Thread by @FloatyExplodey

The Fall Isn't So Hard To Do ~ A #Kacchako Feudal Japan AU Thread

Rated Explicit for 🔥spice🔥 I'll insert cw's as we go

Let's do this 😉

When her husband died, it was difficult to be quite as upset as everyone expected of her. In actuality, she hardly knew the man. They had been married for all of four years, yet beyond occupying the same bed at night, they had never spent more than an hour in the same room.

He was quite old, and did not like to be bothered. Ochako understood, because supposedly the man had lived quite a life. A former Samurai and a prominent man in his territory, his life had been filled with duty, and as a senior it was his time to rest.

Ochako was not certain why he had an interest in taking a courtesan such as herself as a wife. At first she thought it was to combat the loneliness he had come to know in his age, but that theory was struck down when she realized how little time he intended to spend with her.

Perhaps it was for his momentary pleasures of their joining. Though there were many more experienced courtesans the man could have chosen from, for she had only just begun when he had called upon her. Maybe he simply enjoyed the way she looked.

She would never know, since she had lost her opportunity to ask. She attended his funeral as she was meant to, cried as she was meant to—though the tears could not be genuine—and accepted the well wishes of others as she was meant to. Now, at the age of 20, she was a widow.

Though she did not stay that way for long. For as she prepared to leave her late husband's home, a messenger came.
“You’ve been called upon by Daimyo Bakugou Katsuki of Tokugawa. Your arrival is expected as soon as possible.” The man handed her a scroll and disappeared.

Within her temporary walls, she opened the scroll, and could not tell if she was surprised by what she saw.
“Daimyo Bakugou Katsuki of Tokugawa has requested your hand in marriage.”
She read the line over and over again. It was essentially history repeating itself.

Her husband had only just died two weeks before. It was good fortune that she hadn’t loved him, or even known him, else she would still be grieving. So she was free to travel all the way to Tokugawa, a land she had never stepped foot in, let alone imagined a life in.

Daimyo Bakugou Katsuki. That was yet another interesting piece to the puzzle her life was becoming. She had heard the name, and while she didn’t know specifics of his conquests, she knew he was remarkable. Once a renowned Samurai, and now a great Daimyo of a large territory.

Why had Ochako been chosen? A courtesan from an average place, made wife of a retired Samurai, and now wife of a national leader? She believed there were more suitable options even just within her home territory, but that did not matter.

He had “requested” her hand in marriage, but she knew it was not negotiable in any form. She did not have the room to say no, especially not to a Daimyo.
For the second time in her life, she packed up her solitary existence for something completely new to her.

---
Her arrival had not necessarily gone as she expected. She did not know what exactly it was that she expected, but it was not this, certainly.

“Uraraka-san. It is a monumental pleasure to have you,” a tall, formally dressed and poised man said as she made her way into the entry hall. She hadn’t yet had the pleasure of beholding the things around her like she was eager to, but returning the greeting was to come first.

“The pleasure is mine. What an honor it is to be called upon by you.” She gave a low, practiced curtsy.
“Please do not misunderstand, it was not I that called upon you.” Her eyes darted to his and an embarrassed blush overtook her features. This was not the Daimyo?

“Forgive me,” she said, trying not to express every bit of the mortification she felt.
“Think nothing of it. My name is Iida Tenya, and I am the assistant of Daimyo Bakugou. He has entrusted me to show you to your quarters. This way,” he said, indicating a hallway to her left.

Uraraka spared a glance around the hall before she followed, and quickly took in her surroundings. The room was merely an entryway, yet it was larger than the room he slept in as a child and taller than her entire childhood home. The ceiling seemed impossibly far away.

Everything from the walls to each minute decoration was the color of fire. It was striking to simply stand within, and Uraraka wasn’t sure she would ever be able to take in the forceful sight of it. She had only been afforded a glance of a few seconds.

She realized quickly that the entirety of the castle was much of the same. Everywhere she happened to look filled her vision with vibrant reds, oranges, and yellows. Even a small white vase was an opportunity to rest Uraraka’s eyes after the constant assault on her senses.

Her new home was an absolute explosion.

“Here we are,” Iida said, opening a blood red door. The inside was nothing of what she anticipated.
Pale pink walls on three sides were the first sight to welcome her, with a lavish bed draped in white. The visible softness of the bedding made her fingers itch to feel it.

“I hope the room is to your liking,” Iida said when Uraraka had not responded. She snapped out of her thoughts and turned to him sharply.
“Yes! Yes, it is rather lovely!” He smiled, if not somewhat stiffly. ‘Stiff’ seemed to be a personality trait of the man.

“Excellent. Your belongings will be brought here shortly. Daimyo Bakugou will be by later to give you a tour.” With that, she was left alone in the unfamiliar place.
Perhaps the Daimyo had been on an important assignment and that was why he could not welcome her.

She set aside the nerves she felt as needing to wait to meet him. She hadn’t had to bide her time thinking about every way her future husband could be when she had arrived to Torino’s estate four years earlier. He had been there to greet her, like any gentleman should.

Not that Daimyo Bakugou was not a gentleman, she had no way of knowing such a thing. He could have been perfectly lovely and had simply been tied up at the moment. Perhaps he intended to see her but something came up.

She turned her attention to the room instead of thinking of what if’s. Now that she was alone, she practically ran for the bed. A less than tentative hand smoothed over the top blanket, and it was so luscious under her fingers that her next actions couldn’t be helped.

