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celioderso · 2 years ago

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Your writing is amazing omg

something revolutionary

viking bakugou x f!reader

summary: Born a prophesied king under an exploding star Bakugou Katsuki is used to getting what he wants. That includes you.

cw: Kidnapping, bondage, spitting, choking, rough sex, drowning, ocean stuff, boats, like vaguely viking style but honestly more like barbarian aesthetic, please please let me know if i missed anything. Yandere undertones but it’s historical. Cursing. NS/FW or for ramadan. Dub!con, but bakugou does make her ask for it. MINORS DNI, all characters in their mid twenties, breeding, bakugou slaps you once - BUT A HAPPY ENDING I PROMISE OK I PROMISE

The mist hangs low on the edges of the water, lapping the sandy banks of the bay. The seawater is freezing, and you avoid it touching your shoes at all costs. It was early spring, and it would be many months before the water was even bearable, even then it was too cold to swim in. Somewhere, the sun was rising, but all you could see was its light elegantly diffused across an expanse of grey clouds. The wool of your plaid skirt keeps the cool off you as you carry the freshwater across the beach, back to the village. The bucket is heavy, your arms ache, but the freshest, sweetest water could only be found on the northernmost point of the island, where the snowmelt meets the sea. You have the two buckets on a yoke over your shoulders when you first see him.

He stands, like some kind of eldritch god, arising out of the reeds by the mouth of the river, face obscured by the bright sky behind him. For a moment you think it could be a boy from the village, but the silhouette is unfamiliar, you’ve never seen a helmet like that.

That’s when you hear it, the angry song of the horn, signifying the first Viking raid that your clan has experienced in years. The man in front of you takes a couple of steps forward, watching your eyes flash with fear before they steel over. You stumble backwards away from him, and you can hear on the horizon, the shouts of men roused from their late slumber. You’re weighed down by the water, but you’re the daughter of the chief, you know your worth, and you can recognize the fire burning in this man’s vermillion eyes. You make a decision, and let him stalk closer to you.

He removes his helmet, blonde hair ruffled by the wind, suntanned skin freckled and unmarred by smile lines. He watches you carefully, eyes skimming your figure, barely visible in your warm dress, long skirt, and soft shirt, your shoulders wrapped in a scarf your mother had knit for you. He gets closer, and closer, but you keep your eyes on the horizon, not even flinching when he’s only a few feet away, boots making heavy marks in the wet sand. His armor is leather and steel, helmet under his arm. His jawline is sharp, mouth angry, eyes narrow. The buckets swing next to you, sloshing gently. You take a deep breath and he reaches out to touch you, to grab a fistful of any of the layers of fabric obscuring your form, but you twist quickly at his actions, twirling and hitting him squarely in the stomach with freezing river water before turning and running deeper into the forest. He yells loudly but you don’t turn around to watch him get angry, you have the advantage here, you know the terrain. It’s rocky, mossy, and unforgiving.

You leap over rocks, hopping over rotting downed trees in the forest, but you still hear the heavy pounding of footsteps behind you. You know what happens to the women the Vikings take, you know what’ll happen to you, your heart thrums, you bite down on the inside of your cheek so hard you can taste iron, tears well and then stream past your face, the wind in your hair.

You’re doing well, or so you think. You hope that you lost him as your chest heaves, when something hits you hard. He tackles you from behind, strong arms pinning yours to your sides, rolling with you, protecting your soft body from the uneven ground with his armored one. You land with his legs around your hips, he smells clean, of musk, of men , and seawater, but somehow better than any man you’d ever been chased by in your village. But you don’t have time to dwell on this, you have one last desperate move, drawing the knife concealed at your waist, used mostly for cooking and household chores, glinting in the grey morning light, and plunge it into the chink of his armor at the shoulder. He grunts, words spilling from his lips in an unfamiliar language, but he doesn’t roll off of you, in fact, it seems to have the opposite of the desired effect. He pins both of your wrists above your head with his bad hand, as if the hilt of your knife wasn’t sticking in his shoulder. You mewl and squirm but he smiles as he pulls a leather cord from his belt, yanking you to your feet, not giving you a chance to run, shoving your body roughly up against a mossy tree. You set your jaw as he ties your hands behind your back. You think he’s done but he takes the rope off of his belt and wraps it around your waist, and then your wrists, securing it and taking the end of it in his hand like a leash, and then pressing his chest against your back, leaning down to speak in your ear.

“Walk.” He growls, voice low and angry. The ropes around your chest scoop under your breasts, pushing them up, plush pillows peeking out of the top of your dress. You struggle against them as you move back through the forest towards the beach. “Faster.” He taunts from behind and you pick up the pace, the sooner the better, maybe one of your younger brothers, your father, your mother, someone will see you on the beach. Without your arms, your balance is off, and you step on a rock only to slip in the damp air. He jerks on the leash, catching you with it, righting you, then urging you forward once more. Just before you get to the beach, you turn to him, eyes wide and pleading.

