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marble.kon ➡️ working on comms!

marble.kon ➡️ working on comms!

Mar 28, 2022
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Cw shotacon, werewolves, pseudo incest Kiri gets lost in the woods when he's little. He can't remember if he wandered too far or if his mom purposely let his hand go. All he knows if Bakugou found him. Bakugou who's brash and angry and alone. Who lives far off in the woods,

a small cottage lost in the deep foliage, who stares at the little boy with an ax in his hands and wonders how a kid got all the way out here on his own. Kirishima sniffles, trying his best to not cry, and can do nothing more as Bakugou sighs heavily and takes his hand,
pulling him through the brush to his cottage. That's where Kirishima finds himself living, growing, when no one else came looking, Kirishima was content to be here, with Bakugou, with the man who took him in and gave him food and a bed and warmth.
There is only one rule he has to follow. One rule that Bakugou drills into him with a stern voice and a serious look, over and over. On the night of the full moon, he is not allowed to leave the cottage. He is not allowed to go into the woods.
Under no circumstances should Kirishima ever break this. And he doesn't. For years, he's good and obeys and listens. His life with Bakugou is quiet, but nice. When he's old enough, nine, ten, he can't remember how the years pass much anymore, he's tasked with taking
goods from the small garden Bakugou keeps, herbs and vegetables and wild berries that grow in the forest they live in, taking them all to the closest town to sell in the market, buying the supplies they can't keep on their own, and walks back alone to the cottage, to Bakugou.
He keeps things tidy. He cooks and passes the days out memorizing the woods with Bakugou. Helping him with fire food and hunting down game for them to eat. He learns everything Bakugou is willing to teach and at night lays close to the strange man, who lives alone, who speaks
little, who he thinks hasn't changed at all from one day to the next, but doesn't think much beyond that as he shifts in close to listen to tall tales and folk lore. Of monsters and dragons and knights and damsels. Of creatures who live for ages,
of unknown things that walk alone in the woods at night. It is one of those nights that Kirishima finds himself alone in the dark. The town market having running late and after finally selling off the last of his goods, Kirishima darts though the woods chasing the setting sun.
He doesn't want to make his dad angry. He doesn't want to disappoint him. Since Bakugou took him in, he'd never disobeyed. He'd been a good boy. Until now. Now when he finds the darkness overwhelm him. Now when the sun disappears and the moon comes out from beyond the clouds.
He knows his way home, even in the dark, and races through on the familiar path, trying to reach the safety of the tiny cottage he called home even as his heart races and his breath catches in his throat. He's never been out this late alone. He's never known the woods to be
this dark, even on a night when the moon was so bright above him. Every snap of a twig under his feet makes him jump as the rest of the forest around him is...quiet. Deadly quiet. Not a sound beyond his own heavy breathing, beyond the movement he makes. No animals, no birds,
no rush of the wind. The distance between him and the cottage grows smaller, but still it is large enough to feel like a world sits between them. There is a moment, a moment of Kirishima wringing hands against the wicker handle of the basket he carries,
of his feet pausing just a second to spy the soft glow of the lamp light that sits outside his home, that he thinks he might make it. That he will get home to the empty cottage and his father will never know. That Bakugou will come home in the morning after the full moon like
he always does and wake Kirishima with a freshly killed deer searing over the stove with eggs and toast from the bread Kirishima brought from the market. He'll greet the boy with a soft touch from rough hands and a smile at seeing his boy's eyes wake in the early morning light.
He won't know. He'll never know. Kirishima will be home and not breaking the rules and Bakugou will never know. Except, Kirishima doesn't make it home. [tbc]
--- Years ago, but not many, around the time Kirishima can manage recalling memories more then hazy moments (like his mother's face, though he can never recall whether she was always smiling or if that is simply how he likes to imagine her, how he imagines all mothers must be )
Around when he first started living with Bakugou, when he was small enough to be lifted and places in the man's lap with ease-- though Kirishima knows Bakugou doesn't struggle to pick him up even now-- small enough that he could sit perfectly, comfortable with the warmth of
Bakugou's chest at his back, he's told the warning of the woods. "It is not the forest that is dangerous," Bakugou says, his voice deep. Kirishima always remembers him looking so big. So menacing. With the dark shadows that cut into his face and the bright glow of his eyes.
"But what lives within it." He is told of bears larger then anyone has ever seen. Of figures that drift in and out of the treeline on foggy night. Of things that sound like birds to trick you into following them. Of wolves. Wolves with vicious teeth.
Wolves with eyes that glow in the dark. Wolves that could smell blood, smell fear, smell every shift in the wind. Wolves that look like men, standing on two legs. All things that wanted to harm him, if ever given the chance. "So you live by three rules, Eijirou,"
Bakugou takes his hand, so little when compared to his own, and holds out three of Kirishima's chubby little fingers. "One," he presses down one finger, curling it back against Kirishima's palm. "Do not follow the shadows into the woods. This is what they want."
"Two," Kirishima stares, eyes wide and enchanted as another of his fingers is pressed down, holding on with fear and delight to every single word the man spoke. "Never give your name freely. Not even if asked." "And three,"
The most important rule that Bakugou tells him every day, the one he was told on that first day, the one that Kirishima lives his life by now, never forgetting when he looks to the window and sees the sun start to set. "Never leave the cottage on the night of the full moon.
Never step passed the threshold until I am home with you come the break of morning dawn." This one always made a shiver run up his spine. Bakugou pushed his last finger down and then held his closed hand, squeezing it as hard as he dared to squeeze Kirishima's tiny fist.
He is made to repeat them all before Bakugou is satisfied, made to repeat the last one twice. And then Bakugou gets up to stir the large pot hanging over the fire, a rabbit stew softly simmering within, easing into domesticity as if Kirishima was not just told of the monsters
that lived just beyond the windows. "Where do you go then, papa?" Kirishima asks, fingers curling within the fabric of his shirt, twisting and twisting as he asks. "On the night of the full moon?" Bakugou doesn't turn back. He tastes the stew. "I protect us." "From what?"
Bakugou's shadow looks so large cast against the wall, the fire crackling below in the hearth making it dance. "From the things that want to hurt you." ---
There are rocks embedded in his hands. It's the only detail Kirishima can focus on, his eyes wide staring at both of his palms just barely stretched out in front of him covered in dirt and small stones cutting into his skin. They're from the path he was on,
the path that lead to the front door of his home, where he saw the light one second, and the next... The next... He turns his head to see his basket broken a few steps away off the path, goods scattered and crushed. He'd bought bread and cheese and bacon.
Kirishima thought tomorrow he could make Bakugou breakfast for once. The man always looked tired after his nights out. Kirishima figured he could help a little, as best he could. Tell his papa to sleep while he made their meal. And now it all lay in the dirt, thrown onto
the forest floor. Kirishima could feel tears prickle at the corners of his eyes-- the disappointment of not making it home swelling. He tries to gasp, but his lungs don't expand. The air bubbles in his throat, stuck. He chokes. There is no pain until there is.
Until he looks again at his hands to see the blood start to ooze, mixing with the ground. Then he feels it. His entire body aches. He feels like something hit him like a horse, something, but he didn't see anything proper. There was shadow and then the world tilted and went
dark for a moment, all toppled over onto itself until he opened his eyes again and found himself on the ground bleeding. He tries to get to his feet, but his legs are heavy. Nothing feels entirely broken, but battered and scratched. Hands shake as he pushes himself up,
managing to get his legs under him, when he feels a weight at his back, flat and heavy between his shoulder blades, that shoves him back down into the dirt. He hears the growling then. Never has Kirishima seen a wolf in the woods, but he's heard their calls on the wind.
Bakugou has told him they are there, that they exist, watching from the brush even if he can't see them. He's warned him. Bakugou always warned him. Kirishima is barely able to breathe as a chill runs through his entire body, frozen as he shivers with a beast pressing him down.
