren’t too affected by the poison. “Any pain or numbness?”

Katsuki swallowed before shaking his head. “Feels fine.”

The freckled omega smiled, scooping another bite and holding it up to the alpha’s lips. “Good. Hopefully, the toxins will fully flush out of your system in a few days. Your movements will be a bit stunted, so you’ll have to be careful.”

After that, the air fell blissfully silent. Eri and Hiro (who had finished their portions) played with each other next to the nest. As usual, both pups were wary of Katsuki, which is honestly a very good thing. Being cautious has saved Izuku life in more ways than one.

Once Katsuki finished, Izuku stood and gathered everyone’s utensils. Then he dipped them in water he gathered from the stream, masking sure that the food was properly washed off. As he did so, he felt a tug on his pant leg.

Izuku glanced down, locking eyes with Hiro. “What is it, raindrop?”

“My horn hurts, Mama.”

Oh.

The small omega hummed before gently lifting the whimpering pup into his arms. He carried him to the nest with ease, placing him among the soft furs. “Let me take a look. Have you been using your magic, Hiro?’

Hiro whimpered as Izuku prodded the horn. “N-no, Mama. Too scary.”

Izuku pursed his lips as he studied Hiro’s forehead. His horn was a bit different from Eri’s with a slight curve and jagged edge, so it caused him quite a bit of pain. “I think its just growing, raindrop. Would you like some willow bark to chew on?”

“Yes please.”

The small omega smiled before kissing the pup’s forehead. Then he stood and walked back towards Katsuki, who was watching the interaction with an unreadable look in his eyes. Izuku forced himself to look away and grabbed some willow bark from the medical supplies he brought for the blond.

As he bent down, Katsuki’s soft voice barely met his ears.

“Is he okay?”

Izuku stilled as his viridian eyes snapped to Katsuki. “Don’t concern yourself with that. They’re just growing pains.”

With that, the freckled omega gave the bark to the whimpering pup. Immediately, Hiro started chewing on the willow bark with fervor, his tiny fangs digging into the rough texture. After a few moments, happy chirps echoed from his throat.

The small omega smiled, pressing an affection kiss on Hiro’s nose. “Good pup.”

“Thanks, mama. Sleep?”

“Yup. It’s bedtime.”

*****

Once both pups were settled and fast asleep in Izuku’s nest, the freckled omega returned to Katsuki’s side. The alpha had gone strangely quiet, but Izuku isn’t sure as to why. He could be sleepy, or Katsuki could simply be taking in his surrounding like a sensible person.

Either way, Izuku doesn’t mind too much.

Izuku sighed, rinsing his hands in water before digging to the medicinal herbs he put aside for the alpha. “Sorry about that. I didn’t want them bothering you while I reapply the poultice.”

Katsuki hummed, his eyes glued to Izuku’s face. “Its fine. I’m not a complete ass, you know.”

Oh?

The omega raised a brow at Katsuki with a slight smile tugging at his lips. “Considering that you threw a fit because I had to feed you, I find that a bit hard to believe. Besides, most alphas wouldn’t be happy that my attention is on my pups.”

Katsuki’s expression hardened. “Your pups come first. Don’t apologize for that shit.”

Izuku stilled as his eyes widened with surprise. He stared at Katsuki, who’s still scowling like a pissy child, but the small omega couldn’t stop the elated feeling in his chest. In fact, he felt his skin flush the tiniest bit.

With trembling fingers, Izuku carefully unwrapped the alpha’s injured leg.

The freckled omega took a shaky breath, trying to calm the growing butterflies in his stomach. “That’s…surprisingly sweet of you, Kacchan.”

“I’m plenty sweet. You’re just stubborn.”

Izuku laughed as he scooped a bit of the healing poultice on his fingers. Then he gently applied it to Katsuki’s wounds, making the alpha flinch. “You’re not wrong. Being stubborn is one of the reasons I’ve survived for so long.”

Katsuki’s eyes snapped to Izuku’s face. “How long have you lived here?”

The small omega hummed, applying more poultice as a small blush crept across his skin. For some reason, Katsuki keeps making him flustered. “I’ve lived in the woods for fifteen years now. This cave, though, has been my home for twelve.”

A heavy silence blanketed the air between them.

Izuku’s eyes flickered to Katsuki’s face. Oddly enough, the blond alpha looked like he was horrified yet impressed.

“Fuck. That long?”

The freckled omega nodded, dipping his hands in cold water again. Then he started to wrap the leg wound, keeping his movement gentle. “I…I wasn’t always out here. I used to live in Musutafu with my mother.”