“Please.” You beg, eyes flicking to the smoke from your village. “Please leave me.” He shakes his head, a huge hand shooting out and curling around your throat, bringing your face near his chest, then he bends down.

“Mine.” He growls. “Understand?” Tears prick at your eyes but you aren’t ready for them to spill. You lean back and spit in his face. He backhands you, hard, only letting you fall for a second when you lose your balance, drawing your face back to his. He can see the tears flowing unbidden now, but carefully notes that your mouth is set, you’re not ready to cry. “Understand?” He says again, his hand held up, ready to make a matching red mark on your opposite cheek.

“I understand.” You respond, throat tight. A huge boat, in a style you don’t recognize pulls up in the sand. An even larger man peeks his head over the boat, unnaturally red hair in an intricate braided style.

“Oi, Bakugou, we weren’t supposed to get prisoners!” The man calls, huge arms bowing with muscles as he waves to a friend.

“Not a prisoner.” Bakugou groans, lifting you up towards the deck. “I’m keeping this one.” The redhead hops out of the boat and snatches you away from him, holding you like a child.

“Hey there,” he says cheerfully, then leaps back up onto the deck of the boat with you, the men manning the oars groan as Bakugou climbs aboard and pushes out into the sea. Your eyes are trained on your home, the smoking ruins of the place you grew up. “So why this one?” Speaking as if you’re not right there.

“She stabbed me,” Bakugou growls, pulling the dagger out of his shoulder, wiping the blood on his pants. “I’m fine. She nearly got away.” The redhead laughs, touching your shoulder.

“I’m Kirishima.” he says to you, squeezing gently, “And that’s Bakugou, doubt he had the wherewithal to introduce himself. You can sit.” He says, gesturing to the deck. You don’t want to, you keep your eyes on the horizon disappearing behind you. “Alright,” Kirishima grunts, forcing you down your knees. “Sorry, I know I didn’t phrase that like a command.” You swallow, and stare blankly out at the ocean, cool wind whipping through your hair.

“She’s also the leader’s daughter.” Bakugou studies the knife. “It’s got her name engraved in it.”

“A match made in heaven.” Kirishima crows. “Hey,” he says, waving a hand in front of

you, trying to wrench your attention from your smoking village. Both men watch as you part your chapped lips.

“I’d rather you throw me overboard than have him touch me again.” You say, voice hitched and rough, but your tone is still defiant. Kirishima nods, sitting next to you and inspecting your bonds.

“Mind if I redo these?” He asks the blond, who just looks away, which is apparently permission for Kirishima to carefully retie the ropes holding you as the sea sprays in your face and men manning the oars groan. You square your shoulders, back arched, chin out, every inch a princess as you sail into the unknown. You watch the blonde attend to his own stab wound, bandaging it carefully, making sure to keep it clean.

“Does that hurt less?” Kirishima asks quietly, and you nod. “Good.” He glances at Bakugou. “He was just in a hurry.” You swallow, twisting to face the man sitting next to you.

“What’s going to happen to me?” You ask, eyes wide and he takes a breath.

“You’re ours.” He clarifies, gesturing to your bonds and the boat. You nod. “And uh, he seems to like you”

“What?” You say, voice light and vulnerable. Bakugou takes your chin in his hand, leaning down. “She just needs to be broken.” He turns away and walks down the side of the ship moving swiftly through the sea. You summon some courage.

“I’m not afraid of you.” You say, sticking your chin out. “I’m a princess. I’ve led through more difficult situations than this. My people will rescue me or I’ll escape.” Both men stare at you. Bakugou’s eyes flick to the rope around your waist.

“Tighten that.” He says darkly, coming to stand in front of you on the gently rocking boat. He squats, his handsome face inches from yours. “Princess, huh?” He says, as Kirishima fiddles with your bonds. He spits directly in your face.

“I will take your fuckin’ virginity in front of all these men.” He snarls. “I’ll fuck you over the side of the boat and then throw you into the ocean.” You laugh lightly, the sound explosive and unhinged, tossing your hair against the wind.

“Not a virgin. So do it.” You feel the wetness drip down your face. “I’d rather die than be yours.” He rears back and for a moment you think he’ll hit you, and but he doesn’t just snarls,

“I’m gonna make you beg for me.”

“I’m praying for a curse on your house.” You say, starting to stand and Kirishima catches the rope around your waist, pulling you back onto your knees.

“Alright, alright, that’s enough out of both of you.” Bakugou scowls and Kirishima quickly continues. “Uh, especially you.” He takes a strap of cloth out of his pocket and slips it between your lips, forcing your mouth open, and tying it tightly behind your head. To your dismay, your kidnapper, Bakugou, sits on the other side of you, close enough so that you shoulders brush.

