#mha fantasu au

[ms0milk]

𝟏 | 𝐀 𝐖𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐟𝐮𝐥 𝐖𝐚𝐲 𝐭𝐨 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐚 𝐓𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐓𝐫𝐢𝐩

ー✧ prince!bakugou x royal guard!reader

"The prince meets you with a ferocity that probably stops people’s hearts and with his mother’s halo of silvery hair and decisive eyes, it’s lovely enough to stop yours too."

no cw big time fairytale castle, blunt bkg & silly co. reader's a lil stiff bc character arcs aren't built in a day, let the slowburn begin. i am not immune to aizawa in any universe. author does not attempt to hide how very badly she wants to ******* *** **** bkg's mama. 3.9k

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Waking up is so peaceful this morning. Gentle and warm.

"..…"

That sweet kind of rise between waking and dreaming, where you’re able to say goodbye to your dreams and the people in them with a tip of your hat and wave goodbye. Forgiving and patient.

“..Y/n…”

The queen was in your dreams tonight. And you were back in your hometown– you’re there now. The fields are golden and heavy before autumn harvest and your neighbors have no need for locks on their doors. She is beautiful today, and she is your sister, your mother, your Lady when you try to look past the sun’s rays to her face. Up, up, up into her eyes, why can’t you find what you’re looking for? Higher and higher until it’s the stars you’re on your knees for.

“Y/n.”

You jolt at the sudden sensation of falling with a quick and panicked grip on your pillow but you’re back in your room, stuffed mattress and all. Every part of your body is grounded to woolen blankets and the weight at your feet. Someone laughs at the foot of your bed when you sigh in relief and you jump again, because this time it’s the queen.

“I’m sorry to wake you.”

She smiles behind her hand. You’re staring. And then it’s been a second too long before you gather yourself like a member of the castle with some respect and make a move to stand for formal greetings. But you only get as far as sitting up when she stiffs her palm to your forehead.

“Stay.”

From your spot still tucked in bed you muster a, “Yes, Your Majesty.”

The queen’s hair is wild and silvery by the light of a candle she holds at her chest. The only light in the room. Heavy fur cape clasps fit neatly into the bodice of her nightgown– gown almost wasn’t the right word. You love her. There isn’t a citizen alive that doesn’t love her.

“I have a question for you, Y/n.”

“Anything, Majesty.”

What time is it? Your curtain is drawn, but still there doesn’t seem to be any morning light trying to peek through.

“My son’s been invited east to celebrate a new observatory.” The queen pulls a once-neatly-wrapped envelope from her pocket, “the end of some momentous constructional undertaking or another,” she laughs. She extends her hand to you and smiles at just how dumbstruck you still seem to be by candlelight.

“I’m sorry it’s so early.”

“Not at all.” You move too quickly and too slowly somehow– you curse yourself– while taking it from her, and feel like a silly child the way she has you perched against your pillows. In your nightclothes for gods’ sake,

“I just received word from a Takoba messenger. A letter from their queen.”

You nod to her. Turn the letter over in your hands until it falls open.

“He’s leaving today and I would very much like you to accompany him.”

Dumbstruck doesn’t describe how you look anymore, doesn’t do it justice. Your apartments on Castle Southside feel less like a single modest room and more like the very stables you live above, wholly unfit for royalty. She’s still smiling at you. You’re still goddamned tucked-in.

“Majesty, me?”

“If you wouldn’t mind.”

You jolt up again and catch yourself in a way that seems amusing to her, “Not at all Your Majesty! But wouldn’t– shouldn’t Master Jeanist go?”

“Jeanist stays with me.”

And you realize in horror– truly too many emotions at this point for one woman to manifest only minutes after waking up– that you implied the queen may have made a mistake.

“Don’t apologize,” she catches you before you can open your sleep-addled mouth again, “Captain of the Guard stays with me. But you’ve trained with Jeanist for years Y/n, you’re going to be my son’s Captain, I know you will.” She’s scooting closer to you and gods, she’s taking your hand, “Can I trust you with this mission?”

It feels fuzzy in the room when she uses your name.

“With anything.”

Queen Mitsuki handed over one more letter before leaving you to prepare for your morning shift. Just a thank you card, she’d said. For you to deliver to the eastern queen, the Queen of Takoba.