Uraraka slinked her entire body onto the surface and happily snuggled her face into the comfortable fabric. She already knew that sleeping in this bed would be one of the greatest pleasures of her life. Her skin tingled against the satin.

It was essentially heaven. She could fall asleep immediately, and she probably would if she kept her eyes closed, so she forced them open. When she did, her sight immediately landed on the fourth floor she had not yet paid any mind to. She gasped at the sight before her.

She had seen paintings before, beautiful and intricate ones, but this was something unlike anything she had beheld in the past. The mural was somehow delicate and strong at once, featuring a mountain bathed in light and a stream with sound waters.

That is, until the waters tumbled over the edge and cascaded down a cliff in a raging waterfall. It felt almost as though she could hear the roaring of the falling water as the droplets reflected the sun. She stood quickly and approached the wall.

A small part of her thought that if she touched it her hand would come back wet, but of course that was preposterous. But still, it felt so real that it was almost difficult to believe that she was in a room in a castle, not amidst nature.

She did feel wetness then, to her bewilderment at first, as a tear streamed down her face. But for what viable reason could she be crying? At the beauty of the piece? She had never been one to make such a display, but perhaps she had simply never seen something so beautiful.

“Uraraka,” a voice came from the door, and she nearly jumped from her skin. “This way,” he said, before she could even process his appearance.
She scurried after the man who whisked from the room just as quickly as he had come, wiping the tears from her eyes frantically.

He walked rather swiftly, and it was difficult to keep up with him. His legs were much longer than hers; she would venture to say that he was around 25 cm taller than she was. Uraraka internally huffed at her puny size, such as she had plenty of times before.

“This way is the dining hall,” he said suddenly, gesturing toward a large door they were now passing. “And that’s the great hall. That’s where they hold… social gatherings.” He said the words like they repulsed him. She nodded, trying to store away the information.

He indicated more rooms, and as they approached a set of stairs to climb down to view the main floor, she suddenly realized she had not spoken a word.
“I don’t mean to be rude,” she began, and the man halted at the top of the stairs. He turned and gave her an unimpressed look.

It was the first time she had truly looked at him. She had already noticed his hair from the back, but from the front it seemed to somehow stick in even more directions, a haphazard array of spikes atop his head. But his eyes were what she noticed more profoundly.

They were a fiery, deep red, the color not unlike the scenery all around them in the castle. But there was something in them that gave her pause, even if his expression at the moment was something akin to boredom. All she could think when she saw them was passion.

“Then don’t be,” he said when she did not continue. Her face lit up in a blush that was hopefully not as red as the irises she could not stop staring at.
“Of course, it’s just… you know me, but you have not introduced yourself. What is your station and what shall I call you?”

A large smirk overtook the man’s face, and her own felt even warmer at the expression. He looked… dangerous.
“Forgive me,” he said, a sort of mock formality to his tone. He turned to face her fully and entered a deep, but somehow condescending, bow. “Daimyo Bakugou Katsuki.”

Uraraka’s eyes widened to the size of saucers, and his head lifted just so he could look up into them with an amused glint.
“At your service,” he added sarcastically.

“Daimyo Bakugou,” she said, fighting off the shakiness only somewhat successfully. “It is an honor.”
She moved to enter a low, extravagant curtsy when his hand caught her wrist. She halted, and stared at the place his skin touched hers; it was warm. Her eyes darted to his.

“We don’t need to do any of that,” he said, adding a subtle roll of his eyes. “I was being facetious when I did it.”
He dropped her hand and turned to face the stairs again. She didn’t dare say another word, lest make a fool of herself once again, as they continued.

He introduced her to parts of the castle in the same manner he had before, as if he had been forced to come here and interact with her. She grew more and more confused as they moved further through the castle and he became increasingly more indifferent.

Had he not wanted her here? Not asked for her specifically? Then a realization that horrified her to her core slowly crept in.
She had already disappointed him somehow. It was the only explanation. Why else would he act as though being in her company were some sort of chore?

Perhaps it was her appearance. She had never considered herself ugly by any stretch of the imagination, but perhaps she simply was not what he had anticipated. Or maybe he had seen her crying at the mural and thought her to be weak.

She did not actually know the man yet, but she could already tell that he was someone who valued power. It was in the way he held himself, in the way he spoke and walked. It had been in the way he had smirked at her when she had been foolish enough to not deduce who he was.

Before she knew it, they had found themselves back in front of her quarters, and he was facing her again, for the first time since they had stopped at the stairs.
“You shouldn’t get lost, but if you do, just ask someone for directions. There are always people walking around.”

The claim was interesting, because she had not seen a single person as they had walked through the castle.
“Of course,” she answered anyway.
“Well then, I will see you at dinner. Someone will come get you when it’s time.”

He turned to leave, and perhaps on pure instinct, she reached out to grip his wrist.
“That’s it?” she blurted.
There was a pause before he turned to her again, and she thought for sure that she had butchered the very last of his desire to have her here.

Then he turned, and the very same unimpressed stare of before greeted her.
“Did you need something else?”
She was stunned into silence for all of three seconds before finally clearing her throat. She quickly released his wrist. Why had she reached for it in the first place?

"I suppose not."
"Good." He made to walk away again before she interjected.
"What am I to wear this evening?"
She noticed a flicker of irritation pass over his face, and she cursed her need to ask the question. But how was she to know of his preferences if she did not ask?

The irritation passed and his eyes flicked over her body. Though not just once, as she may have expected. Her face grew red hot yet again as he looked her over for a substantially longer than she had though he might. But when his eyes looked to hers, they returned to boredom.