He will be eaten alive. His papa will find only his torn clothes and bones licked clean knowing his stupid son didn't listen well. The growling is so loud in his ears. The mass that pushes him further into the ground makes it feel like his ribs may crack and his lungs pop.
He winces, feeling a warm string of drool land on his neck, viscous as it drips down his skin. Kirishima hiccups. He wants to cry, to scream, but fear silences him. He just wanted to be a good boy. He wanted to make breakfast.
There is heat and humidity, he thinks the wolf has his maw open, has his teeth so close to his skin he swears he can feel the sharp point of them, wonders when the pain will start and when it will end. He squeezes his eyes closed thinking of Bakugou, hoping it will be quick.
Then, there is a rush. The wind changes. The beast stills. And then the thing is gone, ripped from where he pinned Kirishima, torn away by another great mass that Kirishima does not make out, but sees the shadowed blur. There is snarling, growling. The sound of claws digging
into flesh and snapping jaws. Sharp whimpers and then vicious noises, guttural, monsterous sounds that have Kirishima finally looking over his shoulder to see the mess of limbs, muscle, fur-- Beasts. Great fantastical monsters. The creatures Bakugou spoke of in his stories,
fabled tales of warning that were being retold right before his eyes. There were two of them, large hulking creatures that were wolf and man, covered in fur, ripping each other to shreds with teeth and claw. The full moon illuminated them, cast in silver light falling from
the branches of the forest trees. He stares, frozen in place, in terror, as they fight one another just beyond the treeline, his mind filling in the gaps so the impossible sight is believable, though he's still not sure if this is true or not. It must be a dream, he thinks.
A terrible, horrible dream that his mind has made up in fear of being home late. A nightmare when one of the wolves throws the other into a tree, the trunk of it snapping under the force, and his bright eyes turns toward him. His paws are bloodied, mouth open baring blood
stained teeth and drool dripping over gums. Kirishima does not know how, does not remember, but instincts kick in, a voice in his head yelling /run/ and before he himself can process the command his body is moving through the forest into the dark, away from the path, away
from the wolves, following the moonlight. There is a snarl at his back, a howl that makes him wince, makes him clutch his ears, but still he keeps moving further and further, trying to not listen to the rustle behind him and the sound of snapping jaws closer and closer to his
throat. Kirishima trips. He's not sure over what, whether it be root or rock or his own feet, but the moon sitting high above suddenly rotates and disappears from sight, everything falls downward, his body crumbles, hitting hard and cut sharp and short-- The world goes black.
When Kirishima wakes up, it's frantic and gasping. He bolts up right in a cold sweat, shaking with a sharp cry on his lips, wondering how he can still breathe after being eaten and mauled to death and-- He jerks when a hand touches his shoulder, body flailing before the full
picture is painted in his eyes. It's not a monster or a wolf or anything scary. It's Bakugou, sitting on the edge of Kirishima's bed, looking at him with a crease in his brow and a serious look on his face. Kirishima stares, for a second wondering if he is dead. "Papa...?"
Bakugou's face softens, his fingers moving from his shoulder up to brush against his throat, cup his cheek gently in his rough palm. "You hit your head, Ei. Had me worried." His heart is still fluttering in his chest, sweat still at his forehead as his fingers curl into the
familiar fabric of his bedding, well worn cotton woven thick to keep him warm, bed below him just as lump as it had been that morning he woke up. Bakugou there, his dad there, together in their little cabin as if nothing happened. As if Kirishima had made it home.
Though it wasn't morning like usual when he woke up after a full moon. There was no sun steaming softly through the windows. He couldn't smell anything cooking over the stove. The windows were still dark, their home quiet, and Kirishima wondered if it all truly was just a bad
dream. Bakugou eases him back down into bed, Kirishima easily following his direction, eyes still bouncing to all the corners of the room trying to make sure, really make sure, that he was there. But Bakugou's fingers were warm against his sweat cold skin and
when he brought a damp cloth to his forehead, wiping at his sweat, dabbing down to his brow, Kirishima hisses with a sudden pain when the cloth brushes over a wound. A cut over his eyebrow, cutting through hair and skin and barely missing his eye. The blood had stopped,
but the pain was still there. "I told you," Bakugou explains. "You fell, little thing. You need to be more careful. Scrapped everything up pretty good." Kirishima assesses his body as his dad tends to him-- his head did hurt, his entire body aches, even. He looked at his
hands to see they had been cleaned, but where still cut up with small scraps and roughed up skin just as he remembered from the dream. His knees were also red and raw, every limb having some sort of injury that he was just now seeing and feeling for the first time as his mind
connected to what his nerves were all singing. It was a dream. It had to be a dream. But. But he-- "I was late," Kirishima said, remembering. He looks at Bakugou, tears welling up at the memory of the sun going down and not making it back to the door. "Papa, I was late, I--"
"Shhh," Bakugou soothes, cuts him off and wipes his eyes before anything can truly fall. "It's late, you can talk to me in the morning. You need to sleep." He moves to rise, Kirishima is quick to grab him. "Please," he says, not feeling brave enough to even pretend.
"Can you...stay? With me tonight?" He hadn't asked in ages. Years, he thinks, it must have been years now, but there is still a pit in Kirishima's stomach, the shadowy remains of the dream, of the beasts, that forces him to ask and hope. Bakugou thinks on it.
He thinks on it for long enough that Kirishima's shoulders sag, that he thinks he'll be told no and left to sleep alone, but then his dad sighs and pulls the blankets aside to slide in under them. "Just for tonight," he says, Kirishima beaming as he moves to make more room
on the small bed. "Just until morning." Kirishima agrees easily, not daring to ask for more as he snuggles up close and feels the protection of Bakugou's arms as they wrap around him. He is not as small as he used to be, but still Kirishima manages to fit,
nose pressed into Bakugou's throat, body flush to his chest, curled up trying to take up as little space as possible in an attempt to make more room. He presses in a little more, wanting the closeness, the warmth, the knowing that his Papa is right there, except when he bumps
too hard, too hard still being soft, Bakugou hisses, flinches. Kirishima leans back, eyes wide. He's never heard that before. Never even knew something could hurt with Bakugou before. He looks and sees under the loose collar of Bakugou's shirt wrapping-- bandages across his
chest, just the faintest hint of medical white, frayed edges, red-- "Papa--" "Hush," Bakugou quickly interrupts, easing Kirishima back down, head resting against him so the boy could listen to his heart beat in his chest. "Go to sleep, Eijirou. It'll be better in the morning."
Kirishima listens, of course. Listens because their is no reason not to. Listens because his dad knows everything, Bakugou has never lied to him. Kirishima hears it and knows as he lays down, ear pressed against Bakugou, counting out the rhythmic calm of his heart,
that his statement is true. Everything will be better in the morning. Kirishima closes his eyes and sleeps. This time, no dreams follow him under. He thinks his Papa must scare them all away.
--- When Kirishima wakes, it's to a knock at the door. He sits up, the noise foreign. No one has ever knocked on their door. Kirishima looks to Bakugou who is already rising from the bed, unwrapping his arms from Kirishima, taking the warmth and safety with him. "Papa?"
(( quick cw of character death implied/mentioned-- minor character, but death all the same ))
"Stay here, Ei," he says, voice low as he runs a hand through the soft strands of Kirishima's hair. "Don't come out, got it?" Kirishima nods, knowing that serious tone, and stays right where he is sitting in bed, staring as Bakugou leaves through the bedroom door, the heavy wood
not falling completely closed behind him. The night is ending. The darkness from the windows is finally lightening, dark blue slowly easing into a light sky of breaking dawn that is just starting to peak up over the horizon, though the light does not reach the depths of their
forest just yet. Kirishima has never seen anyone else come this far into the woods before. Kirishima has never seen anyone else besides him or his father here. Except for the dream. was. Kirishima hears the front door open. If things hadn't happened, maybe he would
have stayed in bed. If so many weird little things didn't come up, if the hair on the back of his neck didn't prickle, maybe he would have been good. Stayed where he was. But the harsh voice that he hears Bakugou take through the door makes him curious. Makes him push aside
the sheets and slide quietly out of bed to tip toe over to the crack in the door and peek through. "What do you want?" Kirishima has to move a little, sight barely able to take in the scene, but when he sees who stands beyond the door, just beyond the threshold, his breath
hitches. It's a woman and she...she looks a lot like Bakugou. Her eyes are the same. Bright red and sharp. Her hair is the same color, same sharp spikes that tumble down just past her shoulders. There are little braids in it, Kirishima thinks he sees, littered with beads or
colored glass. She wears clothing that Kirishima has never seen on anyone before, leathers and furs that are bound in thick cord, decorated with belts and strings lined with more glass trinkets and...bone? He can't see it all, the door opening so small, and the deep red cape
that falls over one of her shoulders covers one side of her figure. She is beautiful. Kirishima wonders who she is. Knows, maybe, who she might be. Why, if he thinks correctly, this is the first time he's ever seen her and why Bakugou would speak to her like that.