The sentence alone left a bitter taste on Izuku’s tongue. If he had the choice, Izuku would let that entire village burn to the ground. Maybe then, Izuku would feel retribution.

“Alright, Kacchan. I need to change the bandages on your chest.”

The blond alpha huffed, allowing Izuku to help him upright. His skin felt hot under the omega’s fingertips, which is pretty standard with hemlock. After positioning the makeshift pillows, Izuku stripped the bandages and rinsed his hands.

After a few moments of silence, Katsuki spoke again.

“What happened? To your mother, I mean.” His voice was soft, almost unsure.

I figured you’d ask.

Izuku swallowed thickly, scooping up some more poultice and applying into Katsuki’s sculpted chest. “As I said earlier, Musutafu doesn’t take too kindly to magic. My family is distantly related to a line of witches, so my mother wasn’t concerned about it.”

Katsuki tensed. “But you’re a storm elemental.”

The small omega smiled sadly. “Unfortunately. I was born during a huge storm, which should’ve been a sign. However, my powers didn’t reveal themselves until after my eighth birthday.”

“Shit,” Katsuki cursed, flinching as Izuku pressed a bit too hard on a wound.

Izuku hummed. “Sorry. The arrow got you pretty deep right here.”

The blond alpha huffed, a small growl radiated from his chest as Izuku continued to press down. He kind of feels bad, but it needs to be done. “It’s fine…Just sore. But you’ve been in this damned place since you were eight?”

He sounds…angry?

With a small smile, Izuku moved to a different wound. “Yeah. I barely escaped with my life…but my mother wasn’t so lucky. They burned her at the stake, and planned to do the same to me.”

Honestly, Izuku isn’t sure why he’s explaining himself to a stranger. Its not something he enjoys talking about, but the thought of someone else knowing gave him comfort. Its weird, but in a pretty decent way. Besides, Katsuki is probably just as aware of magic discrimination.

Katsuki’s jaw clenched. “What the fuck.”

Izuku laughed, scooping up some more poultice on his fingers. “I’m pretty sure that they think I died out here. And I’d like to keep it that way.”

For my pups.

I can’t risk anyone finding out what they can do.

++++++++

AUTHOR’S NOTE

I might continue this, but no promises. Feel free to make fan art or whatever, and any potential ideas are welcome!

All the love <3

#omega deku #alpha beta omega #omegaverse #mha #mha fantasy au #bnha #bnha fanfiction #alpha bakugou #bakudeku #bakugou x izuku #bakugou katsuki #bakugou x midoriya #midoriya izuku #witch deku #barbarian bakugou

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vannahfanfics · 2 years

Text

A Tale of Two Swords: Chapter 1

<- PREVIOUS

Chapter 1: Izuku Midoriya of Emershire

A howl echoed through the forest, deep and long. It seeped through the gloom of the trees, winding around the trunks and branches and leaves to fade deep into the earth. Yet there were no answers to the wolf’s call, just an eerie silence. As the lonely call warbled in Izuku’s ears, he used the sleeve of his tunic to wipe his sweaty forehead with a huff, then once again grabbed the hilt of his shortsword that was buried deep into the corpse of the dire wolf sprawled onto the ground.

“Upsie-daisy!” he grunted, planting his foot into the wolf’s matted fur and yanking hard on the sword. With a squelch of flesh and a weak spurt of blood, the blade finally pulled free of the wolf’s thick body. Huffing, Izuku crouched down to wipe the red liquid from the steel blade. He looked around as he did so, mentally counting the dead dire wolves littering the clearing.

One, two, three, four, five. That’s all of them! He thought with a smile. He sheathed his now-clean sword into the scabbard strapped at his hip, then put his hands on his hips to survey his handiwork.

“Five dire wolves!” he preened to himself. It was the most impressive feat he’d accomplished yet, and admittedly a welcome change to the daily grind of running off curious bears and retrieving wandering livestock. Much more befitting a burgeoning knight like himself! His sense of accomplishment made him swell with pride, his chest pushing out a little. Wait until he told his mentor about it! He might even compliment him for once.

“All right. Better go report in to the farmer!” he told himself. It seemed a shame to leave the dire wolves lying around, but he certainly couldn’t haul them all back to his village by himself. He’d let the farmer know their location—he had to facilities to butcher and skin them, and he’d be able to sell the furs for a pretty penny. The dire wolves had been hunting his livestock, after all, so it would be a welcome reimbursement. Izuku set off down the path, whistling a jaunty tune that the songbirds took up in symphony.