As long as it was her asking you’d be able to do anything, although she may have a touch too much confidence in your future. Captain of he Royal Guard? Spending the most time with Jeanist doesn’t mean you have a future as his successor, only the next monarch can decide that. Spending the most time with Jeanist only means that you don’t have any friends.

The click of your heels down the stone hallway line up with another’s as you round the corner to your station. A tree today.

Trees and wildlife grow freely in the Bakugous’ Aldera Castle and make the palace warm even in the dead of winter. Knobbly trunks and grasping vines twist in and out of windows, fruit rolls down the halls in fall. Squirrels and birds get in so regularly that members of the guard each have one shift a week exclusively for helping the creatures get back out.

Fresh air never feels far away. In the springtime you are all tasked with sweeping blossoms off the castle floors before they wither or trip a royal guest, and from the very second the first magnolia blooms in March you’re swimming in flowers til June.

Jeanist stands under the lichen of Castle Southside’s oak tree when you arrive, and the soldier he was speaking to has already strode away. Tall, black hair.

The oak tree is four stories tall to have an arm reaching this far inside and is older than any member of the castle is able to recall accurately. It is precious family. It reaches up and over the banister at the edge of the hallway and dips down into the library like a leafy chandelier, causing much headache in autumn when the tallest ladder ever made is procured for the poor novice whose job it is to clean the books underneath of it.

“Good morning, Y/n.”

“Sir.”

Jeanist only smiles under the high collar of his red uniform. You rarely get the chance to stand beside your mentor anymore, now that the prince is getting older and needs a senior guard on diplomatic errands. You love the way your uniforms look in a line together– feel next to each other. Yours are the only two of their kind and your mentor made these himself. Blood red gambeson and white bone pin clasps. You assume your position beside the tree and stare dead ahead, happy, if only for a second, if only on the inside, to belong once again to this group of two.

“Y/n?”

“Yes, sir?” You don’t break eye contact with the far wall. It’s still relatively dark on the fifth floor of Southside and so all you have to entertain yourself is a tapestry you’ve memorized every stitch of, until another soldier comes to relieve you.

“Did you speak with the Queen?”

“Yes, sir. Early this morning.”

“Earlier than dawn?” Jeanist chuckles and turns to gaze out the window through the ancient knots of the oak tree. The sun crests the mountains somewhere farther than you’ve ever traveled and spills into the folds of his uniform. It warms the back of your head. “What did you tell her?”

“That I would be honored to comply with Her Majesty's request.”

“And how do you feel?”

“Privileged, sir.”

“Y/n,”

Your eyes tug at your periphery, confused by the general chatiness of the old guard this morning.

“I’m proud of you.”

Your head turns fully at this, in surprise and without your permission, and you realize it hasn’t yet struck you to ask why he’s at your post in the first place.

“Master Jeanist?”

“Go on.” He’s looking at you too now, he’s been doing it the whole time, “They’ll leave without you at this rate.”

You stare for another two seconds at this strange mentor of yours. You try to keep your heart from spilling onto the floor is actually what you do; it’s all you can manage.

“Yes, sir.”

If anything you’ll be the first of the entire party to arrive in the Great Hall, but you still let Jeanist assume your position in front of the oak and even turn in surprise again when he rests a hand on your shoulder as you’re making to leave. He taps one of your small golden earrings with a gentle finger and with his other hand unclasps the dragontooth brooch from his breast.

“How long did you stare when the queen spoke with you this morning?”

Your ears go hot immediately under his knowing gaze, but he only smiles. He pulls your hand forward and rests the dragontooth in your palm with an amount of pressure that can only mean, be careful. And so you will, you determine, and turn to make your way to collect your things.

“Word of advice!”

In a neverending morning of spinning, you drag your foot and face him again. Jeanist is nearly laughing and trying very well to hide his worry, “If you stare at the prince the way you have the tendency to do, he might just take your head off.”

He doesn’t get to see you smile often, but it does feel fitting now for you to nod your goodbye to him with that sneaky grin of yours he loves so much.

“He might try, sir."

It didn’t take more than a few months in the castle, at six years old, for the prince to rectify his opinion of you. To clarify his disdain in the event that his mother’s favoritism towards the orphan gave anyone the wrong idea about his personal priorities. Though it hardly mattered. Hundreds of new faces fill the castle every year and he had forgotten yours just as quickly as you had been whisked into Jeanist’s care to begin your training and earn your keep.

