39 (*watching over you to boost your creative enthusiasm* <3)
*sends you a virtual hug*
A/N: you didn’t specify a universe, so I just went with my preferences! Sorry, it’s fanfiction ^///^ At least it’s not just fluff…(?) I know how much you hate it so I tried to tone it down this time :’D
Btw, to be honest this is just a super self-indulgent kiribaku fantasy AU following some of my headcanons. But if you squint, maybe it can also be read as a kamikiribaku? Idk, I hope someone else besides me can enjoy this
There was a bard chatting up with Tsuyu, strumming a mandolin and singing off key now and then, when Bakugou went down for breakfast that morning. Aside from them, the inn was mostly empty, and he did his best to try and ignore them, taking a seat at the furthest table from the counter and staring out the nearest window: outside, the streets were still mostly deserted, and the sun was painting lazy murals of light on the tepid wood of the fences and slowly waking the town up.
Bakugou bit into an apple as he waited for his companion, Kirishima, to come back from his morning flight. Just like him, to wake up at asscrack of dawn and be out in the chilly morning air in a matter of minutes. As for Bakugou, he was still cursing up a storm at having been woken up much too early by his companion’s less than gentle moving about the room. He would’ve gladly slept a few more hours, and that hadn’t improved his mood in the slightest. Just as he was considering the pros and cons of leaving the idiot behind and continue with their mission by himself, he was rudely interrupted by the bard calling for his attention.
The bard that was now taking a seat at his table.
“Mind if I join you?” he had the gall to ask after making himself comfortable, nudging Bakugou’s stuff aside and claiming the stool next to him, the stool meant for Kirishima, who was still running late. Just like that, Bakugou’s mood soured. “You look like the kind of traveler who could use my services.”
“Fuck off,” Bakugou said on autopilot, but then actually took a good look at him. He had shoulder-length blond hair pulled back in a small ponytail, save from a few strands left loose to frame his face, marred by a black streak in the shape of a lightning bolt on his right side that honestly looked like he’d been Marked by a Coven for straying too close to their quarters. Given how the guy still hadn’t realized Bakugou’s murderous intent, that was probably a good guess. His mandolin now lay strapped to his back (thank fuck for that) and he’d rested his hat on the back of his chair as though expecting for this conversation to stretch longer than what Bakugou honestly had the patience for. Bakugou didn’t resist the urge to scoff at that. “Go bother someone who actually cares, fucker. If I needed an awful bard, I’d still wouldn’t turn to you.”
They guy seemed undeterred. “Oh, so you’re a rude one. The one-man-show, me against a snowstorm type. Let me guess, you’re an adventurer. Those fangs,” he said, smiling wide and pointing at Bakugou’s necklaces, “they’re from a dragon, aren’t they? You must be a hunter.”
Bakugou’s scowl deepened at the implication. “They’re claws. Harpy claws,” he corrected. His fingers twitched and unconsciously moved a little closer to the tattoos on his right arm. What did this guy take him for? A goddamn poacher? Hah. What a joke. Had those been dragon fangs, they would have been ten, fifteen times bigger. Only hatchlings were that small, and they were protected by the law, for fuck’s sake. That had to be common knowledge. “Let me guess,” he added, derisively, as an afterthought, “you must be an idiot.”
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