Izuku Midoriya was a knight-in-training—well, as much of a knight-in-training as one could be in the quaint little village of Emershire. Just a cluster of farmsteads and small village abodes in the rolling green hills south of the illustrious capital city of Yuuei, it certainly wasn’t the most exciting place to call home. But it was home, and a home that Izuku defended most ardently. “Defended” being a loose term, of course; really, the only threat came from the occasional roving pack of beasts venturing in from the great forest lands to the east. Who would want to attack a little settlement of retirees and farmers?

As Izuku passed the threshold of the forest and stepped out into the sunshine, he looked up at the sky with a slight frown. Part of him wished that he had been born someplace else—someplace where he could really be trained as a knight! After all, what hope did a little guy like him from podunk nowhere have of becoming All Might’s successor?

All Might… he thought, his heart fluttering at the mere thought of his hero. Everyone knew the story, even in a little place like Emershire. Fifteen years ago, the great king had led an alliance of many kingdoms to confront the evil sorcerer All for One. They had battled in the crags of Elmorta, a blackened and forsaken land far to the east. He had sustained a grievous injury, however, and many had perished in the long struggle against the wicked entity—including all of the Priestesses of Uravity. With the guardians of their world lost forever, All Might had realized that he would need a particular strong and just heir to lead Yuuei and the allied nations into the next era. For fifteen years, many had tried to win the honor of being chosen by the king… but all of them had been turned away.

Ahh, it would be so amazing! To be trained under the great All Might! Even if he wasn’t chosen as the successor, just having the opportunity to learn from the legendary knight would be a dream come true. But only a dream, Izuku thought with a small groan. Only the best of the best were selected to travel to the capital city and be put to the test. Someone like him would never be noticed…

“Don’t think like that!” he scolded himself and slapped his cheeks a few times to forcibly banish the thoughts. “As long as you work hard and be an honorable knight, you’ll get there!” Hard work and virtue—when the doubts started to creep in, he always reminded himself that was all he needed to achieve his goals. “All right! There’s still plenty of daylight left—if I hurry to go report in to the farmer, I can get some sword training in before sundown!”

He took off in a jog down the path, his old and worn shortsword thumping at the side of his leg. A smile spread over his face as he considered that he was running towards a grand adventure, one that would begin very soon as long as he just kept at it…

“Mom! I’m home!”

Izuku used the heel of his boot to kick the door behind him, too busy wiggling out of his cloak. He hung it on the hook in the entryway, then sat down to begin tugging off his dirt-caked boots. As he was pulling his right one off, his mother tottered into the entryway looking a fright.

“Izuku! Oh, I was so worried about you!” she cried as she came over. Though he was still sitting on the ground, she leaned over to wrap him up in a tight hug. “When you weren’t home by sunset, I was just so concerned—”

“Mom, I’m okay!” he laughed, his voice muffled by her arms wrapping around and squeezing his face. “I told you that I might be a little late today since the farm was on the edge of the village. But… I also stopped on the way home.”

Inko stepped back to look at him inquisitively. Smiling, Izuku pulled out a small paper-wrapped round object from the inside pocket of his tunic, then held it up to her. Her eyebrows slowly cinched as she took it and began to gingerly unwrap the parcel.

“Is this what I think it is?” she gasped, delight bleeding into her tone of surprise.

“Yep!” Izuku confirmed. His heart fluttered at the sheer joy that blossomed on his mother’s face. “The farmer paid me well, so I thought I would stop by the bakery and get your favorite dorayaki !”

“Oh, Izuku,” his mother sighed, reaching down to give him a gentler but no less loving embrace. “You shouldn’t have! You’re saving up all your money for your adventure. There’s no need to spend it on me…”

“Of course there is!” Izuku laughed while reaching up to hug her back. “You’re my mom. I know it’s hard on you and you worry, but you support me in my dream. I want to thank you any way I can. If that means buying you your favorite snack every now and then, then so be it!” Truth be told, Izuku had saved up a lot of money doing these odd jobs around the village. He had a feeling that soon he would have enough funds to embark on his quest—his journey to Yuuei. If he could just establish himself there and earn All Might’s attention, then maybe—!

Best not to get himself too excited, he thought, derailing that train of thought. He knew that his mother would be sad and lonely when he finally set off, so he wanted to fill the little time he had left with as many good memories and feelings as he could. He couldn’t give her fancy dresses or jewelry or other niceties that she deserved, rare and expensive as they were in Emershire—and besides, his mother had always been the type to appreciate a gift from the heart much more than a fancy present she had little use for.

