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Pairing: Izuku Midoriya x Reader
Rating: Explicit
Tags/Warnings: princess bride!AU, pirate!izuku, reader is in an arranged marriage with someone else, angst, smut, brief mentions of alcoholism and drinking too much, izuku spends some time as a prisoner of war, specifically as a galley slave, implied SA but not to yn or Izuku
A/N: fellas, finals season is upon us, so worst comes to worst, an update might not happen next weekend or the next. just know i havent forgotten this story, college will just be actively trying to murder me n i will be fighting for my life out there
into the movieverse! collab masterlist
"So, what happened to Izuku once he got captured?" asked the little girl, swinging her feet. As ever, she seemed more interested in the action bits than anything else, and she looked up at her mother with wide, eager eyes, ready to devour more of the story.
"Terrible things," replied her mother, staring out in the direction of the ocean, watching as the waves crashed against the rocky shore. "Even the worst of luck does not account for what transpired during his captivity— only human cruelty could be responsible for such depravity."
"What's depravity?"
The mother looked down at her child, her eyes sad.
"It's—"
She paused, thinking.
"Depravity is evil," she said. "It's like the bullies in the schoolyard who grow up and haven't learned how to treat other people. Think of a kind of creature that takes what they want by force, and never gives a moment's thought to another being beyond what they can use them for— that, child, is depravity."
The girl chewed on the inside of her cheek, thinking.
"Like pirates?"
The mother shook her head.
"No," she murmured. "Like slavers. There is no greater depravity than to believe that one can possess another human soul— and, unfortunately, Izuku Midoriya learned that the hard way… "
***
Izuku would never forget the moment he woke to find himself bound hand and foot, thrown into the hold of a ship like so much cargo. The experience was a singular one, unlike anything else he had known before.
It was a turning point, a new beginning in his life— and not an entirely welcome one.
When Izuku regained consciousness, he was deep in the bowels of the enemy ship. Down there, in the baleful heat, it was dark as pitch and stank like hell. The pungent aroma of piss, sweat, and sick enveloped Izuku to the point of choking him; his head ached, and his neck and back protested against the hard, wooden floor on which he lay. Still, he wriggled and thrashed until he could feel something hit his boot, and he whispered,
"Kacchan. Kacchan! Are you there?"
Izuku swung his foot a bit too wide, and someone grunted.
"Deku? Is that your shitty foot that just kicked me?"
"Oh thank the gods," Izuku breathed, letting out a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding. "I thought— I thought—"
"Thinking is a waste of your fuckin' time, you moron," Bakugou shot back, and Izuku could hear him wriggling closer. "Come see if you can untie this rope.
A moment later, as Izuku and Bakugou were trying to regain their bearings, another voice whispered,
"Midoriya? Bakugou?"
It was Todoroki.
"We're here, Half-and-Half," said Bakugou.
There was a thud, and then:
"Ow!"
The newest voice, Izuku thought, belonged to the barber surgeon from earlier— Iida.
"I see you lads are new here."
This voice Izuku did not recognize. However, it was a distinctly feminine one, and he wondered how a woman had found herself in a place like this.
"You," said Todoroki, "where are we?"
"Aboard the bonny Sea Bitch," came the sardonic reply. "Gildur's pride and joy. They tossed you lot in here like a stinking sack of potatoes some time ago— I was starting to think you were dead."
"Shut up," Bakugou growled as he finally managed to press his back against Izuku's positioning himself so that the rope that bound his hands was pressing against Izuku's. "We're trying to get out of here."
There was a pause, then the voice said,
"You know, I liked you better when you were dead."
Izuku couldn't help himself. He gave a hysterical little laugh at that, and he heard it echoed by Todoroki a few feet away. Soon, they were both stifling their hysterics until Bakugou slammed his head backwards with such force that it knocked painfully against Izuku's, effectively sobering him.
"Work faster, you idiot," he growled. "If you don't shut the fuck up, they'll hear you!"
"It's useless, you know," said the feminine voice, once more rising to contradict Bakugou. "Even if you all get free before a patrol comes by— which you won't— you've no weapons, no armor. You'll never fight your way off of this ship."
"Still, we must try." There was some more shuffling, and Izuku imagined that Iida was trying to sit up. "Better to have fought and lost than not to have fought at all."
"Men— always willing to die for some cause or other," the voice spat. "How about putting your peckers away for a fucking minute and listening to what I have to say?"
