#☆.bkg.winterau

[peachsukii]

Thinking again today…(wow, two days in a row?)

Waking up to an angry, and hungry, pack of wolves surrounding you — you’re lying in the frigid snow, unsure how you got here. Did you pass out? You’re shivering, a dried trickle of blood on your forehead when you go to hold your head. The pack narrows in on you, sizing up their prey and growling lowly as a warning, almost daring you to run and give them a reason to pounce. None of your items are on your person anymore. Your knife is missing from its holder on your thigh, and your bag is nowhere to be found. This is it, this is how you die — pitiful and helpless.

There’s a distance noise, something akin to footsteps, but they’re heavier than a humans…at least, they sound it. The wolves seem to be on their guard to the noise as well, turning their attention to it before bolting in the opposite direction. It leaves you dumbfounded, sitting up while trembling under the thin cover of your fur pelt. What the hell scared them off and, quite blatantly, saved your life?

One of the most beautiful men you’ve ever laid eyes on comes out from the tree line, puffs of his breath visible in the icy air. His vermilion eyes are sharp, hair wild and untamed with a mix of threads tied into it. Flecks of snow dusted over his bare shoulders and on the fur cloak draped against his back. How is he not freezing?

“Oi,” he calls out to you. His voice is deep, deeper than you anticipated, and it makes your stomach flutter. “The hell you doin’ out here?”

Something tells you that he’s not going to let you walk away without a fight, whether that be physical or verbal. He waits impatiently for you to answer, a hand coming to grasp the hilt of the sword sheathed on his back. “M’talkin’ to you, woman. Get up.”

The intimidating aura of this man made you quiver. No one’s ever made you feel so instantly small, but at the same time, weirdly safe. His eyes widen as he scans your form, recognizing some of the clothing on your person when it clicks in his mind, he knows you. The mysterious and sneaky Tundran Thief, one of the most wanted persons in the region. His cautionary demeanor shifts into a sinister smile — jackpot.

“Give ya the choice to come quietly or run. But know, if y’run from me, you won’t get away.”

[peachsukii]

✮ content. fantasy au. reader is known as the "Tundran Thief." slight predator/prey vibes. reader is "captured" by bakugo. bakugo is an esteemed hunter + semi-royalty.

⇢ winter thief au (prev) | (next)

This might be the stupidest thing you've ever done.

His challenge to hunt you sends a chill down your spine, the adrenaline rush fueling your sudden burst of energy, bolting for the trees to the north. He growls watching you run — a devilish smirk tugging on his lips as he gives you a head start. It’s not long until the familiar hefty crunching of snow under his feet echoes through the trees around you, louder than your own footsteps as you’re desperate to escape. He wasn’t kidding, he’s fast.

And then…silence.

It stops you in your tracks, your first mistake. You should’ve known better than to stop running. A large hand grasps your shoulder in the blink of an eye, easily throwing you onto your back into the snow with a softened thud. It knocks the air from your lungs, your eyes wide as he loomed above you. He slams the blade of his sword into the ground right next to your cheek, a mercy and a warning.

“I said you wouldn’t get away, little rabbit.” He finally gets a closer look at you, hating how his stomach churns at the sight of your flushed face. He quickly disguises the feeling with a crooked grin, flashing his canines at you. “Pretty little thing, ain’t ya?"

“Just kill me already,” you quip breathlessly with an eye roll. You're in no room to protest, and yet, your sassy attitude persists.

He snarls at your insistence as he stands back to his full height, removing his sword from the ground and returning it to its sheath. “Nah, need ya alive. Yer comin’ with me.”

Gods dammit.

Before you can fight back, he’s got your hands and feet bound with your body thrown over his shoulder like a hunted animal. Usually you’d find yourself kicking and screaming, refusing to be anyone’s captor, but you didn’t have a choice this time. This man is twice your size and fully armed. What the hells could you have done?

“You gonna turn me in?” You mutter sometime later, grumbling in defeat while bouncing on his shoulder. “Bet you’d get a hell of a reward.”

He pinches your thigh roughly, eliciting a squeak of surprise from your lips. “Ow! The hell?!”

“Shut it, princess,” he growls back. “Not turnin’ you in.”

“Why not?” You dare to ask. “You know—”

“I know who you are,” he interrupts and pinches your thigh again. “Takin’ you home. Don’t make a scene an’ keep yer head down.”

He tosses his fur pelt over your body, hiding you from plain sight. Unless up close, no one would be able to tell who — or what — you are. It's not long until the sound of busy streets and commotion fill your ears. Are you at a guard post? Was there even one nearby?

“Prince Bakugo!” A man greets. “Welcome back. I see the hunt was a success.”

Bakugo? Where have you heard that name before? And then it hits you — Bakugo, as in the family of prestigious hunters, the warrior tribe of the East. Your captor is the gods damn prince of the most dangerous village on the continent.

"Mm," Bakugo grunts back in acknowledgement. "Sure was."