“Well, this will be a nice dessert after dinner,” Inko said, standing up and wrapping the package back up. “You and I will split it.” When Izuku began to protest, she gave him a stern glare. He smiled wanly; there was no use defying her. He stood up, and he could tell from the way that Inko’s eyes swept up and down his form that she was considering how tall and broad he’d gotten in the last year. He had been training intensely since he turned fifteen, the official age that young men could undertake squireship—and it seemed that Izuku wasn’t the only one who’d noticed his progress. Smiling, he pulled his mother into a one-arm hug and propped his chin atop her head.

“All right, Mom. Is there anything I can do to help with dinner?”

“No. Everything is ready.”

Just as they were pulling out their chairs and getting ready to eat, there was a knock at the door.

“Now, who could that be?” Inko frowned. She set her napkin, which she was about to place in her lap, back on the table and hurried to the door with a shout of “Coming!” Curious as to who would come calling at this evening hour, Izuku followed after her, standing a distance back in the entryway. His mother opened the door, and he frowned; the person was clearly smaller than his mother, since he could not see them around her short and plump form. When she stepped aside, however, he grinned. It was no stranger!

“Master Sorahiko!” Izuku greeted his mentor enthusiastically, rushing up to take his cloak and hang it on the hook alongside his own. “What brings you here?”

Sorahiko Torino was the ruling lord of Emershire. The Torino family had ruled the quaint country since its inception, which was relatively recent in the age of the continent. Sorahiko Torino was no stuffy aristocrat, however; he was a knight , through and through. As a young lad, he had apprenticed in Yuuei and earned such respect from the king that he had been chosen to train the heir—All Might himself! Of course, Sorahiko had participated in the campaign against All for One, leading a small force of Emershire men in a valiant battle against monster hordes that were sieging the countryside while All Might battled the evil sorcerer far to the east. Though they were hopelessly outnumbered, Sorahiko’s tenacity and tactical prowess led him to conquer the monsters without a single life lost! He had been offered a position in Yuuei afterward, but he had elected to retire and train an heir in Emershire since he was unmarried and childless.

And he had chosen Izuku as the person to inherit his lordship and land.

Of course, that was a long time coming. Sorahiko Torino was no spring chicken, but he was a grizzled old coot with plenty of life left to live. Which is why Izuku was surprised by this unexpected visit.

“Lord Sorahiko! We were just sitting down for dinner. Please, join us at the table! I’ll get you a bowl of stew!” Inko cried, flustering about. After all, even a lord of a tiny country was a lord.

“Thank you, Inko. Much obliged,” Sorahiko grunted. He toddled into the kitchen and hopped into a chair, and Inko placed a steaming bowl of soup and a spoon in front of him. She quickly followed with a tankard of ale. “Thank you,” he said, then spooned a bit of the soup into his mouth. “Mm, this is very good.”

Inko preened under the praise, sinking into her chair with her hands plastered to her reddening cheeks.

“Ah… Master, about why you’re here…?” Izuku pressed as he sat down. He didn’t want to be rude, but he was itching to know why his master had come. Had he heard about the dire wolves and come to praise him?

“Mm!” Sorahiko said, as if he suddenly remembered why he was there. “Ah, yes. I heard from the farmer that you had slain the pack of dire wolves that had been killing his livestock. Seems like that sword I gave you isn’t just useful as a letter opener after all.” It was as good a compliment that Izuku had ever gotten from him, and it made him light up in happiness. Sorahiko raised an eyebrow at him when he opened his mouth to speak, indicating that he was not yet done; Izuku obediently snapped his mouth shut. “You have been doing very well defending this village from threat… The troupe of robbers last month and the beastly bear before that, and now these wolves. You have come a long way.”

“Thank you!” Izuku grinned broadly. So his efforts had indeed been noticed! But Sorahiko could have told him this at his training session tomorrow. Why come all the way to his home?

“You have learned all you can learn from me. The rest you must learn on your own, and from better masters. It is for this reason I have recommended you to study under my pupil, All Might, and petition to be his successor.”

Izuku’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head, and his mother fainted.

Art was done by Pluto for the BNHA Fantasy Bang! Link here!