"After all this time, you still hold no respect, boy." Her voice is soft, but it echoes and vibrates, booming through their small cabin home so when it reaches Kirishima's ears he holds them, wincing. Her voice shakes through his bones. It sounds...wrong.
"What respect should I show you?" His papa hisses, spitting at her feet. "Your kin are a plague on this forest." She bristles. "/Your/ kin, child. You are the one who have made them an enemy." "They should be your enemy too. What they did--" She snaps. Kirishima thinks her
eyes start to glow. "Your father knew the consequences." Bakugou growls. "You betray him. Us." "You are stubborn. Come home and--" "This is my home." She rolls her eyes. "You play house. With that... boy." Kirishima winces, shrinking back away from the door, hands slapping
Over his mouth, afraid she may be able to hear him breathe. He thinks he can feel her gaze on him. He's scared now to look and confirm. "He is under my care. If anyone wants to come for him I'll do exactly the same as this past night." "You forsake your own people for him?"
"You forsake me. You forsake my father." "Your father--" "You could have saved him." She moves to step forward, but doesn't. She seems to think better of it, not moving, not getting closer. She stares at the ground, the dirt, then up again at Bakugou. "I loved him."
Bakugou makes a deep choke of laughter, mocking. "Is that what you call it?" She glares. "You know nothing, insolent brat." Again, Bakugou spits. "I know enough. Now leave before I do the same to you." "Be careful," the woman pauses, cocks her head. "You are cocky, but you
did not go unscathed last night. I don't want to see what happens when you fall. Regardless of what you say or may are still my son." Bakugou's hand comes up to his side, unaware of how his fingers rub against his body, tender. She stares at him for a long moment,
her heavy gaze taking him in from toe to head, then her eyes fall behind him, fall to where Kirishima swears he is unseen. "That boy of yours, you treat him as a son, but you do not scent him like one." Kirishima sees tension curl along Bakugou's back. "Leave. Now."
He does not want for a response. Bakugou slams the door in her face and Kirishima is fast to crawl back into bed as his papa turns towards the cracked bedroom door, fearful of what may happen if he was caught spying as he was, but Bakugou does not open it to see.
Instead, Kirishima hears him growl, jumps when his fist lands against the wall, head tucking under the covers just in case, but his father doesn't reappear. He listens and only hears a sigh and then Bakugou moves to their tiny kitchen, rustle through wood to light the stove.
Familiar. Routine. Everything Kirishima expects. After a few seconds, Kirishima peaks out from the covers, lifting his head to the window to look-- to watch the woman walk back down the path, for if she were to head towards the village she would be seen through the window,
but there was no sight or sound of her. Wherever she was, she did not appear to take the well worn path back and, instead, disappeared into the thicket of the woods. ---
Kirishima waits until he is called, knowing full well Bakugou is aware he is awake, but not wanting to disturb the small privacy he has of making their meal alone. Whoever she was, it was clear that his father did not like that woman. Whatever happened between them, Kirishima
did not know, but it must have been terrible for him to speak to her like that and react to her presence. Kirishima could not imagine treating his mother like that, having only the faintest memories of her and the aching desire to have her back at times.
There came, at the thought, the smallest ping of jealous knowing Bakugou had a family that he actively did not want to see. But the thought vanished quickly, his mind coming to a halt as soon as he heard his father call for him-- a quickly spoken bark of 'breakfast' that had
Kirishima almost tumbling from his bed to go out and eat. It wasn't until he smelled the cooking, meat on the stove dripping fat in the pan, charred vegetables pulled from their own garden, eggs from the few chickens that roamed in the back, that he realized just how hungry he
was, famished like he had run from the village and back, and happily took the plate when Bakugou gave it to him. And then, before he ate, Kirishima paused to stare down at the plate, confused by the sight before him in a way that made his gut churn a little with memories
of darkness and claws and teeth. Sitting on the plate where two thick cuts of bacon, pork fried with crisped edges and glistening oils. He stares because they did not have any. Stared because their meat was typically of that found in the forest, hunted by his father or
occasionally Kirishima if he got lucky and was both taken out to hunt and caught something good enough to eat. Pork was something special, something Kirishima only bought from the village when he knew there was plenty of change left in his pocket for next week as well, and
wanted to surprise Bakugou with something he himself did not need to worry about having killed. But he'd...lost it, hadn't he? Or was that just the dream? Of being pushed and his goods scattered, basket broken, though when he looked there was no sight of his usual wicker basket
or of the cheese or bread he knew he had bought too. But if it wasn't a dream...or if it was... "Something wrong?" Bakugou asks as he sits across from Kirishima at their tiny table shoved into the corner of the room. Kirishima looks at him, looks and wants to ask.
Was it a dream? Everything? All the beasts and creatures? Who was that woman? Why do you not like her? Why do you always disappear on the full moon? Why do you not go to the village? Why are you here? What happened? Who were they? Who are you?
He asks none of them. He shakes his head, he picks up his food to eat, happy for the meal, for the man he calls father, for everything. "Papa," he says, "Can you tell me the story of when you found me?" Bakugou sighs, moving his hand to cover his mouth, to hide the tug at the
corner of his lips. "Again?" Kirishima nods. "Yes please, again." "Alright, fine. While we eat, and then a bath for you. It was cool out, drifting from autumn into winter with all the trees already barren and frost starting to settle on the ground..."
Kirishima settles in taking small bites of his food and chewing slowly as he stared wide eyed at Bakugou, listening with great intent just like he always did. He loved this story. "I was collecting fire wood, knowing I would need more to last the night as the sun just started
to set at the tips of the trees. Perfectly ordinary, the forest was quiet, the night falling softly like a blanket, and when I came to the edge of a clearing where the trees all fell away for the clear sky to be seen, there you were." (His mother had been alone with a baby. Her
husband had died the season before. Eijirou was barely a year old and she couldn't look at him. He cried a lot as an infant, but he stopped soon after he could stand and walk. His mother still didn't like to look at him. Eijirou loved his mother, so he always wondered why she
didn't love him back.) "You were sitting on an old tree stump, the littlest thing out in these big woods." Kirishima flushes, voice soft. "I wasn't that little." "Little," Bakugou repeats, giving him a warm smile. "I could carry you in one arm, now I need both."
(She called him Other. She wailed for the return of her real child. She said Eijirou wasn't her's, but a demon. A creature come the night of her son's birth to switch their places. To steal her milk and love and happiness. To taunt her for her lost husband and now her lost son.)
"Your eyes were so big looking around that clearing, wondering where everyone had gone, wondering which direction you should go. Your cheeks were bright red, your fingers so cold. And when you turned around to look at me, I knew I couldn't let you stay there all alone."
(As the years passed, she couldn't bare it any longer. Barely five, she dressed Eijirou silently, not a word leaving her mouth even as he asked where they were going, and took his hand to lead him outside. The fairy folk had not come back for their own. Her son never reappeared
and the creature she woke up to day after day still there. So, she would return him herself. She couldn't do anything while still in town. People would wonder. People would talk. They'd find out and hang her. But no one would think twice of a boy lost and died in the woods.)
