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ms0milk · 1 year

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𝟑 | 𝐓𝐨 𝐂𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐨𝐟 𝐂𝐨𝐥𝐝

ー✧ prince!bakugou x royal guard!reader

"The whistle of something moving too fast sings through the trees and you reach across your body without the privilege of planning your actions."

cw the terrible roadtrip™ part 2/2, bkg does not get better (in fact it feels worse). classic everyone-has-to-bathe-in-the-river scene, a touch of pining. depictions of suspense/panic, the first earnest attempt on your life 3.8k

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Days pass more peacefully than not as the journey progresses. This is the farthest you’ve ever been from the castle and with every unfamiliar step you’re more and more thankful you aren’t permitted a seat in the carriage. Delicate, blue, quilted, or otherwise, carriage rides are stifling and remind you too much of blood.

The prince seems to hate carriages as much as you do because since the morning of the second day, he’s taken it upon himself to climb from the carriage window as it bumps and jitters along the road and hoist his body onto the small flat roof where he lays for hours sending up pale fireworks. He doesn’t speak or grumble or punch up there. There’s no bitching, as Aizawa would say and so no one tries very hard to stop him. There are no fiery tantrums when your little caravan has to stop for Mina’s fourth bathroom break of the afternoon, or when Sero has to hold Denki out the window to stave off motion sickness. The prince just runs sparks through his hands paying little, if any, attention to his friends or chaperones.

Your hips are numb now and well-worn, so there’s not much else to focus on except for His Highness idling on the carriage in front of you. He refused to change into the riding clothes provided, so his white furs and long red cape are the only vestiges of home for miles and they ground you in pride. His royal jewelry, red and gold, catch the light distractingly. Laying still and quiet like this, a stranger could be forgiven for thinking the fair prince was actually docile.

Images of a younger, wider-eyed royal pitter patter through your memory for a second, which you try to dislodge with a subtle shake of your head. Your earrings stir delicately against your face and you’re reminded of home again.

On the carriage ahead the prince raises his arm now to the sky and flickers of white and purple jump between his thick scarred fingers. His hands are heavy. They’re worn from a childhood full of trial and error in honing his parent’s magic. The spark he balances on his skin grows from an ember to a star so he rolls onto his knees to feed it with both hands. In seconds, it puckers and sputters between his palms in a new vibrancy, and green smoke winds up like lace across his cheeks.

It’s beautiful. You want to tell the destructive prince that his magic “is so beautiful.”

“Of course you’d think that,” he clears his throat with the words without even looking your way and it becomes suddenly obvious that you’ve spoken– all you dreamed of saying– out loud.

You readjust stiffly on your horse, “Highness I–”

“You’d be dazzled if I took a dump on the carriage.” His voice is thunder, and it’s more and more apparent to you that your prince must be dying of boredom.

“What’re you here for?”

“Her Majesty sent me. For protection.”

He doesn’t quite look at you as much as he glances in your general direction. That red cape of his twists across his chest in the breeze while he lingers on the outline of your horse. “What could you protect me from huh? The fucking bugs?” Thunder and lightning now, “You gonna lance the mosquitoes before they land a fatal blow?”

“It’s a halberd, Highness. And yes, if you’d like me to I can keep the bugs away.”

He makes strikingly angry eye contact with you just once, just a blink from carriage to saddle, and it’s obvious you’ve said something wrong. Wordplay isn’t your strength. Whit and whim don’t flow like water for you the way they do the queen, but she often pulls you into meetings or seeks you out on post with quandaries because your honesty entertains her. You think– you hope. You hope the prince is like her in that sense, but he only sucks his teeth and turns away from you.

Hours pass, then a day, then two, and you’re so far from the comfort of familiar autumnal forests that you start to lose track of yourself.