“Not a virgin huh?” He says and you shake your head. “Good.” He stares across the sea. “Maybe you won’t cry when you take my fat fucking cock.” You turn your face away from him and he grabs your chin. “Look at me.” He growls. “You are my property now, princess. Not cause you’re a fuckin’ woman, but because I caught ya.” You stare up at him defiantly, even next to you, he’s much, much larger. He takes you roughly then and shoves your upper half down into his lap, laying your head on his leather bound thigh, fingers carding through your hair. You whimper, the loss of the horizon takes a toll on your stomach immediately.

“Oh,” he coos, “She needs to see the water, huh, that where you’re gettin’ all this dumb shit courage from?” You squirm a little and his fingers snap together, so that they pull painfully. “Stay still,” he growls. You freeze, and his touches become soft again, gentle almost.

“Be nice, Bakugou, she’s probably terrified.” Kirishima chastises, and you mewl plaintively from Bakugou’s lap. “We’ll take care of you, alright?” He coos. “Don’t worry.” You struggle a little and Bakugou shoves you off of him, spending the rest of the trip staring out at the ocean pensively, while Kirishima keeps a tight hold on your arm. You can feel when it grounds, and Kirishima pulls you to your feet. The men unload the cargo and immediately Kirishima and Bakugou are overwhelmed by several friends who jump onto the boat.

“What’s this!” A young woman with brown skin and soft pink hair notices Kirishima’s tight grip on your upper arm.

“Bakugou took her.” Kirishima shrugs. “She’s a local princess apparently, Mina.” He carries you onto the dock, thankfully they don’t seem to expect you to be able to move much in your current state.

“She doesn’t look scared.” One of the other boys, who came to see Kirishima and Bakugou, with glinting amber eyes and yellow hair remarks. Before Kirishima can respond, Bakugou does.

“She will.” He snarls, taking the length of rope hanging from your waist and pulling you forward at an unforgiving pace. Kirishima and the others stay behind to tie the boat up, but Bakugou drags you up a hill, you barely keep pace with him in the wet new grass, sparse amongst the rocks. You can see his village then, at the base of the valley, much much larger than yours, bustling with people. The men catch up to him, having tied the boat and they walk into the town square with cheers at the things plundered, one of those things being you. Bakugou walks you like a dog, and if you go too slowly he kicks the back of your calves. You get to the center of town, hot humiliating tears burning in your eyes. There are cheers, and people dance, but you’re already trying to imagine what’s broken in the place you come from, your house, your neighbors, the stone walls of your old run-down castle.

“Oi,” Bakugou gets your attention with a low growl. “Don’t try shit.” You feel him loosen the ropes a little, and blood rushes back to your appendages. He hears your sigh of relief and makes a mental note. He keeps a tight grasp on your upper arm as he undoes the leather cord around your wrists, then shoves you to the ground, your back against a thick stone pillar in front of a large bonfire. He takes your arms and ties them around the back of the stone pillar, more gently than he’d done it earlier. It might be your imagination but you feel a quick soothing touch on the welts. “You injured?” He asks, tugging the gag out of your mouth.

“Just a little bruised.” You breathe, his face is inches from yours.

“Where?” He asks and you shift your weight.

“I hit my shoulder when you tackled me.” He nods sensing you’re holding back.

“And?” He says, eyes flicking to your lips and then back to your eyes.

“And I’m a little thirsty.” That was far from the truth, you were dying for a sip of water, you’d been thirsty when you’d gone to fetch water that morning.

“I’ll see to your shoulder.” He mutters, standing, turning back to the party at which apparently he’s the guest of honor. You shrink back into the stone as people laugh and dance and drink as the sun moves across the sky. He disappears into the crowd of people and you close your eyes, unwilling to be aware of the stares you’re getting. He comes back with a bandage and he kneels next to you. “Stay still.” He removes the wool scarf your mother knit you, and folds it beside you. He tugs gently on the shoulder of your dress and inspects the back of the joint carefully. You can feel the eyes, on him, on you, on your exposed skin, and you let out a little whimper when he presses on the swollen joint.

“Shh.” He says, glaring at others who look your way. “You’re mine.” You feel him brace your shoulder with careful hands, gingerly moving around the swollen joint. “Still thirsty?” He asks when he’s done, squatting in front of you. You nod vigorously and he smirks. “Yeah, that’s not gonna cut it bitch.” Your mouth drops open and he shrugs.

“Everything you get, you get because I feel like giving it to you. And I think for water, you gotta beg.” You nod.

“I understand.” Your voice is hoarse already and his grin widens, he takes your jaw,

“Open.” He says, and you obey. He spits right in your mouth. “Swallow.” He growls and it’s disgusting, he kidnapped you, the blood on his men’s clothing is probably your neighbors, your family’s. You squirm with displeasure but he seems to like that. “Let me know when you really fucking want some water.”