"I grew up alone, as you know, and I know the dangers of these woods." Kirishima nods. "Papa's really smart. And brave." Bakugou chuckles. "That I am. But it takes time to be so smart and brave, and I wanted to give you the chance to be just as good. So, I asked if you wanted
to come with me. The night would be dark and cold, I couldn't bare the thought of you out there all alone." (She walked with him, dragging Eijirou by the hand, far, far out into the woods. Eijirou stumbled behind her, trying to keep up the pace, for when he asked, she wouldn't
stop to let him correct his feet or catch up. By the time they stopped, his feet hurt. He was tired. They made it all the way out to a clearing, very far from the typical paths any of the other villagers took. "Momma?" he'd said. "What're we doing?"
She still didn't look at him. She brought him to a stump in the middle of the clearing, her feet very careful of where she stepped. He looks down at the mushrooms, at the grass, how they grow even when it's so cold, finding it funny how they seem in a perfect curve around.
"You will sit," she says, the first words the entire day. "And you will stay." Her words are firm. Eijirou knows that tone well. He listens. He nods. He obeys, wanting his mother to be happy with him. Her hands fall from his shoulders. He doesn't know why it makes him so sad.
"Momma?" ) "You said you were waiting for your mother, insisting to stay, but I said my home was warmer. I had food and a bed, you could wait there. And even if you didn't want to, such a good boy even then, listening so well, not wanting your mother to not know where you went,
I picked you up-- with one arm-- and brought you home and you never ever left and, no matter what, I'm grateful for that." ("Take him back," she said, turning away. "Bring me my son. Or let him rot, I will not let this horrible changeling wear the skin of my child any longer.")
Kirishima has finished his food. He pushes his plate away and comes down from his chair, moving over to crawl up into Bakugou's, sitting in his lap, holding his arm. "Papa?" he asks, voice small. "Do you ever wish you were still alone? That you didn't find me?"
Bakugou wraps his arms around the boy, facing coming to nuzzle gently against him, nose tickling behind his ear, lips brushing across his cheek. His chest rumbles, he breathes Kirishima in. Kirishima squeezes him back. (Eijirou calls after her, but doesn't move. Over and over.)
"Not once, my little cub. I could not bare to think of what my life would be without you. I love you more dearly than any other." Kirishima turns, burying his face into Bakugou's chest, feeling how warm and solid he is against him. He really loves that story.
(( Here's the top of the werewolf/European fairy tale kiribaku thread with shota!kiri. CW at the start, but nothing graphic within just yet! Though quick CW for child neglect/abandonment in the previous update that i should have tagged for sorry!! ))…
Cw shotacon, werewolves, pseudo incest Kiri gets lost in the woods when he's little. He can't remember if he wandered too far or if his mom purposely let his hand go. All he knows if Bakugou found him. Bakugou who's brash and angry and alone. Who lives far off in the woods,
"Now," Bakugou pulls him back from his chest, brushing a piece of dark hair from his eyes. "Go collect water from the creek. I'll clean up from breakfast." Kirishima goes to move, then pauses, mind flooding with the dream of what happened outside of their cottage walls.
The images of claws and teeth and burning red eyes. He rubs, unaware, at the scraps on his knees. Bakugou places a hand against his cheek, drawing his attention back. "It's not dark, baby. There's no moon. You're safe now. Go collect water."
He nods, sliding from his father's lap to grab up two large buckets sitting by the stove, trying to not show his hesitancy as he pushes the door open and walks off through the low brush towards the creek that runs behind their home. He has no reason to fear–
nothing has ever happened with the sun up, nothing has ever happened when Bakugou was with him. The creek is the main source of water for the nearby village. Starting as a river that slowly thins as it weaves through the woods and
comes across their small patch of land as an easy place to get water for bathing and cooking, for quiet fishing, and for splashing and collecting smoothed river stones on hot summer days where Bakugou watches over him from the banks. He's learned to swim there, to not drown,
and in the winters how to move on ice so that he won't fall through. Kirishima likes the creek. Sometimes, when he comes upon it quietly, he’ll be able to see animals along the bank drinking from it. Plenty of deer pass along the grassy shore,
mothers with new fawns and bucks with great big antlers not yet shed. Kirishima knows that, eventually, they may end up eating them, but still he takes the time to admire them in that moment of peace, existing in the same space as him.
This time, there is nothing there when he comes upon the shore, the soft movement of water flowing over rocks and stone riverbed filling the morning air. It’s still cool outside for the season, the sun having not yet risen high enough to warm the grass,
so Kirishima makes sure to not delve in too deep into the cold water, not wanting to go back home cold and wet. He’s caused much too many problems as it is in the past day, he doesn’t want to be any more of an issue for his father
when he seems as agitated as he is from the woman’s earlier visit. So, as he maneuvers down to the water’s edge, he’s careful. The bank isn’t steep and the water doesn’t rush wildly as it does in the early spring, so it’s easy for him to place each bucket down to take a moment
for him to roll up his pants before trudging into the shallow pool. He jolts with the cold of it, thinking this would be perfect come the afternoon with the sun bright and hot, but all he wants right now is warmth–
to scrub himself clean and patch up the rest of his aching limbs so Bakugou doesn’t worry over potential sickness or infection. One bucket is filled quickly and placed along the bank to grab the other,
Kirishima all too familiar with this chore and perfectly content to do it in the summertime when water was easy to collect instead of the bitter winters.
Kirishima freezes, staring down at the running water, the second bucket in his hands and partially dunked under. He thinks, for a moment, that he’s heard wrong, because he was alone, he was sure of it, but very soon he realizes not.
“What’s your name?”
He looks up sharply, surprised when he sees a figure standing across on the other side of the stream, though he’s…he’s not sure what to make of it. Never once in all his years of living out in the forest has he seen another person come across their land.
Their cottage sat too deep into the woods and the villagers were far too superstitious to travel so far. The typical trading routes and paths worn by feet and all the familiar ones cobbled with brick and stone sat along the forest’s edge or
over the grass hillsides far from the reach of the trees. So, seeing one now, Kirishima wonders. Because…because…
Because he doesn’t look entirely right. Entirely human.
The figure, male, Kirishima decides, but could be wrong with how pretty the other is, stands on the very edge of the bank, feet bare and toes curled in the grass, just barely tipping over the little edge that would fall down towards the rocky stream.
He wears clothing that looks soft and expensive and woven with leaves along the hemmed edges– something like a tunic with a corded vine as a belt, a deep royal blue spotted with the greens of the natural world.
He looks otherworldly, with hair of two colors split down the middle and eyes of the same miss-matched nature open wild and staring as Kirishima, unblinking. Looking at him makes Kirishima feel funny. Warm and soft and tired, like he may fall asleep right where he’s standing.
He can’t focus on the other for too long, the sunlight making him almost shimmer and his head feeling light. “Hello,” Kirishima replies, not knowing what else to say, heart hammering against his ribs.
The figure keeps staring at him, face still and expressionless. “What’s your name?” he asks again, voice soft, soft enough that Kirishima doesn't think he should be able to hear him from their distance, but still the words ring clearly in his ears.
There is a second, a split second, where his mouth falls open and he thinks to answer– to be polite, to have normal conversation, but then he pauses and stills, remembering quickly the rules his father has drilled into him since being brought home.
/Never give your name freely, not even when asked./ Kirishima takes a step back, bucket only partially full in hand, nearly stumbling over the rocks at his feet. "I– I have to go–"
The man still stares, eyes unchanged, but his lips quirk up, so Kirishima catches the glimmer of pearly white teeth, sharp– "What a well behaved boy you are. He's a very good teacher."
It doesn't sound like he's talking to him anymore and instead simply stating facts on the breeze. It gives Kirishima his chance, feeling whatever draw the other held break for a moment and he turns.
Kirishima barely had enough mind to grab both buckets and run as fast as he could back through the brush to his home, stumble in through the door, water splashing everywhere as he panted, cheeks flushed. "Papa–"
Bakugou looked back at him, a scolding on his tongue until he saw the frantic look on Kirishima's face. He drops the pan he's holding, moving to grab Kirishima, hands on his cheeks, his neck, looking over his body. "What is it? What happened?!"