“I’m starving!” Denki whines, and you realize you are too. Kirishima and the prince are all too excited to dive into the trees for a chance to stretch and hunt, so much so that they’re already out of earshot by the time you’ve stepped out of your saddle. Aizawa assures you they’ll be fine and in just a few hours the entire camp is shrieking over ghost stories and roast turkey.

“I’m exhausted!” Sero yawns and kicks the largest burning log to bring down the brightness of the fire. It takes sudden darkness to realize that you’re exhausted too. In the morning you pick apart fresh fish a la Kirishima and Mina jumps at the opportunity for a bath. “I stink!” she laments, and you realize so do you. So at Aizawa’s instruction the caravan sets up camp beside the river and everyone but you races to dive into the icy cold for as long as they can stand. Even the prince seems eager for a break and starts unclasping his earrings on his way down through the trees.

The water is just over the flat ridge where Shinsou and his mentor park the carriage. While the three of you untack horses and otherwise set up camp for the evening, Aizawa continuously fiddles with his long hair muttering, “It really is time for a bath.” He calls your name, and Shinsou’s, and you look briefly up from where you’re unbuckling your saddle’s makeshift scabbard and tying your halberd to your back.

“You two join the others– go wash. I’ll finish camp.” And you can’t help but think Master Aizawa is much softer than he lets on.

Maybe he’s feeling festive at the thought of today being the last full day of travel. He hasn’t told the rest of your western company yet, but Takoba and the sea are only a few miles beyond the break of the forest, which is only a few miles away from where you’re standing now. “The city gates close at sundown, so it’s just as well that you all have a swim and we rest here tonight.”

You’re not too keen on bathing with everyone, but at the very least you are your prince’s keeper.

One more day to Takoba Castle, you chant in your head and imagine just what the city might look like. You’ve studied all the kingdoms on the continent of course, suffering through years of Jeanist’s compulsatory tutelage, but all you really know about Takoba is its royal lineage and basic strategic positioning; it’s a castle on the sea.

At the river, a party is well-underway where Mina has a horribly bashful Kirishima boxed in on a rock between her bare thighs, squealing “You reek little huntsman!” while she washes his back.

Denki and Sero manage a bit more modesty in the deep water of the bend, and Shinsou wades down near the bank with his tunic already up and coming over his head. The sun’s still warm this time of year, warm enough to bathe outside, but the wind is ready for winter. Every time a breeze slips through the trees a collective howl goes up from your wet company scattered along the riverbed. You stand guard next to the beaten path by the bank and watch the group splash happily.

“Get in Bakugou!”

The prince is the only one still dry, only a few steps away from you, taking his time removing his jewelry. He sets it all on one of the large sun rocks and then unlaces his vest with nimble fingers. Those same fingers thumb open the buckle of his belt with a flick, and his boots go next, then his– oh– he’s closer than you realize and he throws his bundled cape into your chest before turning, and growling, to his friends.

“fuckin’ coming, leave me be.”

The water ripples around his bare ankles. A few more steps and he’s already ducking his ash blond head underwater.

“C’mon sweaty, I know you’re the worst outta the bunch of us!”

“I said fuck off!”

It’s funny the way the prince interacts with his friends. It’s no different than you’ve ever known him, but while you fiddle with his cape and watch the scene ahead, you think about the fact that you only really ever see him alone. He and Kirishima are brothers, family sure, and you see him interact with his actual family members all the time but you’ve never really thought about the prince having friends. All these people who choose to love him. All you know about him you’ve heard from the queen, or seen through a crack in the library doors when the two of you are supposed to be sleeping.

His back tenses with the cold air and cold water so you can see the muscles clearly there while he smooths down wet hair, or when he flexes palm over bicep in a stretch after coming up for air. His shoulders shift like sculptures and they’re sharp, unlike sweet Kirishima whose whole body is strong but soft. Bakugou grew like jagged lighting. He was only just a scrawny boy, and now the milky gold of his thighs ripples with fat muscle like a jungle cat. His waist, dramatic, his boxy hands always itching to be fists. You’d laugh if you were less focused, at just how angry Bakugou still looks even when his back is turned.