“Bakugou!” You call, desperately, you can’t take it, you need it right now, throat burning, and the fire’s been blowing smoke on you for hours. “Please.” You say, a note of desperation creeping unbidden into your voice. He looks at you for a moment.

“One more.” He says, face set.

“Please, can I have some water, Bakugou?” You croak, lashes wet. He nods, stalking off towards the well. The celebration swirls around you, people drinking and dancing, the leather of his armor discarded, he’s now in a loose white shirt, it’s crisp and clean, his pants tight and the bottoms of them muddy. He’s holding a worn skin, and he places one hand on the back of your neck and tips the end of it between your lips. The water is cool and clean and you drink as much of it as you can before he takes it away.

“Are you hungry?” He asks in a low growl and you nod, keeping your mouth shut. He takes some bread off a passing tray and rips off a small piece of it. “Open.” He says, and your face burns with humiliation as he feeds you, slowly, letting you swallow before letting you eat another piece out of his open palm. “The fuck are you crying for?” He asks you after a few minutes.

“I’m worried about my family.” You say quietly. “I had little brothers.” He nods.

“They might be dead.” You close your eyes, inhaling through your nose. He moves swiftly, and for a moment you think he’s going to comfort you, but you feel him slice through your bonds, and pull you to your feet. You wobble for a moment before he throws you over his shoulder. There are a few cheers as he carries you out of the party. The sun is sinking below the treeline, and it’s getting chilly. He opens the creaking wooden door to a one-room cabin. You squint in the low light. It’s exceedingly clean, furs on a bed and the floor, a chimney in the corner, made with rough grey stone, flecked with gold. He sets you on the bed.

“Do you sleep in all that?” He asks and you shake your head. Your cheeks are still wet from earlier but you put your face back on. If this was going to happen you certainly weren’t going to give him any more satisfaction than you had to. “Undress.” He says, and you fumble with the lace at the back of your dress for a minute before he loses patience at your contortions, pulling you up and shoving you roughly against the wall, undoing them himself.

“C’mon.” He grunts, shoving you down onto the bed, now that you’re only wearing a petticoat, a loose slip that covers your whole body. The air gushes from your lungs when you’re pushed down, a soft musical cry escapes your lips as he lifts the furs and scoots you underneath them. You watch as he slips out of his pants so that he’s only wearing the long, loose white shirt. He roughly wraps an arm around your waist, pinning your back to his hard chest. His arms hook upward, and he palms your breasts roughly, groaning, and rutting his hips against your ass. You let out a little involuntary whimper.

“Don’t worry princess.” He practically spits the word. “I’m not gonna touch ya till ya beg me, remember?”

“T-that will never happen.” Your voice trembles. You feel his breath on your ear, and you shiver as he speaks again, the vibrations awakening something deep in your core.

“Know why I picked you?” He says and you shake your head, trying to focus on anything other than the deep sound of his voice, his rough hands on your soft skin.

“No.” You confirm quietly. Trying to hold onto some of your dignity, you close your eyes. You were a princess. A princess from a small fishing village, but a princess nonetheless.

“I was just gonna take your knife.” He confirms. “I liked it. Lost mine, and I’ve needed a new one.” You swallow, and he laughs. “And then, I saw that haughty little nose in the air, and I thought, tch, that won’t fuckin’ do now will it? Can’t have some bitch running around sayin’ I spared her life, callin’ me weak.” You try to scoot away from him on the bed but he chuckles and holds you fast. “Then, ya had the fuckin’ audacity, to hit me.” He snarls the words as he starts to massage your chest, you can’t hold back the soft mewl that falls from your lips as he rubs his thumbs across your nipples. “And run away.” You’re squirming against him in earnest now as blood pools in your cheeks. You elbow him as hard as you can in the ribs, and he laughs harshly, undaunted.

“B-bakugou,” you get out.

“I never told you my name.” He says. “That’s just what the others call me. To you, I’m Katsuki.” You whimper again. “Fuckin love that sound,” he growls, “Make more, be louder, I’m gonna fuckin’ wreck you.”

“P-please.” You say softly.

“What?” He says. “Do ya want me to stop, princess, if you do, tell me, tell me you want me to take my hands off you, I fuckin’ dare you.” You bite down hard on your lower lip. “Ooooh,” he coos, “She can’t, can she, where’s that high and mighty attitude now, bet you’re soakin’ my goddamn bed huh? Should we find out?” You bury your face in the blanket, willing yourself to have the courage to scream, the ability to fight, but it feels - it feels so good. He releases your chest and you whimper at the loss of sensation, then you feel his teeth on your ear. “Stay. Still.” He hooks one muscled arm around your waist, you can’t help but notice, in this close proximity, how much he smells like pine and leather, as his hand dips beneath your skirt. His fingers ghost your thighs and move upwards, brushing the outside of your sex. He runs one calloused finger up your slit and you clench your thighs together.