"Papa," he breathes. "A– a man. Or...or someone. On the shore. With…with strange hair. Red and white. And his eyes… Papa–" Bakugou growls, the noise rumbling loud in his chest as he stands quickly and snatches up his ax. The air around him seems to shift, grow hot, dangerous.
"Stay here, baby, I'll go take care of him." Kirishima says nothing, can say nothing, as he watches him go, feeling the last edges of foggy lightness finally leave his head.
Cw shotacon, werewolves, pseudo incest Kiri gets lost in the woods when he's little. He can't remember if he wandered too far or if his mom purposely let his hand go. All he knows if Bakugou found him. Bakugou who's brash and angry and alone. Who lives far off in the woods,
The sound of their heavy wooden door slamming doesn’t make him jump. Kirishima stands in the small space of their little home, staring at the far wall. He’s not sure what to do or think.
He’s heard stories, of course he’s heard stories. His father speaks to him about monsters and protection nightly. He’s aware of hushed whispers in the village when he visits and people are the market talking of witches and hexes and the things that come out of the woods at night.
He knows the superstitions and knows how people look at him sometimes– a boy who lives far out in the woods. A boy with a father people have only truly heard of. They wonder who he is or why he lives there or, under their breath when they think he cannot hear, what he might be.
But he has never let any of it settle for too long on his mind. They are simply stories. Fables. Bakugou makes sure he knows of the dangers in their forest, even if those dangers come in the form of fairy tales. But now, after all these years, he has to wonder.
Dreams typically don’t leave such injuries, even if he had thrashed or fallen from bed. And the woman from the morning couldn’t have disappeared as she had. And the man– the thing– he saw just now, how he stood and stares and made Kirishima feel.
There is a part of him that wants to go back outside, to follow his father, to see for himself what may come of it all or if the creature was even still there. Maybe his panic from the nightmare was bleeding in too his mind. Maybe he only saw something else,
something like a bird or his mind was only playing tricks on him. Maybe it was all just in his head. And maybe…maybe it wasn’t. Maybe it was…
Kirishima blinked. He turned, grabbing for the buckets, deciding he would ask when Bakugou came back, but in the meantime he would simply…follow direction and do as he was told. So, he gathered what little water he managed to bring back,
and moved back into his small bedroom to get a cloth and found a sliver of soap– he’d have to make more this week. It was an easy topic to grab hold of as he undressed, letting his mind focus on one simple common and
comfortable topic instead of the hundreds more that would surely drive him mad. He thought of the chores he would do this week as he dipped the cloth and soap in the water, scrubbing to a lather before bringing it to his skin.
He’d tend to the garden out back, pick the weeds that grew and make sure the fencing was secure. He’d gather firewood and collect herbs from the wild grasses and go with his father to hunt for rabbits and pheasant.
He’d go to the village for more bread and eggs and on the way home he’d try to find wild berries along the roadside to bring home as a treat. And soap. He’d make more soap.
The door to the cottage slams again, jerking Kirishima out of his mental list and nearly toppling over the bucket of graying water. “Papa?” he calls, moving as he hears footsteps, but doesn’t make it to his own door before it’s opened and
the large silhouette of Bakugou fills the doorway. “Papa?” There is a growl that fills the air before Bakugou moves, crowding Kirishima’s much smaller body against the bed, still naked, damp, and pink from scrubbing himself clean.
The bucket is kicked precariously and knocked away, water sloshing out, spilling onto the floor as Kirishima can do little to stop it with his feet now only just dangling over the side of the bed with his father surrounding him, body bracketing his own,
big and large with his eyes dark and a rumble in his throat. Kirishima looks up to him, eyes wide, wondering if the same strange spell he felt after seeing the strange man-creature had befallen his father. “Papa?”
Another growl, before Bakugou’s hands are on him, holding him, in a grip that doesn’t hurt, but feels tight. Kirishima makes a noise, wiggles, and Bakugou’s fingers dig in a little harder, pressing firmly against his hips
as he leans down to shove his nose into the crook of the boy’s neck. Kirishima does not feel in danger, never once as he truly been scared of Bakugou, but still he can’t help but shift and move under him, worry filling his belly as Bakugou rubs against him–
his face smearing all across his throat, shoulders, and chest. He keeps him still as he rumbles and move up and down across Kirishima’s bare skin, all the while not speaking a word even as Kirishima tries to prompt him.
There is no blood on him, no dirt, no signs of a fight or struggle, but still he has become /strange/. He rubs their cheeks together, back and forth, up and down,
Bakugou’s sweat smearing across Kirishima’s once clean body, as he lays there feeling warm with Bakugou so close, blanketing him. He whines softly as Bakugou shifts, moving them both a little higher up on Kirishima’s bed, still holding him tightly,
able to lift and move his body like a doll’s, though there still is no pain and fear only enough to be concerned. Bakugou’s hair tickles him, soft against his face, his collar, and then the sudden damp touch of a– a tongue, he thinks, along his neck. The graze of teeth,
scrapping over the curve of his shoulder, his bedroom filled with the growling-hum vibrating from Bakugou’s throat. Kirishima squirms, confused, unaware, and still his stomach is twisting,
something in his pulling, his eyes growing heavy with the concern for his father and the warmth in his stomach and– “Papa.”
He finally manages to move his hands. To remember how his fingers work. He puts them both on Bakugou’s cheeks, pulling his head up from his shoulders, making his father look at him, so Kirishima can see the dazzling light in his eyes– the soft glow of fire.
He presses their foreheads together, the vibrating growl slowly fading away. The room is silent.
“Papa,” Kirishima says again. Bakugou blinks, sighs, and lets his head fall with a soft ‘thump’ against the bird-bone chest of his son. Kirishima doesn’t mind. He wraps his arms around Bakugou’s head, holding him close. “What happened?”
--- There was no hesitation in Bakugou as he left, stalking towards the river bank, knowing full well who would be waiting for him when he arrived. Very few of the other realm could walk between them at this time of day and fewer still would ever dare come so close to
Bakugou's territory. He comes up on him lying on the grass, relaxed and spread out to soak in the sun's rays, fingers brushing lightly back and forth through the soft blades as if only come for a short holiday among the humans, instead of luring children to their deaths.
His ax leaves his hands by instinct alone, swinging across the creek to embed itself in the soft earth meer inches from where the creature's fingers would be in one more sweeping path over the grass. Bakugou is sure the close proximity of the iron blade burns him, but there is
no expression of such pain as he sits up where he lay to stare back at Bakugou. "You missed," He says, smiling back across the water. Delicate finger tips find the very top of the wooden handle, pushing the ax from the ground, letting it fall away down towards the river bed.
"How kind." Bakugou growls. "I did not aim. Now leave before I decide to try again." The threat means nothing, the creature only sighing, head settling across folded arms resting on his knees. "How rude. Won't you even invite me in? It's been so long I thought we were friends."
"Friends?" He hisses, spits up on ground. "Don't make me laugh." The creature rolls his eyes. "Fine. Betrothed then, if you must be so formal." The hair at the back of Bakugou's neck bristles, he feels his teeth ache as they extend. "What do you /want/, bastard?"
"Hmph. Well. I've come as everyone's come. To bring you back." "Then you have come in vain. Leave." Again, another sigh. Soft and gentle like a sweet summer breeze. Bakugou knows far better. "You can bring that pet of yours, if you want. I mean him no harm and don't mind
turning a blind eye when necessary." "He is not a /pet/." A small smile tugs at the corner of the creature's lips. He knows exactly what he's doing and Bakugou is fool enough to play into his hands. "He belongs to us, you must know. A gift that you took."