Today your satchel is packed, your hair’s braided back, and the prince thinks no more or less of you than he always has. Indifference will make your job easy.

The whole sprawling maze of stone buildings warm in the morning sun as you make your way to Castle Northside, although autumn is close and soon heavy curtains will need to be draped over windows and trees. Soon too, it’ll be time to sweep fallen leaves out of the hallway and collect ripe peaches from the branches of the western stairwell. You’ll need to have your winter uniform cleaned when you return so the white fur of the collar glows, because when the queen happens to see you on duty she always remarks on how well you care for her colors.

Even your earrings– tiny suns, gold and dangling– represent your love for Aldera down to the smallest detail. They were a gift from her, and you swell when her eyes jump from one carefully polished detail on your body to the next. Jeanist always says that she’s the most meticulously crafted person he’s ever met. You know that’s why he loves her. Each giant winter cape in her collection drops her into the background of some priceless painting or ethereal scene and for this reason alone, winter is your favorite season.

Sometimes in the cold weather, when she sneaks to the kitchen in the middle of the night, Her Majesty wears heavy battle gauntlets to stay warm and looks altogether too silly and beautiful in delicate furs and armored gloves. If you’re on duty overnight, she’ll bring you a warm loaf of bread and whisper something to the tune of, “I’ll call another guard to your post, I don’t like you staying up so late.” Or “Hide under my cape and I’ll sneak you to bed.”

It is just at this moment of routine admiration that, out of an auxiliary hallway to the kitchen, pops a tall boy you’ve never seen before wearing white soldier’s greaves. On top he’s in a worn undershirt like you’ve just walked in on his getting changed– well– he just walked in on you– while getting changed– more importantly, he knows your name and he calls to you as he approaches.

“Yes soldier?”

His limbs are knobbly and his mouth hitches uncomfortably upwards when he finally gets close enough to you to speak, “Hanta actually, Sero Hanta.”

Tall and disrespectful.

“What is it, soldier?”

“Master Jeanist sent me to get your halberd from the smithy but when I came back you–”

“I don’t keep my halberd in the smithy.”

He shifts his weight between two legs too long for his greaves like he has somewhere else to be, “Well whoever’s it is, Kirishima has it now and we’ve all been searching Southside like madmen trying to find–”

“Who–” You shake your head and turn to face him fully now, “Stop, why does Master–”

“Sero! Oh my everloving gods you found her!” Another boy, quite blond, scrambles out of a different hallway– oh, he’s tripping on the decorative runner– out of breath to the soldier’s side. “Kirishima–”

“You found her!” Yet another voice shrills over the banister of the hallway above. This one belongs to a lithe pink girl and she hops the last five stairs to land at your side, “Don’t you look nice today Miss Guard.”

“Excuse me?”

She’s already moved on, “Where’s Kirishima?”

You have half a mind to take the closest person by the arm and hold them for questioning. How have they gotten so far into the center of the castle unaccompanied? Who do they belong to?

“Identify yourselves.”

“No time for that,” Soldier Sero snaps and links a hand under each of his companions’ arms, “We’ll parse out introductions once we’re not all about to be hanged.” Without direction or permission, the three of them are down the last stretch of hallway quicker than north wind through bare branches and great iron doors scream open.

You’ve walked the Hall ten thousand times and so the gold trim and the two-story fireplace and the relentless smell of pine and the rows of mismatched wooden tables long enough to seat an extended family of dragons, only bring tears to your eyes sometimes. The floor is cobbled with river stones that catch fruit and nuts in their grooves but glow purple and red like hot glass when the sun comes in through the windows. It gets hotter than a roosted hen when it’s full of staff at mealtimes so you take your dinner elsewhere when it’s time to retire.

It’s too cramped. You’ve never managed large crowds in tight spaces very well, so times like these are precious, when it’s empty before breakfast and still clean from the night's housekeeping. Except it’s not empty now, is it? There are three fools and two brand new strangers loitering in front of the fireplace at the other end of the room, just waiting for you to call for reinforcements. Sero begins to take off his pants–

“Soldier!” You shout down the Hall almost as quickly as you cross it.

“Good morning,” An altogether new voice pools between your exclamations.