“Y/n!” Denki has his hands cupped around his mouth, “You too!”

You too what? The prince’s cape spills from your arms when you’re, a bit overwhelmingly, brought back to reality and you hurry to scoop the bundle back up before it can touch the ground. Now the lot of them are hollering at you, “it’s not that cold,” and, “yes it is!” and, “I’ll wash your back!”

You’re still doubled over when you shout back, “I’ll wash later!” half to the dirt, and, “I must remain at my post.” So you can’t be blamed for your surprise at the prince’s advancing glare when you stand back up again.

He’s already clean and completely out of the water and moving toward you quickly enough that your instinct is to draw your halberd from your back. So much so that you hesitate to make any other movements. His shaggy blond hair lays wet and pushed straight back away from his face in a style Jeanist always says, “looks quite handsome” (and then will lament about for the rest of the day when it inevitably dries straight up in every direction) and for as many seconds as it takes for him to reach you, you think that Jeanist is right.

“Oi!”

What happened to him you wonder, to make him so abrasive?

“C’mon you creep, stand at fucking attention.”

Prince Bakugou snatches his cape back from your still-processing hands as you look up, up, up from his dripping chest to his clenched neck and stop decidedly on those glassy red eyes to avoid having to look anywhere lower. He really does resemble his parents so much it’s almost confusing to hear such a bitter voice barking out orders to you. Behind him in the river, Kirishima and Mina watch with worry.

The prince holds your stare this time, no bristling or darting. He pins the cape like a cloak across his body and jerks his head closer to yours– your– your bad habit takes over and the only thing you can do is look at him.

“You’ve been nothin but eyes this whole fucking trip– got any idea who you’re staring at?”

Of course you do. Unmarred skin, long light eyelashes, a sweet caramel musk– what is he saying? He’s picking a fight. Look away, look away. Your eyes go wide for one more single second, one more second inches away from hot red hatred, and you drop your head.

“My deepest apologies, Your Highness.”

Though he’s already done, gone and shouldering past you, back up the bank to collect his finery from the rocks. He bathes quickly.

You’re not particularly quick to wash in the evening. Your companions return to the camp without much more fuss about your joining them after the prince leaves and the mood dampens. Mina doesn’t shriek or holler or dance her way warm again. The boys don’t have stories to tell. The prince soaks up the last few sun rays reading a book atop the carriage and all is quiet.

You carry on with evening tasks, although brushing your horse’s soft white mane is much more enticing right now than approaching the carriage for day’s-end checks. Dinner supplies are assembled from the last few ration items. Laundry is a desperate state of affairs and it’s palpable just how excited everyone is to arrive at Takoba in the morning even if they aren’t bursting at the seams to tell you about it.

Aizawa is the only one that doesn’t seem to be acting much differently considering he’s always too exhausted for much of a personality.

He’s spent the afternoon mending a tear in his saddle and trying unsuccessfully to keep his long hair tied away from his face so when he leaves his project to speak with you across camp, the lack of frustration in his voice is a kind surprise.

“Go on.” His words are gentle, “They’re safe with me and the sun will set soon.” He gestures towards the edge of the ridge and the river beyond it, which at this point seems more cold than its worth. But glancing back at the camp, Kirishima and Shinsou building a fire, Denki peeling apples– the general silence– is less appealing than even pneumonia. You dip your head in thanks.

You’re careful not to wet your hair when you sink into the miserable water, and risk getting sick while on duty. Your survival instincts scream to you that wet hair is the least of your concerns considering the shock of cold that is the river without sunlight. Now you realize why the prince made such quick work of washing himself. Mina is inhuman to have swam for so long. With your riding clothes laid out on the shore you slip into the silty water up to your knees, then to your bare hips, until you’re squatting as deep as you can manage right below the ribs.