"Is there something wrong with what you're currently wearing?"
She was frozen in place as she struggled with what to say. It was simple enough; he clearly approved of what she was wearing, and that should have been the end of it. So why did she feel so mortified under his gaze?

"N-no. But I thought you may have something specific in mind," he finally settled on, cursing the way she stuttered.
His brow flicked up briefly. "Why should I care what you're wearing? Besides, if I had something in mind, I would have said it already."

This man had the uncanny ability to make her feel like an imbecile, Uraraka was slowly beginning to realize.
"Of course," she said, trying to maintain any dredges of decorum that may have been hanging on for dear life. "I look forward to seeing you tonight, then."

He nodded, but did not turn away as he had been so quick to before. They stood and stared at one another for what felt like a great deal of time, until he finally moved.
But he did not turn away yet. His hand reached for hers, and she lifted it involuntarily to meet him halfway.

He had to lower himself, as he was so much taller than her, to place a kiss on the back of her hand. It was slow, much slower than any courteous kiss she had ever experienced. She could not understand how he accomplished it, but he managed to make the simple touch feel obscene.

"Until later," he whispered, his lips still touching her skin as he spoke. An obvious shiver passed through her at the delicate brush paired with his hot breath against her.
The castle felt infinitely warmer in that moment.

Then he was gone. She watched his retreating back until he turned a corner, then continued to stare at the place he had once occupied in astonishment.
She soon realized anyone could see her this way at any second, and she bolted for her door and nearly slammed it behind her.

Her back pressed to her door and she slid down the length of it until she sat on the floor of her quarters pitifully.
What had been the meaning of that? What had made him change his mind from leaving as briskly as he could to... doing /that/?

She did not even know how to describe what the action had been. Had she been required to explain it to someone, it would have sounded innocent enough. He kissed her hand in farewell. But the way it had made her feel was not something so easily described.

It was not anything she had ever felt before. Her entire body felt warm, tingling, and wildly vulnerable. But vulnerability had always been something she had viewed with a negative connotation. Showing weakness was never a good thing.
But this vulnerability had felt thrilling.

She composed herself as best she could and rose from her impromptu perch. She had absolutely no concept of how to do it, but she had to emotionally prepare herself to see him again.
But when she imagined his blazing eyes looking into hers, she promptly melted at the thought.

She had not anticipated that this would be something difficult, but she quickly shifted her world view to accommodate the new information she had gleaned from this interaction.
A marriage with Bakugou Katsuki would be /entirely/ different than her previous.

Second update! 🎉🎉
Link to the top:

https://twitter.com/FloatyExplodey/status/1442972148469956609?s=20

Uraraka did change her clothes. She agonized over the decision for far longer than was necessary, staring at every article of clothing she owned once it had been delivered. She did have quite a bit of time she did not particularly know how to fill, so torture herself it was.

She had to wait until dinner time to see him, and it was not as though she had any other pressing matters to attend to. She barely knew where everything was in the castle, having only seen it all once through and having been completely distracted for half of the tour.

Two yukata’s were laid on her bed, the finalists of her lengthy search. The one to left was one she had worn many times, and what she would likely classify as her favorite. Cherry blossoms adorned the pale pink fabric, and brown branches a contrast to the soft colors.

It reminded her of herself, the pink reminiscent of her cheeks and the brown of her hair. If clothing could represent a person, this article did her justice, she would say.
The other was wildly different, in numerous ways. For one, she had never actually worn it in her life.

She thought that the bright orange was a poor color for her, and that the bold pattern dwarfed her. It was far too loud for her soft features, and therefore she never considered wearing it. The only reason she had it was because Torino’s late wife’s clothing had gone to her.

But something about being in this place, with that man, made her pause as she rifled through options. She did not know him, but upon her base instincts, it seemed this article was his match. After all, the yellow dragon featured in the design reminded her of Bakugou a bit.

She put the yukata on for the first time and looked into her full length mirror beside her wardrobe. She could only stare for a time, surprised by what she saw in the reflection. She had not expected to believe that she would look beautiful.

The pink of her cheeks did not clash with the orange fabric like she had thought, but rather complemented each other in their warmth. And the dragons did not overpower her soft features, but rather enhanced them; she looked more striking. Could cloth make you feel powerful?

Uraraka did not consider herself a narcissist, but she stood and looked at herself for longer than she ever had. A line of comfort had been crossed, and the outcome had been both shocking and liberating. Perhaps it was all quite foolish, but she felt brand new.

A knock came an indiscernible amount of time later, and she quickly moved to open the door. Iida stood on the other side and informed her that dinner was to be served. She noticed with a small smile his once over of her attire and apparent approval in the form of a short nod.

The walk to the dining hall was nerve wracking, but she knew the feeling to be of her own design. There was no reason for her to be nervous, as they would surely not be alone. Nor should she be nervous when she /was/ eventually alone with him. He was to be her husband!

But she could not help but look back on the glint in his eyes as he had pressed his lips to her hand, watching for her reaction. It was almost as though he was testing her limits, prodding her boundaries to find where they laid. Without a doubt he would continue to do so.

She had to learn to be okay with that, and perhaps when she had, to fire back. What of his boundaries? Did he have any? Or was he truly this all powerful, void of weakness warrior he seemed to want everyone to believe he was? She was suddenly keen to find out.