NEXT ->

#izuku midoriya #midoriya izuku #inko midoriya #midoriya inko #sorahiko torino #torino sorahiko #my hero academia #mha #boku no hero academia #bnha #mha fantasy au #bnha fantasy au

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love-toxin · 4 years

Text

fantasy - chapter 1; the prince.

parts: 2, 3, 4, 5, 6

a/n: this is the first in the fantasy au series i planned out. let me know if you enjoy it, and in that case i’ll continue on with more chapters.

plot: set in the fantasy kingdom of yuuei, izuku plays the orphaned prince and heir to toshinori’s throne, alongside his radiant bride-to-be. however, becoming king and queen will have to wait when the couple are attacked and kidnapped by a group of thugs, led by a spiky-haired barbarian with a lust for blood, on the eve of their wedding day.

warnings: this reader-insert series in general will contain a lot of nsfw, the bulk of it being noncon. i strongly suggest steering clear of this if that disturbs you. general warnings for each chapter will be posted at the beginning. this chapter contains blood, kidnapping, implied voyeurism/mild stalking, violence, noncon touching/groping, forced nudity, binding, and manipulation.

characters: prince izuku, princess darling, barbarian bakugo + bakusquad

word count: 4.1k

A year ago, if someone had told you that this would be the course your life would take, you would have never believed them. You may have even thought they were crazy, or just trying to give you false hope for a life you only dreamed of.

How wrong you were, and yet you weren’t so broken up about it. After all, who could ever complain about being tended to at every hour of the day, spending your days wandering about the most elegant castle as far as eyes could reach...and waking up to the one you loved more than anyone else, who greeted you with that soft voice and sleepy eyes each and every morning?

“Mnh...sleep well, love?”

Surely, in a normal circumstance, it would be an absolute scandal to awake next to a man you had not yet married, without a trace of your clothing left to separate you. But Izuku wasn’t any normal man--he wasn't even any normal prince. The love of your life was the heir to the throne of Yuuei, one of the largest kingdoms bordered by Musutafu and in the vicinity of Shiketsu, Seiai, Ketsubutsu, and a few much smaller villages and ports. And not only was he the next in line to inherit the throne, he was the only one, and as the son of the late king Toshinori he stood as the only person of royal power in the entirety of the kingdom. So with no parents to speak out about it and no one with a higher title than his own, there was really nothing stopping the two of you from letting the traditional rules slide, and allowing yourselves to explore the true depth of your love before you committed yourselves forever.

“Always, when I’m next to you.”

But even if you hadn’t had that chance, you both knew that nothing would change at all, especially as Izuku smiled over at you and placed his hand gently over your own, the content sigh he let out giving you butterflies like you had just fallen in love all over again.

If you were honest, you had long struggled with the thought of falling in love at all. Too many years of stuffy house rules set by your relatives, and too much strain put on your shoulders to find a husband and secure wealth for your family, so that another generation could cling to the relatively unimportant noble title you held like it was the only thing you existed for. You found that rich men with a lust for power were cruel and nothing else, and if you had to spend your life with one you were certain you’d turn into the very thing you had struggled to avoid. Love seemed foreign, complicated, and hollow, and you had started to believe that it would never be as the songs and stories and poems made it out to be.

But Izuku changed your mind about that, and he did so like a flash of lightning piercing the earth. That is to say, falling for him happened almost quicker than you could blink.

You had been well warned that falling in love so fast would surely mean it wouldn’t last forever, but the ones that had said so had never met a man like Izuku. He spoke to you first as an equal, and then as a friend, before he ever dared to call you his lover--he was polite and kind but had a fiery passion behind his eyes, one that all who had known the late king found familiar in the green-eyed, freckle-faced heir. He brought you gifts to earn your affection but he had it far before he ever started, and he was the first person that you’d ever felt would listen to you, and not just to be in your good graces. Izuku took note of your favourite things, of all your interests, and even of your deepest thoughts and hopes for what the future would bring you, down to the most minute detail. He was everything you never thought was possible to hope for, and when he asked for your hand you had never said “yes” with more confidence. And now you were blessed to spend so much of your time with the person who sparked joy inside you, and the two of you had your entire lives to find even more to smile about together.

"Izu, do we really have to get out of bed? I'd much rather stay here all day…"

You had no need to say that you wanted to do so next to him, Izuku knew that far too well. If he could, you didn't doubt that your beloved would spend his whole day under the covers with you, the glimmering gold accents of his bedroom casting a glow over your bodies as you held each other close. In fact, that was exactly what you planned to do on the day after your wedding--there would be no maids, no visitors, and no interruptions for a whole day, just you and Izuku and a comfy blanket with the balcony doors open, the sun setting slowly behind you as you made love, and let all else fade into the background.

"Oh, my love...you know I'd adore nothing else. But Iida's going to be at my heels if I don't meet with my advisors today."

Izuku kissed your forehead, and relished in one last moment of peace with you before moving the covers aside, and letting his legs drape over the edge of the bed to finally get up and stretch his arms over his head. You sincerely hoped that no one, specifically Iida, noticed the marks spotting his shoulders, or the two little bruises you had left on the side of his neck. Just because you were publicly engaged didn't necessarily mean that everyone knew you were a little more familiar with each other...and you genuinely didn't want to cause any trouble for your fiancé, especially considering how loved he was by his people. And in reality, you just didn't want to be lectured by Iida about proper conduct, and have to watch his head explode over the idea of Izuku engaging in premarital sex. The thought alone was enough to give you a headache.