“I said stay still.” He slaps your thigh hard enough so that you cry out, pinning your leg between his own, holding you open. “You’re gonna have to learn to follow orders.” He says as he touches the softest parts of you, fingers moving between your folds, but his demeanor seems to shift at what he finds. “Oh, you’re fuckin’ soaked.” Your eyes well with tears.

“What’s wrong,” He coos, “Don’t like that you’re my fuckin’ bitch, even though I’ve barely touched you?”

“‘M not your-” you don’t get to respond as he grinds his thumb against your clit and you squeal loudly at the stimulation, but Bakugou doesn’t give you a moment to relax, plunging two fingers into your core, and your hips buck against him.

“Fuckin’ hell.” He snaps, “Do I have to tie you down, are you genuinely too stupid to follow orders?” You don’t answer, you can’t, you’re losing control under his careful touch. He can feel the way your soft walls are squeezing around his fingers, loves watching how you lean away from him and hide your face in his blankets. He lets go of your waist and grabs your chin, forcing you to look directly into his eyes as you gurgle and gasp.

“H-hurts,” You choke out and he shakes his head.

“Poor slut’s never cum before huh?” You start to fight him a little but he’s so strong, it’s like pushing against steel. “Well I’m not gonna finish ya,” he growls, “Till you beg for my cock.”

“What?” You breathe.

“Beg. Beg for help. Beg for me to fuck you.” He says, eyes narrowing, reaching up and closing his fist around your throat, scissoring his fingers inside of you. You’re reaching for logic, for dignity, but everywhere there’s only Katuski. Smelling of pine, and sweat, and man, everywhere you reach he’s there, and the coil in your stomach tightens painfully, you want this, you want him to help you make it stop.

“Please.” You whisper, and he smiles wickedly.

“Please. What.”

“Please, fuck me.” You whimper, “Please please, Katsuki, I want, I want you.”

“What are you?” He asks and your eyes shoot open, you’re so close to the edge of something it’s painful, the tears that have been welling in your eyes spill over and he kisses them off your soft face, “Tell me what you are.”

“I-I’m… I’m yours.” He chuckles.

“That’s fuckin’ right you are.” He says, shoving you roughly to the center of the bed and climbing on top of you, “And I’m gonna fuck my sons right into that soft fuckin’ womb of yours,” you cry out, “That’s goddamn right.” he says, shuddering as he runs the head of his cock along your slit. “I’m gonna breed this prissy fuckin’ pussy.” He roughly sheaths himself inside you, watching your face carefully for your reaction, and fuck, do you you deliver. Your mouth drops open, eyes screwed shut, a high pitched keen escaping from your lips. He groans loudly as he waits for you to adjust to his size, starting to move slowly.

“Fuck,” he swears quietly, feeling how soft your walls were, pulsing around him, warm and perfect, everything he’d imagined when he saw that spark of defiance in your eyes, vowing to extinguish it. “Good slut.” He praises, “Good fuckin’ girl.” You whimper, the stretch was both pain and pleasure, more than you’d ever felt before, and you gasp when he reaches down and adjusts your legs so that he can bury himself to the hilt inside of you. To his surprise, you reach for him, tangling your hands in his braided hair, pulling him down to kiss you. He obliges, setting a gentle pace at first, one of your legs draped elegantly over his shoulder, he finds that you’re more skilled than he expected. You trap his lower lip between his teeth, and he shudders as your nails find purchase on his sculpted shoulder blades, then he opens his eyes to see a slight smile playing on your face.

“None of that, bratty fuckin’ bitch.” He snarls, and pounds into you, you scream, he has no doubt your voice is travelling out into the night, into the village, and he doesn’t fucking care. “Yeah, is this what you wanted, wanted me to fuck you like you’re a whore, princess?” He spits on your face and you choke out a sobbing moan, “That’s what I goddamn thought.” He leans down to your ear, biting it hard, feeling you push him away at the burst of pain. “Uh, uh,” He snarls, picking up the pace, snapping his hips against yours. You see stars every time his cock brushes your cervix.

“F-fuck, Katsuki,” You choke out and he smiles evilly in his victory.

“Yeah, bitch?” He snarls, “Cum for me, cum all over my cock like the whore you are.” Your back arches and you scream again, lips parted, eyes glossy, as he grunts, fucking you like an animal, biting at your soft skin, leaving his mark all over you.

“Gonna fuck an heir right into you, princess,” he grunts, “Gonna breed you like a fuckin’ bitch.” You can barely hear him as your first ever orgasm rips through your body, tears streaming from your eyes as he presses his sweaty forehead to yours. “That’s a good girl,” he says, listening to your little whimpers, feeling you twitch and shake, grunting loudly as he paints your walls with his seed. He keeps fucking you, pushing his cum up further inside of you, but you seem to know what to do, lifting your hips as he slips a pillow underneath them, clenching your legs together when he pulls out and lies down next to you as you cry softly.