Iida opened the doors for her, for which she thanked him. He seemed almost surprised by the gesture before nodding and closing the doors behind her after she had entered. To her surprise, Bakugou was standing beside her already, as though he had been waiting for her arrival.

It did not feel like something he would do, but she supposed she was still learning him. She placed her hand on his offered arm and allowed him to lead her to the table. Without surprise, she was placed at a chair next to the head of the table, where Bakugou then sat.

Finally, she allowed herself to look around the table and take in the others seated. She had met no one, and Bakugou had not introduced her, so she was not quite sure where to start.
“Sorry to say you’ll likely be bored through the meal, Miss,” a man on her other side said.

“It’ll be mostly business talk,” the red head clarified, offering a warm smile.
“That’s not a problem. I’m quite used to hearing about skirmishes and diplomatic relations,” she said, remembering the stories Torino would tell her. When they did speak, it was always in stories.

“I'm Kirishima Eijirou, Samurai,” he said, pressing a fist to his chest and lowering his head, as if to replace a bow.
“Uraraka Ochako.” She briefly wondered if she had some sort of title she should give, but decided the man likely knew who she was already. "It is a pleasure."

"The pleasure is mine! Wonderful to finally meet you. Your arrival has been /greatly/ anticip-"
"Haven't you got anything better to do than talk her ear off about uselessness?" Bakugou interjected. If Uraraka did not know any better, she would say he looked somewhat flustered.

Perhaps that was something she could use when she eventually decided to toe the line. What had Kirishima said, her arrival was greatly anticipated? Perhaps her worry that Bakugou had not wanted her here had been baseless, if his current ever so subtle blush meant anything.

Her examination of his reaction brought up another key observation; he could not take his eyes off of her attire. Well, he did look to others as they spoke, but his eyes always seemed to trail back to her. Perhaps she would have blushed if it did not make her feel so powerful.

Her meal was glorious. When the food had been placed, she had found it difficult to contain her glee. Clearly Bakugou employed astounding chefs, because she could not remember the last time her taste buds had sung such a melodious rhythm. She almost forgot everything else.

"But the front was creeping in their favor. There wasn't an obvious call to make in that situation," a samurai across from her said.
Uraraka tuned into their conversation, deciding it was time to cease becoming lost in the delicacies before her.

They discussed a battle she had heard of before, one that Torino had detailed. He had never been interested in hearing her opinions about the stories he told, but perhaps they would be heard in this setting? She thought likely not, in a room full a samurai, but she took a leap.

"The turning point was when Toyotomi decided to use the terrain to his advantage. The moment they employed the use of camouflage was the moment they were able to push through. Perhaps it was not an honorable way to fight in some's eyes, but it was certainly strategic."

The entire table turned to look at Uraraka, many with looks of barely contained shock. In Bakugou's eyes, she saw intrigue.
"If a battle needs to be won by trickery, then it would seem those fighters were not better, wouldn't you say?" Bakugou said, curiously. He was prodding.

"It is not always about who is the better fighter. I'm sure that is the perspective of most samurai, but it should not be of the leaders of the fight. Winning is more important than showing your prowess, I would say."
He looked her over carefully before saying, "I agree."

Her eyes widened a bit. "You do?"
The whole table had stopped to watch the interaction, and now every eyes was on him.
"Yes. Is that surprising? You are right, when I was a samurai, that was how I thought. But now, I see the importance of the fight from an outside perspective."

She blinked, and so did nearly everyone in the room. Apparently the answer had been just as surprising the men who knew him as it had been to her.
"Right," she said, averting her eyes. "Thank you for validating my opinion."

It had slipped out. She had never been able to offer an opinion such as that and be met with acceptance. Torino had always blanched, and claimed she did not know what she was talking about. Maybe she did not, but she certainly began to form ideas after being told the stories.

"You don't need to thank me for that." He scoffed. "Talk about what you want. If I agree, I'll say so. If I don't, I'll say so." She blinked.
Bakugou acted as though everything was simple. It was the opposite of the way she tended to overcomplicate things.

Dinner was much of the same. The samurai around her began to quickly accept that she would interject from time to time, and even asked her follow up questions. She was apart of the discussion, something she was not used to quite yet.

"But not like that! It was over the top!" the samurai she now knew was called Midoriya said. "There was no need to go to those measures."
"Perhaps," Uraraka began. "But it was more about the message than the kill. The point was to strike fear, and that was definite."

The natural end of the conversation came around the same time their plates were cleared, and many began shuffling from the hall.
"Uraraka, follow me if you're done," Bakugou said, abruptly standing. Her eyes widened.
"W- I'm sorry, where are we going?" She cursed her stutter.

"Iida was bother- or /instructing/ me to discuss wedding arrangements."
Uraraka paled slightly. She knew there was to be a wedding, but she had no idea how soon, or if she will have found her around Bakugou's odds and ends by the time.

"Oh, of course!" She blushed quite obviously, and Bakugou's smirk signaled that he had noticed, to his apparent delight and her dread.
"Then shall we?"
He extended a hand to her, unlike how he previously offered his arm. She simply stared at it for longer than she should have.

"Yes." She took his hand.
His fingers laced around hers, then he gave a light squeeze. The pressure did something to her heart that she could not tell was positive or not. She felt vulnerable again.
"We could discuss in our quarters, or what /will/ be ours, if you'd like."

She could find any feasible reason to say no in the amount of time it should have taken her to respond, so she nodded. She had been too afraid to find out what her voice would sound like under the wild embarrassment and adrenaline she felt coursing through her veins.