"Do I look okay, princess?"

Even though he had used it before, the nickname took you aback a little bit, and caused you to lose your train of thought as Izuku stood at the foot of your bed and waited for your opinion. A smile graced your lips as your eyes fell on that childish grin, though, and you gave his outfit a once-over before giving him a thumbs up.

"...I'm not a princess yet, Izu."

The words tumbled from your mouth without much thought behind them, as Izuku moved to your side of the bed to give you one last kiss. Honestly you hadn't even considered it until soon after he proposed--you were going to have so much responsibility as Izuku's wife, and as the queen of the kingdom, that you'd never had to prepare for until now. But you wanted to do it for him, and do a good job, whatever it took to do so.

"...Yet. But tomorrow, that's all going to change...and just because people don't call you a princess doesn't mean you aren't one to me."

Izuku's thumb ghosted over your cheek, and in that moment you had never wanted more to grab your beloved’s hand and pull him back into bed with you, meetings and schedules be damned. But you allowed the urge to settle and bid your love farewell, and with a gentle wave as he walked away, he slipped out through his bedroom door and left you with only your thoughts, along with the birds chirping sweetly on the balcony as you settled back in for a few minutes more.

Minutes had melted into hours, and hours had lasted well into the evening, your eyes fluttering open to meet the warm glow that had descended over your bedroom. The sky had been painted with hues of orange and fading streaks of red as the sun lowered almost completely, and in that moment of realization you kicked yourself for not getting out of bed when you had the chance.

“Gods, of all days...I’ll never get any sleep tonight, now.”

You grumbled to yourself as you slid out of bed and your feet hit the cold marble underneath, already on your way to the dresser to throw on some clothes and run a comb through your hair. Tomorrow morning you would be wed, and the last thing you wanted was to lose sleep and be too exhausted to enjoy the festivities, especially when you already had a feeling that you’d be too excited to rest. You readied yourself in such a flurry of activity, that you hadn’t even stopped to wonder why Izuku or one of his maids hadn’t woken you up, the thought not dawning on you until you were walking down the corridor and glancing around to see who was milling about.

And it was only then that you stopped. The castle was huge, of course, but you could always hear people talking down the hallways or serving trays being wheeled around, or even the giggling of noblewomen as they toured around to meet dignitaries and fanned themselves to keep cool in the heat. But there was nothing, it was almost eerie how quiet it was, the hall itself seeming to swallow all sound with the marble pillars lining it and the paintings of heroes long passed on the walls.

But there was something, you realized, that you could hear. You would have missed it if you hadn’t stopped, and your footsteps didn’t echo down the corridor while your breath hitched in your throat.

After all, if you hadn’t, then you wouldn’t have noticed the person breathing down your neck.

“...Scared, princess?”

Your shoulders tensed and you whipped around before you could think, nearly bumping into the man in the process as you scrambled to back away. You caught a glimpse of blond hair and striking eyes before you really knew what was going on--but whoever had snuck up on you certainly acted like he did, his gait unhurried and casual as he took a few more steps towards you. He seemed to give in once you moved back again, though, and his laugh that cut through the tension in the air did nothing to ease your sudden panic.

“Easy, easy. I’m just playing around, princess--no need to be afraid.”

You didn’t like how relaxed he seemed, and as your eyes zeroed in on the strange black streak in his hair, you confirmed what you had initially thought. You may not have known every face that walked through the halls of the castle, but you would have definitely remembered someone with such distinct features--especially if he was speaking in such a manner towards you.

“Besides…”

He continued to talk, seemingly oblivious to the way you trembled and stood frozen in place. Maybe he didn’t care, he didn’t seem like he worried about anything at all. Which was exactly why you didn’t waste your breath asking what he thought he was doing, or why he snuck up on you--all you knew was that something was wrong, you were in danger, and you needed to find Izuku as soon as possible.

“...I’ve been with you this whole day. You sleep pretty soundly, don’t you? You didn’t even flinch when I climbed out of your closet for a peek!”

You wished he was making a joke, and you thought he was at first by how he snickered at your expense--but the look in the blond’s eyes said otherwise. You wanted to feel violated, and humiliated that someone had crept into your room and started watching you, but panic blotted out those feelings from your brain for right now. You took one step back, and waited until he took two forward, your eyes locking in an unprecedented stalemate...and then you turned on your heels to make a break for it, your body coursing with adrenaline like you’d never experienced. The only thing you knew was that something bad would undoubtedly happen to you, if you stayed near this fiend a moment longer--and it turned out that that was true, as soon as he chased you far enough on light feet for you to turn the corner towards the main hall.