“Beautiful.” He says, savoring how messy you look, your hair like a nest, your face flushed, your lips trembling. He kisses your forehead. “And mine.” You nod.

“Yours.” He pulls you into his strong arms, rubbing your head absentmindedly.

“I took you,” He says quietly, “So you’re my responsibility.” You nod into his chest. He kisses your forehead again. “I saw you, and I knew you were mine.” You sleep intertwined, when you move he wakes up, making sure you’re still there, and not trying to escape. You wake well into the night, with a nightmare, you’re wandering through the smoldering ruins of your home.

“Shhhh,” He whispers when he hears you cry. “Shhhh princess,” he rubs soothing circles on your back.

“W-want to go home.” You cry desperately. He takes your chin in his hand firmly, forcing you to look at him.

“You are home.” He pats the bed.

“Y-yes Katsuki.” He nods, something in his face softening.

“I’m home.” He attempts to clarify, clumsy with his words, swinging big with the meaning. You blink a couple of times.

“What?” He points to his chest.

“I’m home.”

“Oh.” He moves you so that you’re lying on his chest.

“You’ll understand.” He mutters. “I’ll teach you.”

When you wake the next morning he hands you new clothes, your old is dress discarded in a corner of his wood-panelled home. In the daylight, you can see how well decorated the room is, clean and organized but full of rugs and furs, warm-toned yarn woven together telling stories you don’t recognize. The clothes he hands you are simple, a long linen dress and cloak, cream-colored, with simple flowers embroidered on it.

“Thank you.” You say quietly, and he nods, then reaches around your body, tying a rope around your waist that he holds onto like a leash, but this time doesn’t restrict your movement, just keeps you close to him.

“Go.” He says, pointing towards the door of the cabin. He pulls you down to a grand hall, a building made of wood and stone and mud, where people sit, eating together. He pushes a plate of food in front of you, hands you a utensil. Quickly, he’s crowded by the people from the boat yesterday, you’d watched them at the party. The redhead, Kirishima, shoots you a warm smile.

“How’d you sleep?” He asks politely.

“We know how she slept,” The yellow haired boy, with a wide, teasing smile responds. “Don’t we, Bakugou?” Bakugou swats at the boy.

“Shut the fuck up.” Kirishima reddens.

“I wasn’t going to say anything.” He clarifies. You’re staring out the window, you can see the ocean from where you’re sitting.

“Oi,” Bakugou growls at you. “Didn’t you have questions for shitty hair?” You blink and then come back down to the ground, nodding, speaking softly.

“Are um, are my little brothers dead?” You ask quietly and he blanches, looking nervous.

“How little?” He asks finally.

“Very.” You say, voice barely audible over the chatter of people eating.

“We don’t kill children.” He says quickly. You nod, in a daze. So people did die, yesterday, while you were getting water. Bakugou watches you drift off into space, you push your plate away.

“That’s good, isn’t it stupid?” He hits the back of your head lightly and you shrug. “Eat.”

“I’m finished.” You say and he shakes his head.

“If you don’t wanna eat you won’t get any fuckin’ food.” He threatens, expecting you to bite back, to fight, but you don’t, you just nod.

“Alright.” He looks away. There’s an awkward silence and you go back to staring at the water, wondering how far you were from home. Wherever he goes through the small city, crowds part, and that means they part for you too. You cower, the unfamiliar faces and sounds making you jump. He reaches an arm behind him and to his delight you curl your body around it, holding one of his large hands with both of yours.

He notices though, that you’ve begun to slowly slip away from him. When you eat, it’s barely, and you don’t protest when Mina braids your hair, even when she yanks on a particularly tough tangle. You keep your eyes on him, where he leans on the doorframe, watching as all traces of your former identity wash away in the basin. All day, he catches you staring out at the ocean, even going as far as to walk you down to the water.

“Is this what you fuckin’ want?” He snarls. “Why won’t you talk to me?” For the first time in hours, you speak.

“Can we walk to the end of the dock?” He nods, so relieved to hear your voice he caves immediately, letting you lead the way until you’re standing a foot away from the endpoint, the sea spraying up and beading on your beautiful face. You turn to him. “My family is dead. Aren’t they?”

Bakugou has always been sure. Sure of his divine right to lead. Sure of who he was. Sure he was making the right decision, the best decision, he’d been born under a prophetic exploding star, signifying a new era, one he had decided would be an age of expansion. But he watches the tears fall down your face, as you refuse to cry, watches the pride he had admired in you crumble, watches you mourn, and suddenly that sureness ebbs from him. He takes a step towards you and you turn away, facing the ocean.