All was silent for a heartbeat or two, and then Izuku spoke.
"Go on, then," he said. "What do you have to say?"
"They killed the last blokes what tried to escape. If you want to survive, make yourselves useful to them in some way— are any among you tradesmen?"
"I'm a medic," said Iida. "My Lord Todoroki is a nobleman, son of Lord Enji Todoroki, and an officer in the Florin navy, with education in the fields of—"
"You'll live," said the voice. "Your friend, Lord Cunt? Not so much."
Bakugou snorted at that, but Izuku elbowed him. They were all in the same boat now, both physically and metaphorically.
"Lord Cunt speaking," said the nobleman in question, "Do you know whose command this vessel is under?"
"I'm not sure of his government name, mate, but he calls himself Stain."
The name was unfamiliar to Izuku, but Todoroki grunted.
"It's well that it was him and not another that caught us," he said softly. "Stain is a man of ideals. If he can't trade or ransom us in some way to further the cause, then he'll kill us outright and be done with it. That's more than can be said for our other adversaries."
Izuku didn't know a thing in the world about Florin's politics, much less that of her enemies— why would he, being just the hired help?— but he trusted Todoroki to know what he was talking about.
"So how do we play this?" Izuku asked. "What information do we have to work with?"
"This is no game," said Todoroki harshly, "and we are not players. We are at this man's mercy, and we'll do what he asks of us insomuch as we can, short of betraying the crown."
Izuku swallowed.
"Fuck that," Bakugou swore. "There's got to be another way."
In the end, though, Todoroki was right. There was nothing they could do. Not when the guards came to check on them, throwing them a pail of water to lap from like dogs, and not days later, when they were brought out to stand before the captain, Stain— a tall, lanky man with wiry dark hair and a sharp jaw, prone to frowning.
"Shoto Todoroki," said Stain, coming to stand toe-to-toe with the young officer. "I see you're in command of a fine bunch of men. All hearty, hale, and good fighters too."
Todoroki said nothing, instead staring at the captain as if he hadn't spoken at all.
"Well, brat?" Stain insisted, his nose almost touching Todoroki's. "What do you have to say?"
Todoroki sniffed, somehow still disdainful despite being filthy and covered in the rank smell of piss.
"I have nothing to say to a man who will not address me by my proper rank— but these men are scum and worse besides. Proper company for your crew, I'd say."
Beside Izuku, Bakugou bristled— but Izuku stepped roughly on his foot. His instincts said that Todoroki was up to something, and something told Izuku that an outburst from Bakugou would be to their collective detriment.
"Hm. They seem fine enough to me. Does serving their motherland not suit them well enough?"
"The ungrateful cunts were money-hungry," Todoroki replied, his tone full of self-righteous spite. "Never enough food, never enough wine, never enough gold. They'd often complain and speculate that the grass was greener where you and your ilk grazed."
Stain huffed a laugh.
"So it is, boy, so it is. Me and my ilk quite like where we're standing." Stain backed away then, pacing down the line of them standing there. He stopped directly in front of Bakugou, looking him up and down like one might a strange statue with graven wonders. "As for you and yours, well, I'd love nothing better than to hold you for ransom and keel-haul the rest."
Izuku stiffened. He wasn't exactly sure what keel-hauling was, but it sounded like something he certainly didn't want to be a part of.
Todoroki raised a noble brow, stoic as ever.
"But?"
"But my compatriots are in need of more men to work in the galleys, so I'll be passing off the lot of you to the chain and the oar," said Stain, grabbing Bakugou by the wrist, curling his arm upward so that his bicep flexed, feeling the muscle there. "I mean only to ascertain the health and well-being of the lot of you before I make a gift of you to Kai Chisaki."
At that, Bakugou spat and hissed, yanking his arm away from Stain. Stain, however, took the motion in stride and cold-cocked him then and there. Bakugou— a large, sturdy man, even at their admittedly young age— was staggered, and Stain shook the pain from his hand.
"Oh, he will have fun breaking you," Stain said with a sickening grin.
"Eat shit," said Bakugou, and this time, he earned himself another punch and a pistol shoved beneath his jaw.
"One more word, foul or otherwise, and I'll paint the deck with your brains. As big and burly as you are, if you can't behave, you're better off dining with Davy Jones."
The captain spoke the words casually, but his meaning couldn't be more clear. Wisely, Bakugou kept his mouth shut, and Izuku breathed a quiet sigh of relief as Stain moved on.