Of the five people in the empty room, two of them obviously belong someplace very far away. Somewhere unkind. Blue tunics and windswept hair. You slow your warpath and try to take in the details of the two new men that your three fugitives have approached without an ounce of concern or respect for personal space.

The younger of the pair tries to repel hair ruffles and claps on the shoulder from the three trespassers while the taller man, worn and travel-sallow, peers over the bustle to you.

His eye contact doesn't match the way he holds his exhausted body. It is this one part of him that threatens, surely only in your own tired mind, sudden and practiced violence. You move closer.

“I am Master Aizawa."

When he blinks the threat vanishes and you buckle a bit in the whiplash from danger to gentle authority. You are unarmed for a second– feeling suddenly like a school girl again being pitied by her teacher in a classroom full of people who he knows haven't quite figured out how to talk to the child soldier.

"Your party will be under my protection and instruction beginning today.”

Disarming eye contact aside, Master Aizawa, this fourth stranger of the morning, looks as if he could barely be trusted to remain upright on a sunny day, let alone manage other people.

“This young man is Hitoshi Shinsou,” he tips his chin to the boy trying to stand tall beside him, still speaking only to you over the chittering crowd, “My apprentice and your second in command.”

Windswept, violent, exhausted, trespassers, guests, useful, useless– these people do not matter. You’re supposed to be waiting for the prince and his convoy not chasing strangers in circles around the castle, when quite the terrible thought slips into center focus.

In your rush this morning it hadn’t even presented itself as an option, that this group of people might share your objective. The iron doors grunt open again in your confusion but louder than the doors are the people walking through them.

“Oh amazing, you found her!”

“I could hear you horrible fucks all the way from the courtyard.”

Your blood doesn’t rush properly for a second most likely because your heart has stopped pumping it out. It’s the prince. You square your body to the back wall immediately and bow with fists at your side. Trying to bury the incorrigible urge to stare.

Even from half a Hall away you feel the tremendous confidence that swells to every corner of a room when he enters. He’s in an open-chested vest lined with furs and you know the clasps at his neck are solid gold because the queen wouldn’t settle for less. The red cape they grip sweeps in an arc as he navigates tables, and walking duly tall beside him is the prince's Champion, Kirishima, who holds a polearm in one hand while waving to the group with the other.

The two familiar faces put you at a strange kind of ease. Kirishima is a relatively new addition to the castle but always seems to have a smile for you in passing, and the prince– the prince has gotten taller since– well, actually– you realize it’s been years since you’ve stood near him properly. Unless it’s the queen (and even then you really should), all castle staff bow their heads when a royal walks past. You’re fairly familiar with the details of his boots but not much else.

“Good morning, Highness,” Master Aizawa is the first to reply and his voice simmers just above a growl. You raise your head so that you’re standing tall when the prince finishes his march to the group but you’re too practiced in looking away to keep your eyes up when he trudges past.

“Long time no see old man.”

“Ready?”

“Let’s get this over with.” The prince doesn’t offer you a glance, not even a blink, before he’s tossing a rucksack from the man’s outstretched arm over his shoulder.

Soldier Sero calls after him, “You clean up nice,” and lifts his arm to give the prince a playful swat, but you’re already holding his wrist behind his back and he’s standing on tall tippy toes to keep the pressure in his knobby elbow from breaking it. You have a nasty habit. It’s full of panic. The queen always laughs when you’re too quick to confront so you haven’t tried to stop. It saved her life once. The prince squares himself to the yelping and now he’s looking at you.

“S-sorry Y/n! Friendly fire.”

You drop Sero’s arm and try to speak– it's your only chance for appropriate introduction– but the prince meets you with a ferocity that probably stops people’s hearts and with his mother’s halo of silvery hair and decisive eyes, it’s lovely enough to stop yours too. His red gaze is quick and flickering. Like he hopes to avoid looking at you altogether. You try to speak even less successfully than the last time, to wet your lips, try to make a sound, but he’s already rolling his eyes and ushering the two blue guards towards the door.

“I don’t need a fuckin’ babysitter. The rest of you, hurry up.”

They do. The prince, two escorts, and three unnamed guests, are back out the iron doors without so much as a greeting, explanation, or itinerary. You stand next to the cold fireplace, still half bowed in greeting.