As they walked, her heart picked up pace. But she refused to flee. She had made a promise to figure out the man she now held in her hand, and she would.
This was the perfect opportunity.

---
She hadn't realized how close their quarters must have been. They were walking down the very hall she would need to access her own room. Was his next to hers? She tried to remember from the tour he gave earlier, but she could not.

His feet stopped abruptly and Uraraka narrowly avoided running directly into his back. They had stopped in front of her door.
"I thought we were going to your quarters?"
She could practically feel the smirk on his face even before he turned around.

She attempted to refrain from being consumed by the expression, especially his ruby eyes boring into her. She was not sure they would ever cease to steal her breath from her.
"I never said that. I said we were going to what will be our quarters."

Understanding dawned on her far more slowly than it should have. Acceptance was only just seeping in when she realized he had opened the door for her.
"After you," he said, in a tone that felt more teasing than polite.

Surprise was still evident on her face as they entered and he closed the door. The shock even made Uraraka forget the implications of being alone in a room containing a bed with Bakugou.

"Did you believe I would have a room completely redecorated so you could use it for a week?"
She turned to face him and he raised a challenging brow.
"Well, I did not necessarily assume the room was fashioned this way for my benefit. How could you have known my preferences?"

But now that she put more thought into the matter, she likely would have designed a room just like this herself. Everything /was/ decorated to her preferences.
"It wasn't difficult to find out." It was all he said on the subject.

Perhaps she would have pressed further if that had not also been the moment that she completed processing something else he had said.
"Did you say one week?"
"Yes." He had moved toward the mural, casually walking about the room, as though her mind were not currently imploding.

"Our wedding is to be in one week? From today?"
"From tomorrow, actually. Most of the arrangements have been prepared already, but Iida did say he wants your approval on 'a few matters.' It's likely to be a hell of a lot more than a few, if I know the man at all."

Uraraka spiraled silently while Bakugou simply studied the mural. She wondered if he knew she was overwhelmed and was giving her space to process or if he simply did not notice.
"This is actually my first time seeing it," he said, a hand raising to touch the wall.

"Do you like it?" Uraraka was pulled from her thoughts by the question.
"I- yes, I love it very much."
She approached and stood by his side to view it. The last time she said had, she had cried at the sheer beauty; hopefully she did not do so again in front of her betrothed.

"I thought you would," he said quietly. His voice was calm, like he was afraid any disturbance would cause a ripple in the waters depicted before them. She could not help but take her eyes from the painting to witness his serene expression.

"Is this place real? One you have been to?"
He was silent for a beat longer than she expected. Typically she could expect whatever it was that Bakugou readily thought to pour from his mouth, not one to sugar coat anything. But for once, he paused.

"It is," he finally said. It was odd for such a long thought process to yield such a short answer. It was as if he was deciding whether he wanted to answer at all.
"It must have been wonderful in person," Uraraka said, turning her attention to the artwork once more.

There was a movement in her peripheral vision, and she was sure he nodded before turning away.
"We should discuss the wedding," Bakugou said stiffly. The swift change in his demeanor was off putting, but her mind quickly shifted to the new topic at hand.

“Of course. Was there something… specific?”
“Not particularly, since I’m sure you’ll go over most everything with Iida, likely tomorrow.” 
She nodded slowly, brows furrowed. Then what was it they were to review?
“I suppose I wanted to make sure you were... willing,” he said.

Uraraka would surely develop some sort of neck injury from the way each and every action and statement from the man completely turned her around.
“Willing?” she asked carefully. 
He scoffed audibly, and perhaps irritably. “Yes, /willing/. I do not want to /force/ you.”

Was she willing? She had never been asked before. Her feelings regarding anything in particular had never been considered to any significant level.
“I had not thought about it,” she finally said, and he turned quickly to study her face.
“You haven’t thought about what you want?”

Uraraka shook her head, unable to articulate to him the complacency with which she had regarded her entire existence. He would not understand. 
“Any dreams?”
She supposed she had those once, when she was a child. She attempted to reach into her mind to find what they had been.

Preparing to answer, her eyes flicked to him and caught a glimpse of his expression. His face looked to be holding some mixture of concern and disgust, as though he anticipated that her answer would be no, that she did not have dreams.

It was the face of someone who had never fathomed not having a choice.

“I used to, but I let them go, long ago. There is no sense in wishing for something that cannot happen.”
He was silent for a long while, but she refused to look at him again. She had not enjoyed the feeling of being looked down on when she had seen the disappointment in his eyes.

“And what is it that you think cannot happen?” Bakugou asked, his voice quieter than it had been. Uraraka looked at him to see a softer version of the expression she had seen. A bit perplexed at the sight, she nevertheless reached into her mind for the memory.

“I have always wanted to help people. I do not suppose I had planned a specific means of doing so, as I was a child. But I wanted to make the world better in some way, even if was a small way.”
“And why can’t you do that?”

She paused, not quite knowing how to put the thought into words.
“Uraraka. If you do choose to marry me,” he started strongly. It was interesting how he acted as though this were negotiable. Was it? It had never been phrased that way to her.

“You will be a very powerful person.” Her brows furrowed involuntarily, not quite knowing how to process the statement. Her brain immediately categorized it as a lie, but Bakugou did not seem the type of person to tell one. Her? Important? She had never been addressed as such.

“Don't misplace my meaning,” he said as she continued to struggle through believing what had just been spoken. “You don't have to marry me in order to achieve your goals. It's just one of the means you could use.”