“It’s too cold to swim in here.” He says gruffly, and you nod, eyeing the rope around your waist. He tugs on it, but you stay where you are, watching the waves roll. “They aren’t dead.” He says. “Probably. Can’t account for anything that happened after we left.” You turn to him.

“What do you want from me?” You ask. “I’m submitting, I thought, I thought this was, what you wanted?” He struggles, clearly, it’s words you want, and he doesn’t have them. He doesn’t have an explanation.

“I was chosen,” he begins, and you laugh, it’s a harsh bitter sound. He yanks on the rope around your waist, drawing you back to him, forcing you to face him, his hips directly pressing against yours. “I was chosen,” he growls, “I was born under a broken star, to bring a new age to my people.” Your jaw sets and your eyes narrow.

“So you’re picking off fishing villages and stealing maidens from beaches?” Your lips curl into a sneer, you have nothing, absolutely nothing to lose, “What’s new or revolutionary about that?” You push against him and he moves backwards on the dock. “What’s new about war, about violence?” You ask the fire in your eyes back, you’re angry, and as the blood returns to your cheeks he recognizes you again.

“What’s new is the land, the ore, the riches -” You laugh again and he grabs your face in one huge hand.

“That’s pathetic.” You say as his eyes narrow, you’re testing his patience, you can tell but you don’t care, the hopelessness is finally gone from your stomach, as long as you can make this one point before he loses his temper and snaps your neck. You press a finger to his chest, “Peace. Peace would be revolutionary. Not violence, and plundering. You want to do something no man has ever done?” Your raised voice catches the attention of a few fishermen in their boats, who force themselves not to look. “Try impressing me.” You shove him, harder than you mean to, you’re angry, and you didn’t take into account the uneven planes of the dark wood dock, coated with salt and spray. But when he loses his footing and falls, you expect him to catch himself, to perform some kind of acrobatic athletic feat but he doesn’t, he just falls off the dock, it turns out under all that bravado, hes just a man. It happens almost in slow motion, wind whipping his little blond braid, the rest of his hair wild, expression livid, ready to swim back to shore, and make you pay, no doubt.

What he doesn’t count on, is a huge squall, a large wave pushing one of the canoes up, and bringing it down on his head. You see him go limp, then slip beneath the churning waves. You have seconds. Others are running, but they won’t get there in time, the current is strong, you can tell by the shape of the waves on the beach. You can let him die. You think. You could. And no one would blame you. No god, no man.

Time slows as you decide. You could let him die. You could. You could.

You rip your shoes off and dive into the black freezing waves. It’s been months since you’ve swum, but muscle memory is powerful and you counter each thrust of the ocean, opening your eyes in the burning salt, looking for your captor. A burst of sunlight, something catches his blond hair, glinting in the dark water, bubbles escaping from his lioa and floating towards the surface. You swim towards him, wrapping your arms around him tugging him towards the sky. He’s heavy, heavier than anything you’ve ever picked up on your own. You’re starting to feel the icy temperature of the water as the adrenaline wears off. The feeling in your fingers is the first to go, you’re holding him up on willpower alone as you finally break to the surface, gasping for air, kicking your legs desperately, taking a lungful of sea air before dragging him against the current towards the shore. His lips are purpled, a bad sign, and you’re losing feeling in your skin, the numbness starting to pinprick into sharp pain as the dark salty waters lap at your shoulders, your dress billowing underneath you. You summon the last vestiges of your strength. You can’t keep him above the water any longer and keep moving towards the shore. So as the men on the dock shout, their footsteps pounding on the wood, you take Bakugou back under, swimming perpendicular to the rip current towards the beach.

“She’s drowning him!” Someone shouts, but you ignore them, swimming down, swimming deep, you can hear the grind of the swirling sand, as your skin burns in the cold water, teeth chattering, pain ripping through your now stiff joints. You’re so close, just a few more feet.

You drag his body half out of the water onto the sand and immediately begin chest compressions with your trembling hands. Water gurgles out of his mouth, and when he begins to cough you collapse on his chest, shaking so hard you can’t sit still, your dress is heavy and soaked with seawater, you can’t move as practically the whole village thunders towards the beach and he moans. The first thing he sees is your face, cold, pallid, tendrils of hair sticking to your face. He reaches up and cups it, stroking your cheek as you shake and sob. He keeps coughing up water as the first people arrive on the scene. Kirishima falls to his knees next to Bakugou.

“She saved me.” He murmurs in a low growl. “You…” Your world starts to go dark at the edges, and you lose consciousness, falling on Bakugou’s chest. You wake, in warm soft water, the smell of wildflowers on the tip of your nose.

“Hi,” a voice says softly, Mina. “Hey there.” You’re alone, floating in a warm bath. You open your eyes, looking around a wood building filled with steam. “You’re alive.” She confirms and you sigh.