If one of them had infiltrated the castle and gotten into your room, you should have thought that he probably wasn’t alone, and someone would be helping him. But that idea didn’t even hit you until ran right into that someone, the pink-skinned girl barely budging as you slammed into her chest-first, and cheering as she stepped over and lifted you up under your arms while her partner turned the corner as well.

“C’mon, get her legs, Denki! Katsuki’s gonna be so excited--nobody told me she was so cute!”

You couldn’t think, you could barely even breathe as you started to struggle and kicked at your attacker, only for him to grab you under your knees and hike you up so they could carry you down the hall and into the foyer. It felt like your vision was blurring in and out, like you were going to lose consciousness from the panic in your veins as you fought even harder--but then a powerful smell drifted by and grew more intense as they got down the stairs, and it was only when you were tossed to the floor like a rock that you identified it, the blazing glow that cast over your face aiding you in that horrifying conclusion.

You couldn’t believe you hadn’t noticed the smoke before, but by that point you would soon realize there would’ve been nothing you could have done. The statue that stood at the crest of the huge hall, and greeted visitors as they stepped through the towering doors, was surrounded by a raging fire that grew so tall it scorched the ceiling. Everything around you burned, the paintings and the vases full of flowers, flames licking at everything in sight and turning all of it to ash--but as your eyes darted around to watch the destruction in terror, there was one thing that caused even more desperation to sink into your heart.

No other face had such curly, vibrant green locks that framed it, or freckles that trailed in a perfect spread over their nose, like stars among the night sky. Izuku laid in a heap just a few feet away, barely conscious and bloodied to the point of brutality, his shoulders slumped over and his body limp and weak from treatment you didn’t even want to imagine. And when you reached out a shaky hand towards him, you barely got the chance to say his name, to ask if your darling husband-to-be was in any way okay.

Because as soon as you tried to, a pair of boots blocked your view of him, the soles tracking soot over the marble and the stitched leather soaked with what you knew was blood. Your eyes followed the muscled legs up to a pair of hips and a bare torso, a few bones clacking softly like a pendant strung around his neck...and you were met with a pair of eyes that pierced through your skin, and the smirk of someone that found joy in blood, beatdowns, and reckless destruction. The spikes of his blond hair ruffled in the breeze, the front door being pulled open by his cronies to make their escape--and Katsuki licked his lips, as if he were already planning to devour you where you lay.

“So this is the pretty princess Deku fuckin’ moaned about.”

The barbarian squatted down in front of you, no shame in sight as he grabbed you by the scuff of your neck and lifted you up to inspect you. It didn’t feel like he regarded you as human...it felt like you were just a piece of meat to him.

“D-Don’t...don’t hurt him...please, leave Izuku alone!”

Somehow, in the wake of destruction that followed your home being set ablaze, you finally found what remained of your voice. It felt stronger than you remembered, fueled by desperation and a dwindling glimmer of hope--but it was too little and too late, as Katsuki snarled and yanked you up and over his shoulder, and ignored your feeble cries and pounding fists against his back as he turned and scooped up your beloved under his arm. You couldn’t even see your love anymore, too focused on holding on for dear life as Katsuki charged out of the doors of the castle, his packmates hooting and hollering as they followed behind and threw their torches back into the archway, to light up the rug that lined the path as they left. And you listened to the shouts of citizens in the distance as you were carried around the side and into the pitch blackness of night, the lights of the city and of the flames that spilled out of the castle burning the memories into your mind forever.

You had gotten so used to waking up slowly, feeling Izuku’s warmth at your side as your eyes fluttered open, and you listened for the gentle chirping of the birds. So when you began to stir and felt cold ground beneath you, as well as a cool breeze over your stomach, you roused yourself much faster than usual and in turn was met with an unpleasant surprise.

“H-Huh-? G-Get off!”

There was no relief as your foot came into contact with Denki’s chin, and he was sent tumbling backwards into the dirt with a pained grunt, the warmth of his hands still imprinted on your skin. You had no time to be relieved, not when you were yanking your shirt back down and sitting up with a start, and at the same time whipping your head to and fro to try and decipher where you had woken up. All you could see were trees, and more trees, and just a small patch of sky out of many above you, as you looked around the small clearing and found two out of four people that you didn’t recognize. Denki sat up where you had pushed him off, and the girl with black eyes and horns sat a few feet away, her smile eager as she realized you were awake. And then there were two more men, one lanky one with black hair, and one stocky redhead that he was talking to--and their heads turned to you as soon as Denki groaned, but only the muscly one stepped past him to approach you.