“Why do you feel you have to convince me?” she blurted. He just looked at her with brows furrowed and raised in some sort of aggressive confusion. He waited for her to continue without indicating so, but she understood.

“You can have whatever you want, myself included. You do not have to ask.” 
His expression was unreadable as he seemed to analyze her features. She felt scrutinized under his gaze, and searched her own words for something she could have possibly said wrong.

“Anything, you think?” he said near menacingly as he took a deliberate step forward. Uraraka stiffened at the intense shift in the conversation, and swallowed the lump that had quickly formed in her throat.
“P-practically,” she whispered.

He hummed, and took another step, then another, until he was standing with very little space between them, very little room to breathe.
“So you’re saying I could have you if I wanted you?”

His hand lifted slowly, and when she thought he may touch her skin, he instead swept a rogue piece of hair behind her ear. The place on the slope of her neck where she had expected the contact tingled with anticipation, then disappointment when the touch did not come.

“Yes.” Her voice was nearly inaudible.
“Any way I’d like?”
That had not been the meaning behind what she had said, and the new implication caused a wild blush to rise up in her cheeks. She felt them burn before watching his eyes caress them. A small smile formed on his lips.

“The bed?” Bakugou’s fingers found a home on her neck where she had yearned for his touch. She shivered.
“Bent over the vanity?” They slid back and threaded through her hair, his nails scraping lightly against her scalp, a place more sensitive than she had realized.

“Perhaps on the floor.” His lips drew closer until they ghosted the shell of her ear. “More room down there.”
A fire that had only just kindled that day for the first time turned to a roaring inferno at his words. Who had known simple statements could cause such a feeling?

His lips grazed the flesh of her neck. Small fires ignited underneath her skin, leaving a burning trail where he had visited. It was actually disappointing when he pulled away.

"As much as I would love to," he began, something in his eyes she could not but desperately wanted to place. He put more distance between their bodies, an uncomfortable cold overtaking her as he did so.
"I won't have you, physically or otherwise, unless you are willing."

There was that word again, willing. It was one she had never considered as much as she had in the past five minutes. Uraraka was almost certain that she was willing, based solely on the state of her body with only a few words and strokes of his fingers and lips.

"Think on it," he said, before turning away.
Wait, he could not possibly leaving her in this manner. Yet, Bakugou strode for the door as though the mood of the room were as casual as any.
That would not do.

"Bakugou!" she called, far too loudly than was strictly necessary. He stopped in his tracks and turned to look at her. That same indiscernible expression stared back at her. "I am. Willing, I mean."
He stared for a long while, and she stared back.

"Perhaps I should rephrase," he said, turning to face her. "'Willing' was probably not quite the right word." He approached her again, and the room turned into a vacuum that contained only them. Breath was hard to come by yet again.

"I want you willing, yes, but I also want you /enthusiastic/."
A shiver ran down her spine violently. She smirked widely at the involuntary reaction, but pulled away nonetheless.
"You'll think more clearly when I'm not around. As I said, think on it."

Her throat was too dry to address him again as he left the room, one last glance in her direction before he disappeared. She did not even want to think about what her face was doing when he had looked at her.

She was certain she would be enthusiastic, just as he wanted.

Okie dokie, here we gooo!

Link to the top!

https://twitter.com/FloatyExplodey/status/1442972148469956609?s=20

---
The date had already been so soon, yet the time flew quicker than she had anticipated. She had answered all of Iida’s questions about fabric, colors, scheduling, food, and everything in between. All of the decisions exhausted Uraraka enough to make the time seem like nothing.

Evidently it had taken seeing herself in her wedding dress to understand that she was getting married the next day.
“Gorgeous,” the dressmaker beamed, with large eyelashes fluttering wildly as she viewed Uraraka in the mirror. “It seems I’ve outdone myself again.”

To be perfectly honest, Uraraka found the woman to be moderately irritating, but she did have to agree with her in this instance. The gown was incredibly unconventional, very different from the formal yukata she had worn to her first wedding. She had not seen a garment like it.

Kenranzaki said there were European influences in the gown, but Uraraka had never seen European dress for which to compare.
The pattern at least felt familiar, a floral embroidery with warm colors and silken fabric. Even the blood red color was not off putting or even surprising.

It was the shape that made Uraraka pause to stare in wonder. Fashion was not something she typically invested much time or thought into, but this was an exception.
The fabric was fitted to the top half of her torso, revealing the shape of her shoulders, breasts, and waist.

A sheer panel covered the top on her chest and up to her neck, and beaded embroidery looked as though it floated atop her skin. The dress had its own fastenings, so there wasn’t a need for an obi, an added layer of modesty that would have hidden the size of her waist.

She was completely covered, technically, but she had still never revealed so much of herself in public.
Then the bottom of the dress was something else entirely. Layers upon layers of a fabric that was almost transparent sat against each other, each building to a larger skirt.

The top of the layers matched the bodice in color, but faded until the bottom became a pure, clean white. The efficiency of it seemed lacking, as it was the white part that would drag on the floor, especially in the back as a large train trailed behind her.

But Uraraka had to admit nonetheless, the gown was stunning, and so very different.
Many things about her marriage to Bakugou would be different. For one, she had never been so confused by a person’s presence and meaning to her life.

Was she intimidated by him? Challenged by him? Excited? Anxious? Aroused?
She nearly gasped at her own thoughts conjuring something like that. She had not ever felt… that way about someone, and he had barely begun to even touch her yet. Yes, her new husband was very confusing.