Bakugou tastes blood as his gums tear, maw growing. "He would have died in that ring." "If that is his fate, that is his fate." Bakugou's takes a step forward, snarling. "If anyone touches him, I'll kill them." "Tsk," he rolls his eyes. "So protective. He's only human. What's
the point? They don't last long. You know that." Bakugou lunges forward, trudging into the water, the sound of snapping bones chorusing as his control wanes. The other doesn't even flinch, just stares, eyes never once turning away. "Does he know? Your pet?"
"Know /what/?" His voice cracks, rumbles, inhuman. "About you. Us. Everything. He's old enough, right?" Again, he smiles, showing off the sharp fangs he inherited from his father. "You can't keep him inside forever. That's their problem, you know, humans...
... they're such curious creatures." Bakugou's jaw snaps, body contorts, breakings and fixing itself, growing until he is a beast with a single mind and leaps over the remaining gap to sink his claws into-- Dirt. Soft fistfuls of soil and grass come up in his claws as a light
chuckle echoes on the breeze, bringing Bakugou's attention up to a tree where the creature now sits entirely unscathed. "As I said, I mean no harm and did not come to fight," he cocks his head, hair falling in mixed strands into his eyes. "Only to tell you to come home and,
well, I have wanted to see what the thing is that keeps you. It's cute." Bakugou jumps, moving in a flash to crash into the tree where the creature sat, claws tearing through bark as he scratches and smashes everything to pieces, and still there is no flesh under his hands.
"Well," the voice sounds from behind him. Bakugou turns, growls. "I'll let you return to him. You must be so worried, always having to leave him alone." Bakugou's head snaps back towards their cabin, staring, wondering if this was a trap of some kind--
--Kirishima's scent is faint, muddled by things that aren't him or Bakugou, but he's there still-- And when Bakugou turns back, the creature is gone. "Todoroki Shouto," Bakugou grounds out, spits again to keep the fae away. "Fucking half-breed fairy."
Bakugou snaps out of his memories, eyes focusing now on Kirishima staring up at him, at the boy who holds his cheeks in the palms of his hands with such care Bakugou knows he does not deserve.
“Nothing, little thing. Nothing happened. I only talked to him, got him to leave.” Bakugou eases the tiny hands from his face, lets them come down to Kirishima’s sides, but doesn’t move away to create distance further than that wanting to keep the boy as close to him as possible.
The urge to crush him to his chest and scent his entire body until there is no difference between ‘him’ and ‘I’, to make sure all those that decide to lurk in his forest know who this boy is claimed by–
who he belongs to, who protects him, but he resists, reigns in the instinctual need in favor of Kirishima comfort, not wanting to scare him, never wanting to scare him. Still, he does not move. He shifts his body to reposition himself, curling up at Kirishima’s back,
still naked and damp as he is, not yet wanting to fully let go with the events of the evening and day. They’re getting far too close, all of them. He’ll need to reapply the protections on the house, expand the circle if he can to make sure no one can get close again. And–
“What was he?” Bakugou stills. Not ‘who’, but ‘what’. Todoroki’s words echoing in his head. /Does he know?/
He’d hope to never tell him or hope, at least, to tell him later. Much later, to protect him and to pretend like he can really just be the woodman living by himself who happened upon a boy lost in the woods.
It would be much easier that way, though Bakugou always knew that would never be his path. “Just someone I used to know,” Bakugou says, a half-truth, the safest of answers. He brushes the hair from Kirishima’s forehead, kissing his warm skin, lips lingering,
moving down slowly to pepper across his brow, the bridge of his nose, making Kirishima wiggle and squirm, distract him, as the kisses lighten and he giggles with the ticklish sensation. He laughs, turning in Bakugou’s arms, small arms reaching out to push against his chest,
shoving to try and get him away as Bakugou delved in to get at his chin, his throat, arms still holding Kirishima tight as the boy nearly shrieked and jerked, Bakugou nipping lightly, growling playfully, Kirishima’s eyes closed tight in joy.
“Papa– no, Papa, no fair! I can’t– get away– Papa!” A flailing elbow gets him in the stomach, making him grunt and wince in pain, doubling over slightly as he finally released Kirishima who still giggled, panting, until he looked to see Bakugou holding his side.
His smile is gone in an instant, crawling up onto the bed to inspect his father, worry written all over his face once again. “Papa? What happened? What–” Bakugou grabs Kirishima’s wrist before he’s able to touch him, before he can see or feel anything further,
pushing him gently away as he breathes out the pain and rights his expression. He doesn’t need his son seeing his battle wounds. He doesn’t need to explain how he may have gotten the deep claw marks. They’ll heal in time.
“It’s nothing, baby, nothing.” He forces the dull ache down to scoop Kirishima back into his arms to hug him, hold him, kiss his cheek. “Let's finish getting you cleaned up, hm? Then we can go out, see if we can’t catch a few rabbits for dinner."
He knows the excuse is weak, knows that the distraction will only last so long, as Kirishima still looks at him with concern, with a question on his tongue that doesn’t quite leave his lips. There are many of them, he knows.
So many questions. He wonders, now, how long he can keep this up. Their small oasis in the forest has been disturbed. Others are aware of their existence, of their placement. More will come, they are not creatures willing to give up after only a warning.
Bakugou sighs. “Come, before the day gets too hot.” — The sun is just now starting to set.
They’ve been out in the brush for hours now, Bakugou’s ax at his hip and Kirishima’s bow in his hands. They’ve been fairly successful with two hare’s and a quail tied off and slung over Bakugou’s shoulder. The woods have been quiet for them, almost eerily so in Bakugou’s mind,
as his eyes dart back and forth and his ears listen harder for any indication of them being followed, but his nose never once picks up an unfamiliar scent and Kirishima seems happy to be out with him, mind focused on their hunt even with Bakugou’s distractions.
He cannot help but notice how Kirishima has to be more careful notching his arrows and pulling the bow strings, his hands torn up from his fall in the gravel the night before.
His eyes linger on his face longer, the mark left over his eye dark with the depth of how far it cut, sure to leave a scar. His heart does not calm, making sure to keep them always in close proximity to familiar areas and never stray further than they need.
Bakugou is worried. He is distant. He wonders how long this can last. /Does he know?/ “Papa?”
Kirishima pulls him by the hand, focusing his attention where it should be, as he stands by his side looking up at him, his own eyes darting towards where the sun dips low into the sky. “Should we…head home?”
His voice quivers just a little bit. Of course, Kirishima would never say it, but his mind still remembers, dream or not, and his fears bubble up at the memories in the dark. They would not come tonight, the full moon already waning, but that does not mean the forest is safe.
And yet…and yet…
He toils with the thought. Toils with the idea of Kirishima being late again. Of growing older and more curious. Of wanting his freedom. Of not knowing. Of becoming lost in the woods. Of never making his way back home.
Bakugou can feel his blood run cold at the thought, at not having Kirishima always at his side. He makes a decision.
“I want to show you something first.” He takes Kirishima by the hand. “Something secret, okay?” “Okay.” Kirishima nods, having no reason to not trust his father, but still making sure that his grasp is firm as Bakugou leads him deeper into the woods.
((cw for character death moving forward, NOT kirishima or bakugou, if you’d like more details before moving on feel free to DM me!))
--- They walk for some time. Longer than Kirishima would have expected, going deeper into the forest than he thinks he’s ever been. The sunlight only lingers for so long, the trees growing taller and their leaves thicker,
blocking out the last of the light before it can reach them, so thick that when he looks up even the moon and stars cannot be a guide. He clings closer to Bakugou then, holding his hand tighter, nearly tripping them with how his feet shuffle and grow too mixed with his father’s.
It’s only then, when Bakugou rights himself, does he pause and brush a hand through Kirishima’s hair. “It’s alright,” he says, kneeling down to pick Kirishima up into his arms, lifting him as though he weighed nothing at all. “Nothing will happen. I’m right here to protect you.”
Kirishima tucks in close, arms wrapped around his neck, knowing that must be true, for his father has never taken him so far into the woods at night before. Bakugou is not frightened. His pace is even and sure.