“Everything hurts.” You confirm. “So I know.” She lets you float in the steam room for a bit, leaving you alone, even if you hear the click of the lock on the door. You squint at the ceiling, bundles of dried wildflowers hang, which accounts for the scent. You take some water and wash your hair carefully, trying to get the sand out of it, out of your nail beds, out from between your toes. You don’t feel warm exactly, but neutral. The women come back in, they dress you and braid your hair, you don’t protest or fight them, sitting for hours on the floor with them, staring at nothing while they drink and talk.

“Where is he?” You ask after the sun starts to sink in the sky and Mina clears her throat.

“After you collapsed he gathered the men of the village for a raid.” She says quietly. “They’re all gone.” You nod. “When he comes back, he’s left instructions for your wedding.” You scoff.

“I’m sure he has.” Mina laughs.

“He’s rough around the edges, but I think he’ll be a good husband. Faithful, certainly.” You laugh and she shrugs. “He’s never been one to sleep around.” You spend the next week in routine, with the men of the village gone, the women work, feeding animals, cooking, and gathering. No one lets you do anything particularly strenuous, which come Friday afternoon, you’re beginning to resent.

Mina spots it first, a ship on the horizon while you’re all working on dinner. You squint at the brown dot. You’re stirring a pot, hair braided back, a couple of loose flowers in it from the field where you and Mina picked berries for dessert. She’s kind, but she never really knew what to say to you. You didn’t know either. She wrenches you away from the pot, pulling you into a large stone house by the river.

“We gotta get you ready!” She squeals, and you crack half a smile at her enthusiasm. “Come on.” You hear the men return outside, with unfamiliar voices, shouting and grunting, the stomping of boots on the muddy spring earth. The women paint your face in the traditional style, light black around the top of your eyes, they pinch your cheeks for a youthful glow, they dress you, in a linen gown with a low neckline and long draping sleeves, a soft pink, the color of the wildflowers they tuck into your hair. You don’t protest, letting them treat you like a little doll until Mina comes behind you and ties something over your eyes.

“Why?” You say, reaching out, and fumbling for something. “Is this traditional?” She snorts.

“Definitely not.” She leads you carefully out of the house, making sure that you don’t trip or fall. She takes your arm, and you make your way up some kind of outdoor staircase.

You can feel a cool breeze in your hair, your hands shake. What would he be like, this beast that had captured you, after a week away? Why didn’t he come to see you before he’d left? You’d been shocked he still wanted you, that the wedding was even being prepared at all. Mina lifts the blindfold from your eyes and your mouth drops. Standing in front of you is your father, dark eyes with crinkled edges, dressed in the traditional wool plaid of your family.

“My daughter,” He says in a low voice. “It would be my honor, to walk you down the aisle.” You burst into tears, throwing your arms around him, he smells of grass and linen and home. You’re standing at the end of an outdoor ceremonial ground, sculpted pews from cold grey stone, covered in lichen and moss. On one side, everyone from your home sits, some of them a little bruised, but each of your little brothers sits in the front row, even the baby squirming in your mother’s lap. The tears keep coming, as your best friend turns to you and smiles, giving a little wave. You wave back. You hear someone clear their throat and your attention turns to the altar. Bakugou Katsuki, dressed in your traditional ceremonial garb, stands in front of you, the smirk melting off of his face when he sees you, the angle of your jaw, the warmth in your eyes, the soft tendrils of hair in your face, it was all, perfect. Worth it. Your father takes your arm and leads you down the stone pathway, your leather boots tapping softly against the stone in the silence. The hills around you are muddy and green, and the sky is the kind of bright twilight blue that crackles with promise and electricity. A single puffy white cloud drifts across the sky. You stand in front of him, and he takes your shaking hands.

Wordlessly, he draws a knife from his pocket, your knife. He gets down on one knee, bows his head, and hands it to you.

“A life for a life.” He growls. You take the silver dagger with your name engraved in it and examine it. This glint of silver that had first caught his eye, that had brought you to the attention of Bakugou Katsuki. “If you will have me,” he looks up, “I will dedicate the rest of my days to provin’ that I am worthy of you,” he grins, “And uh, wipin’ that smug smile off your face.” You giggle, despite yourself, wiping your face clear.

“And if I won’t have you?” You counter, there are titters from the crowd.

“You’ve got the knife, princess.” He looks up, an evil grin on his face. You hesitate, turning it over in your palm. He rolls his eyes, and you can’t stop the smile that spreads across your face.

“Stand.” You say, and he leaps up and kisses you so quickly he knocks the breath from your lungs, lifting you off your feet and swinging you around. You laugh a little, and he wipes a few stray tears from your face. “You did this,” you say quietly, gesturing to your family, “For me.” He nods.

“Thought I’d try something revolutionary.” He says.

“Peace?” You offer and he grins, kissing your forehead before responding.

“Impressing you.”

#i loved every minute of it #the ending had me screaming in a pillow #ahhhhhh

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