As she stared at herself in the mirror, Uraraka thought back to the conversation she had with her betrothed the second day of her stay in her new home. She had sought him out the very moment she had the opportunity after the discussion that had left her flummoxed.

“I have decided,” she had said to him bluntly in the hallway. It seemed like he was needing to get somewhere, but this would be fast and she needed to get it out. Uraraka had practiced the small speech in her head too much in such a short time to have to wait any longer.

“Uraraka, it’s dawn and we had this discussion just last night. Don’t you think you should use more time to—?”
“No. I decided the moment you left my—/our/ quarters last night.” His brows raised in evident surprise, but he let her continue.

“I am willing. I am… /very/ willing.” It felt much more embarrassing to say out loud, especially to his face. She closed her eyes for only a second and prepared to finish the words she had made herself memorize so as not to make a fool of herself to him yet again.

“I want to see what life with you could be like. I have never been more interested, and yet more confused by a person. It feels as if I know you, but I know nothing of you at all. You are just… so perplexing. I want to figure you out, and what it is we have. There is something.”

Her face was beat red and her eyes couldn’t meet his quite yet. But Uraraka steeled herself, closed her eyes for another moment, then snapped them open to focus on his fiery ones. A sort of shock mixed with satisfaction was what she found in them.

“Figure me out, huh? What if you don’t like what you find?” he asked, though his tone was confident. She realized she likely had fed into his already aggressively large ego, but she had said what needed to be said, and she would continue to.
“I do not see that happening.”

She returned to the moment at Kenranzaki’s incessant questioning. Did the dress need to be tightened or loosened in any areas? Was the color to her liking? What about the bead work, should there be more? Is the train long enough?

“It’s perfect,” Uraraka blurted in the half a second gap between the last question and the inevitable next one. “I wouldn’t change anything, truly.”
The woman beamed with pride, and let Uraraka bask in the reflection for another moment before removing the garment.
---

A knock on her door that evening startled her, as she had not been expecting anyone. Though it would not have been surprising to see Iida, even at this hour, wanting to preside over a few last minute details. She would indulge him, as it was a rather important event.

She did feel slightly odd answering the door in her nightgown, but she was plenty covered. Whoever was at her door should expect that she would not be in her formal attire at that time anyhow.

Uraraka froze in the doorway, however, when she saw her husband-to-be standing there instead.
“Good evening,” he said. Usually he may have worn the hint of a smirk when addressing her alone; it was what she had come to expect. But now, he was serious.

“Good evening,” she said, stepping aside so he could enter.
“I wanted to… well, I did not exactly have what I wanted to say planned.” He looked loath to admit it as Bakugou hated not having answers, that much she knew.
“That’s all right. Start at the beginning.”

She felt uneasy seeing him look unsure. It was not an expression he often wore, and she found she wanted to do what she could to rid his face of it.
As she sat on the bed and patted the space next to her, she began to wonder when she had become as familiar with him as she was.

She knew that his behavior was off immediately upon seeing him; how had she done that? She had known him for a week.
“You agreed to marry me very quickly,” he said finally. She blinked, surprised at the declaration.
“Too quickly.”

“I—well…” She was too caught off guard to use effective speech.
“You think you are just fulfilling some duty, don’t you?”
His elbows dug into his knees as his face pointed toward the ground, looking the picture of defeat. Where this had come from, she had no idea.

“That was originally why I came. But that is not why I stayed.” His eyes had been closed, but then they shot open. “You gave me every opportunity to leave if I wished. I did not even consider it for a moment to be honest, but it was not because of duty.”

He looked at her with disbelieving eyes. Why was this suddenly so difficult for him to understand? Perhaps because it was now the eve before their wedding, and he simply wanted to be sure of what she wanted.
Perhaps Bakugou wanted to be wanted.

“I told you before, and I will tell you again. I’m intrigued by you. I am staying because I… Well, I…” Why did she suddenly not know how to describe it? “You… feel like home to me.”
“How can that be? You don’t know me. You don’t remember me,” he mumbled.

“Don’t remember you? What do you mean?”
His eyes widened and he slammed his head into his hands.
“Fuck,” he muttered.
It had clearly been a secret he had let slip past his lips, but he could not retract them no matter what profanities he uttered. She pressed forward.

“What do you mean I don’t remember you? Have we met before?”
He stood abruptly and ran a hand through his untamable locks as he paced away. He stopped in front of the mural, and seemed to stare at it.
“You asked if this was a real place.”

She stood to join him, approaching cautiously. Her weary eyes went from his nerve ridden frame to the painting on the wall, and her expression softened instantly.
“Yes, I did.”
“So you do not remember it then.”

Her thoughts slowed as she tried to comprehend what he was implying. How was she supposed to remember a place she did not know?
“Do you remember anything about Azai?”
Her eyes shot toward him, but he still refused to look at her.
She had not thought about Azai in a long while.

“I don’t remember much before my parents died,” she admitted. It did not make much sense, since she was ten when they had passed. But since then, she had repressed every feeling she ever had so much that it seemed her memories went along with them, hidden in a box somewhere.

Bakugou was silent for a long time. His mind seemed to move in a hundred different directions as his eyes flitted from feature to feature within the mural. She had been considering saying something—anything—when he finally spoke.

“You cried when you saw this. I thought maybe that meant you remembered. That you knew it was me, but…”
“Bakugou, could you stop being so cryptic and let me know what you’re thinking? I have no idea what you’re talking about!”