He is not scared or worried. There is no one around that will hurt them, not now. It’s dark enough that Kirishima does not know their path, but Bakugou never once falters as he easily moves through the brush and pushes branches aside,
feet making only the softest sound of his boots upon the earth, managing to step over every broken twig or dried leaf. They walk long enough that Kirishima grows a little hungry, knowing dinner should have been some time ago now, wondering then how long it had actually been.
And then, they stop.
“Here.” Bakugou moves over to an old oak tree, its roots thick and long as they arch up from the dirt, gnarled almost as they branch out and then plunge back down. Bakugou takes a seat on one of these roots, settling Kirishima in his lap. “Look out in the forest, look deep.”
Kirishima does as he’s told, staring into the darkness, barely able to make out the shapes of trees and bush, not knowing entirely where the dark ground starts and the black sky ends.
He pauses for a long while, letting his eyes adjust, but still only seeing the dark shapes set out before them. “What am I meant to see?” he asks. “Do you know how I tell you to not follow shadows?” Bakugou’s breath is hot against his ear, chin resting against his shoulder as
his arms curl around Kirishima’s waist. “Well, there’s not just shadows, but also light.” Kirishima settles back against Bakugou’s chest, feeling calm wash over him with their close proximity, wrapped up and safe. “Light?”
“Yes,” Bakugou continues. “Light. Sometimes, if you’re lucky, you’ll get to see them. They’re spirits, you see, that wander the forest. They’re guides and protectors. You can catch sight of them easier on moonless nights, but you know what’s even easier?”
Kirishima shivers. He’s only heard whispers of spirits and ghosts before, but always thought them fable, even if he’d duck his head and hurry past the village cemetery. They weren't real. When people died, they simply died. Right?
“What?” Kirishima asks, feeling spellbound staring off into the darkness. “If you call out their name.”
Kirishima turns then, looking back at his father, only able to make out his features because they were so close. “Papa,” he says, voice quiet and serious, barely above a whisper in the dark. “You know a ghost’s name?”
Bakugou smiles, small and light. “Yes, I do. He’s helped me for some time. Something like a friend.” “Friend?!” Kirishima still whispers, but stiffens, head turning back to the forest, eyes darting around to try and catch sight of what his father told him. “He? How– but–”
“Shh,” Bakugou soothes him, pulling him a little bit closer again, forcing him to settle in his lap. “Just wait. You’ll see. And then I’ll answer all your questions, okay?” He stills, looking down at the ground that he can’t really make out,
but looks up a few moments later to nod. He’s never had reason to doubt Bakugou before, even if what he said sounds like the made up stories he heard other children whisper to each other to make them scared. “Yes, Papa.”
“Good boy. Now, I’ll call him out. I even have a special name for him.” “Special?” “Mhm.”
Bakugou settles down against him once more, chin resting on his shoulder, mouth brushing against his ear, and he speaks softly, so Kirishima thinks there is no way anyone else would be able to hear him, not even a spirit living in the woods. “Deku.”
He grips Bakugou’s arms, making sure to hold him tight so he doesn’t disappear, just in case. “Deku.” Kirishima feels a shiver of cold air race up his spine, goosebumps breaking out all along his arms. “Deku.”
Kirishima shrinks back, fighting the urge to turn away, to hide in Bakugou’s chest. He doesn’t even realize he’s closed his eyes until Bakugou is prompting him to open them, his fingers guiding Kirishima’s face in one direction. “Here baby, look.”
He opens one eye, then the other, peering out focusing hard on the forest, on the darkness, when suddenly he sees it– a small spark. A soft white light. Something different instead of the inky blackness, swaying gently from side to side in the distance.
“You’ll know it’s him by the light, by the way he carries it. Swinging like that, back and forth.” Kirishima stares, eyes wide. The light is so different from everything else around them. With it’s presence,
he can make out the edges of branches and leaves, giving deep color to the world instead of pitch black. “What is it, Papa?” Bakugou chuckles, voice still a whisper to match Kirishima’s own. “A lantern, dear thing. So he can see in the dark and so he can show us the way too.”
The light moves closer, bouncing in the same manner Bakugou describes. Kirishima can picture it– someone walking towards them, a lantern swinging in their grasp as they hold it out before them to guide them through the treacherous woods.
Kirishima blinks, watching it disappear for just a moment, the glow fading, then springing forth again even closer than before. “Is he nice?” He can feel the smile pressed against the shell of his ear. “Yes, very nice. A fool, but nice. He’ll like you.”
Kirishima watches, feeling his heartbeat rapidly in his chest, squeezing Bakugou’s arms a little tighter in fear and excitement. A spirit. A ghost. “Deku,” Kirishima whispers, just to make sure he has the name right.
It happens between blinks, Kirishima thinks, because one instant the light is gliding toward them and the next there's a boy instead. He looks to be a little older than Kirishima, standing before then with a lantern in hand to illuminate the forest around them now.
His hair is unruly and deeply colored like the dark green of summer leaves, eyes bright and wide, almost uneasy looking as he stares, the color of them so bright Kirishima thinks they glow. He has freckles and looks thin, his clothing old and frayed all around the edges.
He's barefoot and, when Kirishima focusing on him for too long, it appears like his body doesn't sit quite solid on the earth. The edges of him seem to fade. The lantern he holds flickers, the flame dances, but does not give off any heat. "Kacchan?" The ghost says, still
staring with a gaze that feels like it goes right through him. "Deku," Bakugou nods. "Meet Eijirou." Those eyes don't move to look directly at him. "I know who he is. You talk about him enough." Kirishima startles, the knowledge that a ghost knows him in some way strange.
"You talk about me?" Bakugou smiles. "Of course, I tell everyone I know about you." Liar, Kirishima wants to say, because his father doesn't know anyone, but then again, this is the third person-- or...creature that Kirishima has now seen that Bakugou has appeared familiar
with, so maybe there are many more. "Deku," Bakugou stands up, keeping Kirishima held in his arms. "Can you lead us home?" "He taught you that name?" The ghost says, moving closer so the lantern illuminated all of them. There is no heat, no warmth. Kirishima wishes he'd worn
his coat. He can't remember a summer night ever being this cold. "That's not my name." Kirishima licks his lips before speaking. It feels odd addressing a ghost. "What's your name then?" The boy's eyes finally focus on him, wide open with their sickening glow, though the rest
is dark and endless. Kirishima finds he doesn't want to be looked at any further. "My name's--" The ghost pauses. "My name." The lantern falls by his hip, the candle light of it flickers in an unfelt breeze. "My name..." Kirishima feels bad, suddenly. The ghost looks to the
ground. He looks so sad. Bakugou helps, sighing heavily as he does so. "Izuku." The ghost looks up, a smile crooked on his lips that doesn't quite meet his eyes. "She called me Izuku." Bakugou nods. "Yes, she did. Lead us home, Izuku." Still smiling, the ghost steps passed
them saying nothing more and walks off into the dark woods, his lantern lighting the way over thick brush and coiling roots. Kirishima clings to Bakugou, but doesn't stop staring at the figure that seems to fade in and out from their existence as they walk.
He is reminded of all the folk stories told in the village, of phantom lights that are an omen of death. Of children disappearing in the woods when they chase after their glow, never to be found. They lead you to your doom, people say, if you follow them, and now Bakugou does so
willingly without question which only makes Kirishima wonder more what stories are true and which not-- and which ones can be trusted when told by who. "Papa," he starts very very quietly, not sure on how well a ghost can hear. "What's wrong with him?" Bakugou doesn't take his
eyes off of the ghost in front of them. "He's old, dear heart. He's been here a long time, so he's starting to forget things." "About who he is?" Bakugou nods. "Yes, about how he was whole once." Kirishima looks, watches. The ghost does not fumble or second guess where they
are, he simply keeps moving steady in one direction. He feels sad, he doesn't want to know what feeling part of yourself is like. "Papa," he starts again. "What happened to him?" Bakugou sighs, his gaze falls ever so slightly. "I'll tell you..."