One by one, he inspected the four of them, checking the muscles of their biceps, the calluses on their hands, even the color of their tongues and number of their teeth. Izuku numbly allowed the intrusive touches, thinking only of survival, thinking only of (Y/N) and the promise he made to her.
I will come back. I swear I will come back to you.
He missed her so much that it was a physical ache.
"You're lucky," said Stain, stepping back. "Those gashes on your face don't seem to be infected yet. I'll have my barber surgeon take a look.”
“If I may,” said Iida, stepping forward, “I’m a medic myself. Given the proper tools, I could—”
Stain grabbed Iida by the cheeks, mashing his face together with a single, giant hand.
“If you think I’d let you anywhere near a surgery, you must think I’m a fool. You won’t get your hands anywhere near a needle, scalpel, or chemicals. You’re no doctor now, boy. You’re a meat suit for propelling a ship— nothing more.”
Stain signaled for the guards to take the rest of them away, leaving Izuku alone with him.
“Walk with me,” he said, and Izuku followed.
Together, they made their way belowdecks. Izuku felt nervous, a bit seasick as he struggled with making it down the stairs with his arms tied behind him, hindering his balance— but then Stain began speaking to him, and he felt sick for a different reason.
“What is your name, boy?”
Izuku swallowed thickly.
“Izuku Midoriya, sir,” he said, then kicked himself for honoring this bastard with a sir.
Stain grunted.
“So you’re a no-name kid with a farmer’s tan and a look on your face that says you're about to piss yourself, and yet you cut down two of my men the other day like a hot knife through butter, before someone stopped you. I saw you do it, or I wouldn’t believe it myself.” Stain opened a door, waiting for Izuku to step inside. “The way I see it, that doesn’t make much sense. So tell me, plowboy— how did you end up here?”
Izuku allowed himself to be distracted by the barber surgeon, who directed him to take a seat on a long, red wooden table that once might have been brown before he answered. He was grateful for the time to think, but in the end, it was as Bakugou had predicted— thinking, it seemed, was a waste of his time. He was a man of action; lies did not become him. Instead, Izuku was better suited to honesty, so he said all he knew to be true.
“I’m in love with a woman,” he said, “but I had no money, no titles, and no land. I set out to make enough money to buy or earn those things which I lacked. That’s all.”
Stain laughed at him— a deep, belly-laugh that shamed Izuku, brought heat to his cheeks.
“It’s always a woman, isn’t it? Nothing better to destroy a man.”
The barber surgeon stepped in front of Izuku, obscuring his view of the captain as he dabbed the wounds on Izuku’s face with iodine, readying it to be sewed. Even so, Izuku was hardly finished with the conversation, and he boldly said,
“I love her. I swore I’d come back to her, and that’s a promise I intend to keep.”
The needle pierced Izuku’s flesh, but he resisted the pain readily enough, even as Stain laughed again.
“You won’t leave Kai Chisaki’s galley alive,” he said, “and even if you do, you’ll come home to find your love in bed with the man she told you not to worry about. Take my advice: if you ever get free, make something of yourself, but not for some wench. Seize life by the throat, and take what you want from that thieving bitch while you can.”
Izuku opened his mouth to say that perhaps Stain’s experience of “finding your love in bed with the man she told you not to worry about” was not because all women were fickle, but perhaps because Stain himself was such an ugly, mean sonofabitch, but the barber surgeon told him to hold still and stop talking. It was just as well; Izuku had the feeling that Stain wouldn’t have liked what he had to say very much anyway.
“This is going to scar,” said the medic. “If you had come to me earlier, or if you had pressed the edges of the wound together, it might have saved your looks, but as it is, there’s nothing I can do.”
Stain laughed again. Izuku was starting to hate that sound.
“Do you think your whore will even recognize you now?”
Rage burned within Izuku, the likes of which he had never felt before.
“She isn’t a whore.”
“Too right— a whore wouldn’t mind servicing a man with a fucked-up face. No self-respecting lass would have anything to do with a rough-looking, low-born bastard like you.”
Izuku inhaled, exhaled, dismissing the words from his mind— but even so, the scalpel on the surgeon’s table glinted in the corner of his eye, silver, tempting.
“Do you think she’s even given you a moment’s thought since you left?” Stain pressed, and Izuku began to tremble. “Do you think she will even care when you die in the belly of a ship, chained to your oar?”
