barbarian!bakugo + buying apples. you’ll notice I didn’t put any work into this making it more … fantasy-like. And that’s bc… I still couldn’t figure out how😞
(warning: misogyny, you are described as a maiden / dress wearing, you have a pa, world building sucks, bakugo … doesn’t talk)
-
Being the only maiden on one of barbarian!Bakugo’s cross country journeys. I’m not sure yet how or why you’re there, but I’d say he’s traveling and one of his fellow clansmen took you as a prize, or maybe you just hitched a ride on their cart yourself.
But they stop in a small village one day, parking their horses at the edge of a town square of cobblestone and brick, merchant booths surrounding the small shops: of butchers and farmers and fishermen and traders, all rowdy and beaming as they show off their wares.
The men split up (the one with green hair in a leather vest declaring he needs a blacksmith, the lanky one with dark bangs in the direction of new snare wire), though the bulky blonde one (the one in thick furs and pelts who’s never really spoken to you) stays around, picking at the shiny, pink apples of a booth quite close to where the cart you sit on in boredom is parked.
“Five gold for a sack, sir” the man behind the creaky, wooden stand says. He’s stout, thin-haired and wrinkly, all his years in the sun selling fruit showing proudly on his tanned skin. He gestures to the wide array of fruits, each like a piece of candy he wants to show off.
Bakugo (you think his name his, or rather, that’s how he was introduced to you by the redhead with unnaturally sharp teeth, biggest of the group) glances up, frown thin and tense and blood red eyes narrowed. His shoulders shift, the muscles of his exposed stomach rippling as he breathes, the smooth skin of his forehead pinching as if he’s calculating a sale just as he would any other battle or raid.
The sign next to both the men clearly states that apples are two gold a sack. Pears are three, plums are one. “But I’ll give you a deal for four gold,” the man continues.
The blonde ponders, inspecting the apples diligently as if they could be poison, or a waste of a trade. His eyes narrow slightly, lips pursing, and you realize, in his reaching for coin, the intuition he so usually takes pride in (saving the men once from a brutal hound attack, and you, too, another time when a swamp dweller caught the hem of your trousers) is not there… and that they don’t use the same alphabet. Maybe he can’t even… read.
“For two gold,” you call.
Both parties look to you. One set of eyes in an suspicious glare, the other in a tart and angry bitterness. The merchant’s leathery face sinks into a melted frown, his fists clenching as your own hand shields your eyes from the bright sun and hides a protective squint.
“Didn’t your pa ever tell you not to meddle in grown men’s business?” he half-shouts back, the laugh in his voice now tangled with a snarl, downright and plain rude.
“The sign says two,” swinging off your seat, you smooth down your simple frock as you point to the wooden board stained with charcoal that’s hung up next to him. “One sack of apples for two gold.”
Bakugo’s eyebrows raise for the briefest of seconds, then fall in another glare as his hand drops from where he holds his coin (in small, canvas bag tied to his belt with thin, leather cord. It sags against his hip, his pants dipping and uncovering a v-line that descends further into a region you’ve only seen once; at a bathing river in the hills, the bare curve and marks of your own hips exposed—)
“Don’t know where you picked up letters, missy,” the merchant scoffs. “Reading is men’s work.”
You approach the barbarian’s side, his head (messy with hair) tilted towards you as he watches on in silence. From the pocket of your dress, you take out two gold of your own and flick them on the table before you.
“My pa taught me how.”
Then you take Bakugo’s hand (thick and rough and hard to hold) in one of yours and march right back to the horses and cart. Bag of sweet, pink apples in the other.
376 notes
·
View notes
Something about airports that has dads at their most attractive… so now I’m just stuck w/ the imagery of Bakugo in his travel fit w/ your baby daughter strapped to his chest, both of their hair a little mussed, and both with the grumpiest glares and puffy eyes because neither were able to go to sleep at the right bedtime last night.
And she keeps fussing against him, not because she’s hungry or hurt, but because she wants to talk to him; tell him to stop letting you get up every five minutes, that the airport restaurant smells weird (he thinks so too), that she doesn’t like the hideous, matching jackets on the couple next to you… and all he can sit there and do is rub her little back in agreement :(
Oh my god, and Kirishima with a runner little boy… on his feet the entire trip trying to keep your son from dashing off and getting lost in the vast expanse of the airport. To make up for it, he puts him up on his shoulders and stands by the window to help him look at the view… but then he gets his own hair (which is scruffy and down because he’s a mess) pulled because the kid suddenly wants to play ratatouille and make him do all the running.
Definitely the kid who needs to waddle around in the aisle the whole flight, and stand at every row just to say to everyone, too (Kiri’s just behind him, trying not to bump his head, apologetic: “hi, everyone. Sorry, everyone”). It’s okay because they’re both cute, though.
And Deku’s the one who has a 45 minute Q+A session with his son… just about how long your flight is gonna take. Sitting on the ground and sharing every snack you give them like little prisoners. Stop this madness.
201 notes
·
View notes