As the Great Hall stills, empty now except for Kirishima, the redhead sidles a bit closer in the quiet. He watches you excitedly, as you exhale and adjust the travel bag at your hip, eager to present you with the weapon he’s been carrying.

“Good mornin’ Y/n. I think this is from Jeanist,” he chirps with a smile and precisely no clue just what exactly it is he’s handing to you. He’s straightforward and confident and warm.

It’s been a long time since a day so new has been so active. Since dawn, nothing but one heart palpitation after the next. One pair of red eyes to the next. The prince’s red burns your vision like a sunspot, Aizawa's turn grapes to wine, but Kirishima’s feels patient. You’re slow to remove your gloves before handling the weapon and take it from the Champion who vibrates in the new quiet. He is not particularly good at standing still.

Shifting up and down in your hands is a halberd. Its balance is unfamiliar and it’s not the cherrywood weapon you’re familiar with, the one that’s hopefully still hanging up in its slot in the Keep. This weapon is a deep blood red from shaft to socket. You nod your head without taking your eyes off the shimmer of the metal polished so fine it's turned white, and you’re sure there are tears in your eyes.

Kirishima is still smiling as you fiddle with the rivets, “You have lovely taste, it’s beautiful.”

“It’s not mine,” you whisper, because it’s Master Jeanist’s.

Outside of the castle gates, a particularly dazzling blue carriage is waiting, pulled by a team of white horses. You squint at the three fools wrestling with each other next to a quilted door of the most delicate vehicle you’ve ever seen in your life. Like something out of a storybook, like something built by fairies. The prince tiffs with a less-than-interested Master Aizawa in the grass a ways off and taps his foot angrily just like his mother.

“Are you the Aldera escort?” Shinsou, the spitting image of apathy, appears between you and Kirishima as you trek the stone path to join the party. He hands you each a sizable knapsack.

You nod, “Y/n, apprentice to Captain Jeanist.”

“The one and only?”

“Captain?”

“No, the only apprentice,” Shinsou corrects and smiling eyes betray his disinterest, “I’ve heard stories. It’s nice to meet you, Y/n.”

“Likewise,” you murmur as he leaves you with a bag in both hands, and strides back to the crowd to help load luggage. The Champion is long gone and mingling with friends too and so you’re alone again, left to fiddle at a distance with your halberd and the leather sling used to carry it on your back.

When you gaze back over the group from afar, it does seem that everyone but you already quite likes one another, and it probably feels that way because it’s true. They know each other somehow and you are the only stranger.

Next to the stack of luggage, you watch Sero open the door for his two friends and then watch them all curtsy dramatically before trying to beat each other inside. Shinsou catches the blond when he trips backwards on the single carriage step, Sero is finally wearing pants that fit him, black and pleated, and the prince is now stamping his foot on the ground in conversation with the most unfazed man you’ve ever met. Master Aizawa, you suppose, from Takoba.

Behind you the warm castle whistles with wind and morning activity. Your home. In front of you the pink-haired girl blows kisses to imaginary admirers and Kirishima hoists the prince into the carriage by force. It hasn’t been more than an hour and you are already sure this group of people will try their absolute hardest to get you all killed.

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tagged angels ✧.* @nnubee @cherrykamado @nonomesupposedto @zombiewarprincess @kotarousproperty @strawberry-mentos69 @sveetnn @eirlysian @lunrai @cherripunch26nch26 @km74744 @arayoflia

could not tag for some reason

(there was an issue with this post the first time, so I wont clog my angel's notifs with a retag on this second try 😅)

[kozidraws]

Fruit

[makeshift-moth-writes]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: 僕のヒーローアカデミア | Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia Rating: Not Rated Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Midoriya Izuku & Sensei | All For One Characters: Midoriya Izuku, Sensei | All For One Additional Tags: Whumptober 2022, Alternate Universe - Parent Sensei | All For One Keeps Midoriya Izuku Isolated | Vault Time, Kidnapping, Escape, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Possessive Sensei | All for One Series: Part 14 of Makeshift_Moth Whumptober 2022 Summary:

Izuku makes a break for it. If he can just reach the sanctuary of UA, his father shouldn't be able to follow.

[chibichibisha]

Fantasy!AU where Deku is a nice merchant and he hires Katsuki the adventurer who is a scary shapeshifter

[your-caringcarrot]

Day 3 for katsudeku week: Swap / Fantasy AU