Izuku did not trust himself to speak. He grit his teeth, locked his jaw. He would not give Stain the satisfaction of the outburst he wanted, and the medic’s needle was slipping into the fragile skin where his nose sloped upward toward his brow-line. He would be still. He would be silent.
“Face it,” Stain said, “You were never good enough for her. You were always unworthy from the start. She knew it, you knew it, and I know it.”
Unfit.
“You’re nothing but a plowboy, are you?”
Unworthy.
“A little piss-ant plowboy with a tiny, miserable c—”
Izuku snapped. Before he knew what was happening, the scalpel was in his bound hands and he slit the medic ear-to-ear. Warm blood splashed on his hands, chest, and face, and with the needle still stuck through the skin of his right brow, Izuku lunged at Stain, swinging the scalpel in an underhanded upward motion, aiming for the captain’s soft, squishy bits that would take poorly to piercing. With a cougar’s grace, Stain slipped aside in just enough time to avoid the blade, and the scalpel lodged itself in the counter behind him, bending from the force of Izuku’s strike. This time armed with nothing but his bare hands, Izuku lunged again, aiming to wrap his hands around Stain’s throat, but the captain was too fast. He drew his pistol and used the butt of it to strike Izuku down. Izuku fell hard, and Stain kicked him once, twice, three times in the ribs, then put his boot directly on Izuku’s cock, pressing down painfully against it. He primed his pistol, aimed it down at Izuku, and smiled.
“I should kill you here and now,” he grinned. “Oh, I should, I should— but it’s my own stupid fault for pushing you so hard when I knew what you were.”
He kicked Izuku between his legs, then— not with all of his strength, but with enough that Izuku was sick with the pain of it.
“You’re a mad dog, Izuku Midoriya— just like me. You’ve got rage pent up inside you, and you try to tell yourself that you’re a nice guy, a hero.” Stain chuckled. “You are anything but a hero.”
“No,” Izuku moaned, curling in on himself, but Stain pulled him up by his hair, forcing him to look in the small, beady eyes of the captain.
“Look at what you’ve done, plowboy— you just killed the man that was trying to help you. You did so for no other reason than that you were angry with me, that you wanted to make me stop,” he grinned. “Chisaki is going to pay money for you, plowboy, and you’re going to fight for him.”
For one, brief moment a spark of hope shot through Izuku— Would he be released if he made a deal? Would it be possible to somehow bargain his skills for his freedom?— but then Stain clarified, and like a rock, his heart sank to the pit of his stomach.
“You’ll be a star in the ring, I can already tell— you’ll beat a man to death with your bare hands if it means surviving long enough to get back to your lass.”
Stain shoved him away by his head, and Izuku thought he had never wanted to die more.
“No one will bet on you to start, mind. You look so weak and puny that it makes me sick— but then they’ll see. They’ll understand what you are just like I do, and you’ll make men rich.”
Izuku, horrified at this vision of the future, turned and tried to flee— but when he did, he tripped, his foot catching on the leg of the man he had killed only moments before. He vomited then, spewing his guts out on the floor of the surgery, and Stain laughed once more.
“Pathetic,” he said. “Stand up, plowboy. I’m going to sew up your face myself, and then you'll help me haul the poor bastard up for a proper funeral.”
And that’s just what happened. Numbly, Izuku did as he was directed, following every instruction without complaint. When it was all over, he was walked back to the cargo hold like a dog might be walked to a kennel. Despite the many and insistent questions from the others— What happened? Are you alright? Where did he take you? Why were you gone so long— Izuku sat there in the dark and refused to utter a single word of what had transpired, hoping his companions could not smell the blood on his shirt. Even so, there was some awkward shuffling, and Izuku felt one head drop on one of his shoulders, then a body flop over his feet, and after a moment more of weird, handless touching, another head dropped on his other shoulder, and Izuku realized that the others were trying to comfort him.
“We’re not going to get out of this alive,” came the soft, feminine voice from earlier, “So if you lot are doing what I think you’re doing, is it alright if I huddle in too?”
Izuku huffed a laugh.
“If it’s alright with the lads, I wouldn’t turn you away,” he said.
Todoroki— who was apparently pressed against his left side, from the vibration Izuku felt— added, “Come on over, love. Misery loves company, and there’s more than enough room.”