Against every expectation, when he turned to look at her, he was smiling. Her breath caught in her throat at the expression, and she did not need even a second to decide that he looked beautiful this way. And yes, he also looked… familiar.

“That’s more like it. That’s closer to how you used to speak to me. Except you used to call me Katsuki.”
Her face heated up, undoubtedly turning several shades more pink.
“Th—that doesn’t answer anything!” she said, flustered. His smile grew, but then faded quickly.

“I lived in Azai for a year as a child. My parents sent me there when my behavior was… unfavorable.” Uraraka could perfectly imagine a rebellious and aggressive spikey blonde child. “I lived with a distant relative, and they lived in the house right next to yours.”

Uraraka’s eyes widened as she stared at him; he looked at her with something akin to hope, but far more reserved. Then instead of simply picturing a young and angry version of him, the flash of something that was much more like a memory came into view.

Her neighbor, the woman her mother had been good friends with throughout her childhood, introduced them. He had scowled and crossed his arms, refusing to shake her hand. Uraraka only giggled at his pout, and his red eyes snapped to meet hers. She remembered smiling widely.

“I’m Ochako! I can be your friend, if you want!”
“Tch. I don’t need friends!” He looked away again, but he blushed just slightly.
“Everyone needs friends. How else can you climb big rocks and play in the stream? It’s no fun all alone.” There was a trace of intrigue in his face.

She returned to the present when he began to speak once again.
“It took me some time to warm up to you, but you were so forcefully kind that I was essentially forced to like you after a while.” She giggled through the tears that were forming in her eyes.

He watched one fall with an expression she could not read, then his hand lifted to wipe it away.
“You really don’t remember?” he whispered.
“I—I’m starting to. You would not shake my hand when we first met.”
Slowly, a near disbelieving smile formed on his lips.

“I was 8, I thought you would infect me with girliness.”
An unrestrained laugh left her as flickers of other memories sailed through her mind.
He hesitantly accepted a snack. He offered her his hand to help her up a tall boulder. She laced their fingers and he did not pull away.

Then she turned to the mural and viewed it in an entirely new light. Tears filled her eyes again as she remembered, finally.
They stood at the bottom, far enough away from the falls that it was not loud enough to deafen.
“Is there a way to the top?!” he had asked excitedly.

“Well, I’m not supposed to go up there, but there is! I can show you if we keep it secret,” she said, and his entire face lit up brighter than she had ever seen it after months.
Uraraka guided him to the safest passage she knew, after much prior exploration, and they climbed.

A slip of her foot almost caused her to tumble, but Bakugou grabbed her wrist in time.
“Careful, Clumsy!”
“Hey, I’m not clumsy! It’s just slippery!” He rolled his eyes, and she rolled hers back.
They made it to the top, huffing from the effort and excitement of the climb.

They turned to see the view at the same time, and anything else either of them may have said next died on their tongues. It was almost as though they could see the whole of Azai from that cliff.

For once, Bakugou had nothing to say. The falls were loud, but somehow the silence between them still felt deafening.
Bakugou suddenly crashed down into a seated position, and she quickly followed. The pair stayed this way until the sun threatened to fall past the mountains.

“I’m leaving in two weeks,” Bakugou said suddenly. He had to yell to be heard over the falls, but it was not in the aggressive tone he naturally touted. She paused for an incredible length of time, enough to make him squirm.
“Only two?” He nodded solemnly.

Once, months and months before, he had been excited to go home. It had been all he could talk about to get off of that “dirt mound” and back to Tokugawa. But at that moment, after just about a year in her presence, he was frowning at the very same prospect.

They returned to the falls every day before he left, and on the last day he had placed a tentative, split second kiss on her forehead before they descended the falls for the last time.

Tears came more forcefully now and a sob choked her airway.
“Shit, Cheeks,” he said under his breath, and the old nickname only further sent her toward her spiral. He seemed not to know what to do or how to approach her, but he did not need to.

Uraraka threw her arms around his neck, and he emitted a grunt of surprise as she pulled him close.
“Katsuki, oh gods, Katsuki,” she whispered into his chest. “I cannot believe I forgot, I—I—”
“It’s all right,” he said soothingly, an obvious relief coating his tone.

She sobbed into his chest as the full force of her returned memories consumed her. She had not realized it, but Bakugou had picked her up and brought her to her bed at one point during her tirade of tears. She laid under her covers as he sat next to her.

“I didn’t mean to upset you,” he said, his brows furrowed as he stroked her hair.
“No, no, I’m glad.” Her tear stained face developed a barely there smile. “Thank you, Katsuki.”
He studied her face for a long while.
“You should get some rest,” he finally said.

Part of her agreed as exhaustion reared its ugly head, but another part of her wanted to fight for a different option than what he was likely thinking.
“I… Do you think anyone would… notice... if you stayed? Or, um… would you like to stay? Please?”

Reservations appeared and vanished on his face before her very eyes, a part of him realizing that this was poor etiquette, especially a mere single night from their wedding. But the part of him that cared more for her well being won very quickly.

“This is my room after all,” he said, a tired smirk forming across his lips.
She gave a watery but genuine smile, and let him into her bed. Bakugou held her to him firmly, and she reveled in the feel of his strong chest under her hands and cheek.

“Good night, Katsuki,” she said, and she felt him shiver at the use of his name.
“Good night, Ochako.”
Her eyes fluttered closed. But before sleep overtook her, she heard him say, “I will not leave you again.”
---