The sun is long set behind trees and so you wash in the dark, naked and cold as you’ve ever been in your life, in the autumnal river below camp. The light of Kirishima’s fire crests over the lip of the ridge and carries soft voices along with its glow. Some good nights, and a laugh. Probably the redhead’s. His voice is soft and commanding, but the faint chatter and whispers you hear from the others are distant and otherworldly and you feel all the more naked when you eye Jeanist’s halberd quite out of reach on the shore. Quiet voices don’t sound like ghosts in the castle, only in the woods.

You bring the water with cupped hands to new skin stiffening, and miss soap. And miss beds and Jeanist, and the queen. She has so much hope for your future with her son and it’s unbearably ironic that the first mission you’re responsible for is the one where he’s realized he hates you. You try to picture Takoba again, having never seen the sea.

Instead of thinking about the prince you think of seashell spires sticking out of the sand. Fifty stories and filled with castle staff dressed all in seafoam lace. What else looks like the sea? Pearls dotting the city walls that Aizawa said were so close– and soft glass for the sentinel’s swords instead of steel. The eastern queen and her children must bathe like mermaids in warm sea water; rivers and streams are always cold and running but the sea is so big, it must be warm. It must be still. Now you’re thinking of baths. And of home and bread, and the library and the prince who hates you–

There’s a crunch from the brush.

You’re leagues faster than quick in pulling yourself ashore silently and slinging your tunic over your wet chest.

“This horrible fucking forest–” What was first a faint sound becomes a voice and it’s clearly the prince grumbling, “–Takoba’s such a shitshow.” As counterintuitive as it seems, his growl is a comfort that keeps you from reaching any farther for your weapon. Kirishima’s comes next,

“You’re just cranky.”

You close your eyes in relief once you’re positive the only thing you hear is the two of them. They’re wandering around the ridge, not close enough for you to see them from where you’re pulling on your pants, but close enough to follow the conversation. You carefully hook your earrings back into your ears when you’ve settled enough to collect your belongings and continue to listen.

It’s very rude to raise your voice in the woods, so the prince stops short of howling in his anger, “They’re gonna dress me up like a dumbfuck puppet! I hate–”

“Katsuki, it’s just some earrings, they’re not–”

“– those fucking seagulls are gonna eat this up! First they find me new jewelry, then I need new boots, then my cloak is too worn– I’ll kill them.”

“I’ve never heard anyone complain as much as you do about getting new clothes.”

There’s a rustle and you swear it’s coming from the opposite direction of camp. Then the sound of stifled sputtering anger, accompanying laughter, and their conversation continues above. With Jeanist’s halberd secured on your back, you lace up your shoes.

“You shoulda beat me to Takoba, old man.”

You startle but don’t scream when the new voice announces itself so clearly. Instead you rally your polearm to attention and crouch with your back to the steep rocky ridge. Don’t announce yourself. Your job isn’t honor, it’s guerrilla warfare.

“Not even a hello?”

“Be careful Ei, the brambles–”

“No hug for your favorite student?”

“Kats wait, ow!”

“No love for an alum?”

The Prince and the Champion’s voices are just far away enough that they compete with the new one for your attention. You have to be able to hear if they’re safe. You have to make it back to camp. A hum rolls over the babble of the water now. The voice sounds like it’s coming from everywhere. Beside you and across the river all at once. There’s no sound of splashing or of twigs snapping. It’s a ghost moving closer and farther from you through the breeze.

“Should I give you a head start?”

The husky drawl mingles with the prince barking distantly from above and sends a chill through your heels into the Earth. Like someone whispering directly in one ear and a cold breeze blowing out the other. Bakugou is too far to hear any warning calls you might shout to him. Without that incentive, shouting would only reveal your identity and give away your position; you have to get back up to camp. There’s a moment of silence and then a disturbance in the tree branches hanging above the river.

“You’re not Aizawa.”