And so they all shuffled again, until Izuku felt another body press against his leg, then settle by his hip. A heavy head pressed against his thigh, and Bakugou grunted.
“Oi, bubble butt, move your arse off me.”
Izuku felt the wind from a scoff brush his breeches.
“My arse is quite nice I’ve been told, and my name is Ochako. If you want something, you can ask me nicely and by my given name.”
“Women,” Bakugou grumbled. “No sense of personal space between the lot of you.”
“Men,” Ochako shot back. “No brain between the lot of you— and if you’re not careful, hotshot, I’ll give you a cuddle.”
“Don’t touch me, bitch— ”
It was too late then. Izuku felt Ochako shift, and her head landed with a thud on what Izuku could only have assumed to be Bakugou’s thigh instead.
“Oi!”
“You’re warm,” Ochaco said softly, her voice changing its color to something more tender. “How are you so warm?”
“I run hot,” Bakugou returned, as sheepishly as Izuku had ever heard him speak, and Ochako let out a little laugh.
“So you do.”
There was one last shuffle, and Izuku heard Ochako give a satisfied little sigh. If Izuku had to guess, he’d say that Bakugou had adjusted to press more of his hot skin against her, and Izuku was abruptly, absurdly jealous of the comfort he took from the woman between them, whose aforementioned bubble butt was now pressed against Izuku.
He missed (Y/N).
He missed home.
He wished he had never left the farm.
I will come back to you, he swore, remembering sweet smiles, the soft curves of her body, and what he had refused her. I will come back.
***
“That’s awful,” said the little girl, rubbing her eyes. “Really bad.”
The mother nodded, but a smile teased at the corner of her mouth.
“I think we had better stop,” she said. “Someone is getting sleepy.”
Her daughter shook her head, though she yawned.
“We can’t end there,” said the girl. “That’s the bad part! We have to keep going until we get to the good part.”
The good part was a good ways away yet— but even so, the mother supposed it was better to tell a whole story than half of one.
“Very well,” she said, “but we’ve got to leave Izuku there for now. We’ve got to meet someone new.”
“Humperdinck!”
The mother laughed.
“Yes, Humperdinck. While Izuku was languishing in Gildur’s captivity, the Prince of Florin had his own ideas about what was to be done about the war, and how Florin was losing it… ”
***
“We’re losing,” said Prince Humperdinck, looking at the map spread out before him.
“Well, yes,” said Count Rugen, the prince’s closest advisor.
“We should not be losing, Count. We outnumber them three to one, and our navy is vastly superior to—”
“Yes, well, the men’s morale is low,” the Count replied, glancing meaningfully at the prince. “They’ve somehow gotten it in their head that Florin is the aggressor in this war.”
Which, of course, it was.
“Preposterous,” said Humperdinck. “Everyone knows of Gildur’s crimes against the crown.”
The two of them had taken great pains to orchestrate them, after all.
“I am well aware, Your Highness. Even so, the men may possibly feel that this is a dispute better settled between two men than two countries.”
Humperdinck sniffed. Foolish peasants, getting ideas.
“Then we must convince them otherwise.”
“Of course, Highness.”
“I presume you have a suggestion for how to achieve this?”
“If Your Highness will permit me,” the count replied, “I would like to suggest that you acquire a wife.”
“Interesting,” Humperdinck admitted. “Why?”
“Because,” said the count, “having a woman agree to marry you is proof that you are, in fact, a tolerable being— and, if you choose one from among the people, they will love you for it, because they will believe that you are capable of loving them.”
Humperdinck hummed.
“Are we in such dire straits? I do abhor the idea of both commoners and marriage.”
“Oh, it wouldn’t be a permanent situation. Gildur would obviously be so outraged by your newfound popularity that they would murder your wife on your wedding night.”
“Obviously.” Humperdinck fiddled with the border of his cape, intrigued. “How long can we afford to fight this war and continue to lose?”
“A year or two, no more.”
Humperdinck nodded, considering.
“So when would you suggest we commence with this plan?”
“If things do not improve? A year, perhaps. I would begin my search now if I were you, Your Highness.” The count made a face. “It is rather difficult to find a common woman who doesn’t leave a sour taste in the mouths of the esteemed.”
“Very well,” said Humperdinck. “I’ll begin a tour of the kingdom in six month’s time.”
“Wonderful,” said the count.
The two men looked at each other with matching cheshire grins. Damn, it was good to be a prince.
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