“Where’s Izuku? You..You’d better tell me where he is!”

Your words were strong enough, but they were delivered by a weak, shaky voice, and so they fell off into nothingness and barely made an impact on your kidnappers. The redhead didn’t even scowl, or bark at you like his leader did--instead he smiled with sympathy clear in his eyes, before he reached out and took your hand in his, and softly introduced himself as Kiri.

“..I can see why Izuku likes you. You care about him a lot, don’t you?”

As much as you wanted to rip your arm away from the barbarian, his touch almost alarmingly gentle for someone so violent, you feared that the consequences would be too dire for you to endure. But at the mention of your beloved all rational thought slipped from your mind, and you leaned forward with visible excitement at the prospect the redhead offered.

“You wanna go see him?”

Your answer spilled from your lips before you could think, and you nearly trembled with excitement, so preoccupied you didn’t even register the hungry gazes of the other pack members that surrounded you.

“Y-Yes! Please, l-let me…”

With a smile and a strong hand, he helped you up on unsteady feet, making sure you were fine to stand before he finally let you go. You had been through so much in the last day, but it would all be fine as soon as you got to see Izuku-

“Good girl. I just need you to put on some clothes, first.”

...And then that euphoria came to a startling halt, as Kiri took the fabric that the woman nearby had been holding, and held it up for you to watch it unfold before your eyes. The outfit alone was enough to make you do a double take, held together with thick straps with only the smallest amount of cloth to cover your intimate areas, much like the clothing they all wore themselves albeit without the boots, gauntlets, and padded armour on their shins and shoulders. But what disturbed you even more was the realization that you had no privacy out here--they were expecting you to change in front of them, with all four pairs of eyes focused eagerly on any bit of skin they could peek at.

You opened your mouth to protest immediately, your face already hot with shame--but you closed it just as quickly, when you realized there was no use. The barbarians you were being put on display for had already done so much worse to you, and only that you knew of...so with the promise of seeing Izuku being the only thing you could cling to, you slowly gave in and started to pull your dress up and over your head.

“So cute...Kiri, are you sure we can’t-”

“I wish. But no, Bakugo said so.”

By the time your outfit fell in a heap to the ground, you had already tried in vain to cover your chest and between your legs, only having the thinnest of undergarments to shield you from the cool breeze that rustled the leaves, as well as their ravenous, roaming eyes. The tall, skinny guy still drank in your figure even after being denied a touch, and with one more gesture from Kiri to take all of it off, you felt your blush reach the tips of your ears and down your neck as you slid your underwear down your legs and the rest off your shoulders. Nothing had ever humiliated you so dearly in your life, but it was a necessary evil--and it was a small price to pay if you got to see Izuku again, alive, so you gulped back your embarrassment and trembled naked at the mercy of a pack of deliriously salacious barbarians.

“You look even better awake than you did asleep…”

Denki murmured to himself at Kiri’s side as his gaze trained solely on your exposed chest, and you could practically feel his fingers twitching as he craved another touch of your soft, warm skin. But you swore he wouldn’t get it, as long as you had the strength to kick him back again.

“M-My...my husband is going to kill all of you...s-so...enjoy yourselves before you suffer the consequences..”

The hairs on your neck prickled, but you sensed that it wasn’t from the cold. You were gifted with a brief moment of silence--but then you flinched as soon as all four of them broke into raucous laughter, and in a flash you snatched the skimpy outfit out of Kiri’s hands to quickly tug it on as some sort of cover.

“Oh, please, Kiri? C’moooon! You can’t say no now--she’s so spunky!”

“I’m with Mina, let Bakugo wrestle with his little highness for awhile--I wanna rip that spunk right out of her!”

Both Denki and Mina practically vibrated with energy, the eagerness clear in their voices as they geared up to pounce on you--but once you adjusted the straps to cover yourself, Kiri shooed all three of them away despite their pleas to have their way with you, and laid a careful hand on your shoulder that sent shivers down your spine. You didn’t want to imagine that Izuku was enduring something terrible, but you couldn’t ignore what Denki had just said...and the thought stuck with you even as Kiri bound your wrists together with rope, and led you forwards into the brush so he could bring you to your beloved, cooing reassurances to you about how nice and obedient you were and how happy your fiancé would be to see you again.

You could only hope, just as much as you were able, that he spoke the truth. But you wouldn’t know for sure, not until you came to the end of whatever path you had been fated to walk, and met your new destiny head-on.

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