Above and unseen, the boys give up on their search.

“We’ll find your earrings, Katsuki, don’t worry. Tomorrow, when the sun comes up.”

“Where the fuck are they?”

“Probably dropped ‘em when you threw your clothes at Y/n like some unkempt woodland creature.”

The prince stifles a laugh so that his friend doesn’t get encouraged, but Kirishima, never one to rely on social cues, dives in.

“If I may–”

“You may not,” Bakugou bites. He hikes his cape a bit higher to feign chill and turns back toward center camp, resigning himself to play dress-up once they reach Takoba. Kirishima trails him through the underbrush back to the clearing. It’s peaceful at camp among friends before you erupt onto the scene.

Shinsou shoos a firefly from Denki’s sleeping cheek, and the outline of a bundled Master Aizawa rises and falls with deep breath beside the carriage. Next to Sero, Mina is tucked under a blanket on her bedroll, lulling herself to sleep watching the dance of the small fire. Wide empty eyes. Prince Bakugou has his cape wrapped tightly around broad shoulders while he hums and haws some complaint in Kirishima’s direction. He fingers his empty earlobes while he talks.

When you burst through the branches of the willow tree, the group abandons all decorum at your, “Highness!”

The prince jerks around to face you with a hand on his sword and Shinsou is similarly armed in seconds behind him. The travelers jolt up with adrenaline and much farther away, in a dark part of camp, Aizawa has already drawn his bow. His eyes train on the shadows through the trees.

“Wers and mers, Y/n! What in th–” Kirishima startles and accidentally bats the irons above the fire with the kettle he’s using to boil water. The metal thrum rings over the clearing and resets the silence as you back up against the prince. He’s still looking around over your head.

“There’s a man in the trees, Highness, he’s looking for Aizawa. Please return to the carr–”

“I’m in just the mood for a bandit.”

“Highness now is not–”

The whistle of something moving too fast sings through the trees and you reach across your body without the privilege of planning your actions.

Your back presses into the prince’s chest and you draw his sword from his hip with only enough time to let out a ferocious grunt and slice the air in an arc in front of you.

An apple connects with the swing of the sword, from wherever in the distant dark woods it was thrown, and erupts wet across your face and thighs as you cleave it down the middle. Making sure to keep the prince directly between your shoulders, the halves fly limply to either side of your bodies and the clearing is quiet again.

The prince’s breath is hot so close to the back of your neck and Kirishima’s features look sharper in the firelight now. Mina has barely moved from her bedroll, “I don’t understand. Y/n what–”

It’s coming.

“Kiri!” You try to shout warnings just in time for the apple halves to burst into white-hot flame on the ground, and then the prince jerks his arms in front of you. A little ways below your dragontooth, Bakugou’s palm is pressed flat against your ribcage like a shield and just a hair’s breadth from it, his other hand has caught an arrow in its fist. An arrow that, in a blink, erupts into a ball of bright blue fire.

“Aizawa!”

“Aizawa?”

The first voice is Shinsou’s and it’s full of worry. The second is the ghost’s and he’s smiling. You can hear it.

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tagged angels ✧.* @nnubee @cherrykamado @nonomesupposedto @zombiewarprincess @kotarousproperty @strawberry-mentos69 @sveetnn @eirlysian @lunrai @cherripunch26 @km7474 @arayoflia @annoyingleftpinky @noomaisdone @cr33pycrawlerr @iced-chai-tea-latte @cathwritestragediesnotsins @tragicallygray

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#that white white caucasian hand in the banner is NOT yours #(unless you would like it to be)#it's meant to be the queen's #do not fret poc readers #i would never do you so dirty #FINALLY the plot begins #i cant wait for next week's chapter😈#bakugou x reader #a hymn to black water #bnha #bnha x reader #mha #mha x reader #bakugo x reader #mha fantasy au #bnha fantasy au #fantasy bakugou #fantasy bakugo

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