"Once upon a time," he starts, just like all stories should. "There was a mother and her son. They lived a long time ago in a village on the other side of the forest. They were like us in a way, living on the edge of town just the two of them." "What about his papa?"
"He was a merchant, they said. He traveled far out on the ocean and didn't see them much, some even thought he didn't exist or he died. So, they lived alone, just the two of them." "Were they happy too?" Bakugou smiles. "Yes, very. She loved Izuku very much, maybe even more
then I love you." Kirishima gasps. "Impossible." "Hush, let me tell you the story. Now, his mother was a healer. She grew a garden of herbs and knew every plant that could help and some that even hurt, but she was good and kind and wonderful. People came to her to ask
for help when their children were sick or they couldn't sleep. She made them tea and gave them balms, but, like everything, sometimes you can't heal certain wounds. You can't save everyone." His smile falls. Kirishima doesn't like his expression. It's sad and angry all at once.
"A nobleman came seeking help for his son, hearing that the woman who lived on the edge of town could heal him, but when the boy could not be saved, when he slowly faded away and died, the nobleman did not say that it was too late, that he was simply too sick to heal,
he instead blamed her. He called Izuku's mother a witch." Kirishima looked from his father to Izuku, to the boy's back, to his bouncing curls and bare feet. If he heard Bakugou, he did not react. "The rumor spread like a plague, infecting everyone it touched, and soon people
spoke of the few who she couldn't help instead of the ones she did. They thought her knowledge was witchcraft and her garden filled with ingredients for spells. Even Izuku was dragged into the fray, being called a demon as he helped her gather roots and mushrooms.
They said he was a familiar, an evil spawn whose purpose was to help her kill the villagers, collect their souls for the devil himself." "But she was nice," Kirishima whispers. "And he was...he was a boy." "Yes," Bakugou says. "But sometimes when bad things happen,
people seek out someone to blame, because that is easier then admitting they don't have control or answers." "But she just wanted to help." "It was too late, little thing. People are cruel, you see, and the plague took root in their hearts. They came one night with torches and
ropes." "Papa..." "They dragged Izuku and his mother from their home." "I don't like this story anymore, Papa." Bakugou pauses, adjusts Kirishima at his hip, and runs a knuckle over his cheek feeling the gentle heat of his skin in such contrast to their cold surroundings.
"I know," he says, pressing soft so Kirishima could bury his face against his neck, holding him close. "But I want you to hear it, alright? It's almost over... They dragged them out and pulled them apart, kicking and screaming. The thing, you see, about witches is you
must kill their familiar first or else they'll still have their powers and be able to come back. So, they killed him." Kirishima's hands fist into Bakugou's shirt. He whimpers softly against his neck.
"In front of his mother, they killed him. And do you know what happened then, Ei?" He says nothing, but shakes his head, hiding away trying to not think about it, about his bare feet and distant eyes and dirty clothes.
"In that instant, they turned her into the exact thing they accused her of-- a witch." In front of them, the lantern light flickers. "There is no power, no magic, that compares to the grief of a parent, of a mother. And so she cried and screamed and cursed those villagers,
and the very ground they walked on, lived on, promising that no one would prosper for centuries to come. All that magic, all that sorrow, poured out into the earth, into the trees, and into Izuku. With her last dying breath as they pulled a rope around her neck, she gave her son
another life. Not perfect, not the same, but one filled with power, a thing that in her own life she did not have." They're stopped, the soft sound of Bakugou's feet having stalled. Kirishima slowly looks up, turning his head to see the forest around them looks more familiar,
can see now the trees have started to thin and the night sky above is visible, bright. He looks and sees Izuku turned to them, staring, with his glowing eyes and his lantern held tightly in his grasp.
"Izuku became the guardian of this forest because of his mother's curse. A light to bring people home or to make them lost forever. He's a very powerful being, even if he may seem lost himself at times, but he is here for you. He'll always help to bring you home to me."
Kirishima wants to think of him as something like that, something strong, powerful like his father says, some sort of hero, but all he can see is how small Izuku looks. How young. How scared he must have been. How scared his mother must have been. How angry. But still,
Izuku looks at them both and smiles. There is no bitterness in his eyes, and Kirishima wonders if he remembers what happened, wonders how long it takes to start forgetting such things. "Come," Izuku says, pointing off in the direction of their cottage. "You're nearly home."
(( Hello everyone! Happy to present to you an update for 'You Won't Be Alone' brought to you by of a wonderful thread update commission! If you need the top, here it is and I hope you enjoy! ))…
Cw shotacon, werewolves, pseudo incest Kiri gets lost in the woods when he's little. He can't remember if he wandered too far or if his mom purposely let his hand go. All he knows if Bakugou found him. Bakugou who's brash and angry and alone. Who lives far off in the woods,
When Kirishima is safely home standing within the threshold of their cabin, he watches as his father bids goodnight to Izuku, bowing at the ghost who bows back. The light given off from his lantern glows in a cold blue in comparison to that which hangs next to their front door–
a warm light that looks fire-orange with its flame’s glow, not reaching far like that of the ghost’s but small and welcoming back. It’s this little difference that still brings Kirishima’s stomach curling up in discomfort as he watches Izuku turn on his heels,
the movement smooth and unfettered as though his feet did not touch the ground at all, and head back into the forest, his forest, where Kirishima cannot make out the blurry edge of his body past the treeline and where he soon loses all sight of the lantern light soon after.
It is then that the warmth seeps back into the ground, the summer settling in its rightful place and the soft burning charcoal in their oven blooms hot into the room. Kirishima cannot imagine being that cold all the time. He wonders if Izuku ever feels it.
“What can we do?” he asks as Bakugou closes the door. “To help him?” Bakugou pauses, looks to Kirishima, then to the closed door. “I don’t think there’s much we can do, but you can offer him something of thanks.” Kirishima perks up at the mention.
“He enjoys pork or wild mushrooms. Next time you’re in town, buy something for him and place it outside and say your thanks. He’ll come before morning to take it.” “And that helps?” Bakugou nods. “It means you haven’t forgotten him.”
Kirishima nods back in quiet contemplation, trying to understand it, trying to figure out what may happen if he is entirely forgotten without burdening his father with questions. He is old enough, after all, he should know things about the world by now all on his own.
He sits quietly thinking of it all, processing the night as Bakugou lays out their hunt and gets to work skinning the meat, preparing it for later. It’s late, far too late now for a true meal, but Bakugou does not forget about his grumbling stomach
and presses forward a small plate of bread and cheese that he is now too tired to think about too hard on or look too closely. He chews slowly and listens to the sound of his father’s movements– hands and knife and tearing of skin.
It brings him a quiet comfort, a typical scene played out in their small cabin when the world outside felt so much bigger now. He is nearly done when he asks another question, a final one, he thinks, for the night,
and maybe in the morning he’ll have rested enough to have many, many more. “Papa,” he calls out, interrupting though he knows there is no need to be concerned as Bakugou’s movements don’t pause and he simply acknowledges his prompt with a soft grunt.
“How do you know about Izuku? If…if it happened many years ago?” The knife in Bakugou’s hand stills and a moment later he places it down next to the rabbit. Kirishima blinks, not able to see much beyond the silhouetted edge of Bakugou’s face from where he sits.
It looks a little darker now and Kirishima thinks that the bread he chews has gone moldy on his tongue. When Bakugou does answer, it takes a long time, and his response is short. “My father,” he says, which already startles Kirishima. “He knew her. Izuku’s mother.”
Not once has Bakugou ever mentioned his father just as he has never mentioned his mother and here Kirishima was learning about them both, as little as it may be, all in one day. “Did you…”
The question trails off. Kirishima is not brave enough to ask it. Many years can mean many things when he has lived so few, but stories that start with ‘Once Upon a Time’ always seem like such a far, far distance away, and now he wonders how true that could possibly be.
“Once,” is all Bakugou says after, even with the broken question. He picks up his knife again, turning away, so Kirishima cannot see his face. “Once.” —
It is late enough and the day was long enough that when Kirishima crawls into bed he should sleep, but soon it does not take long for him to figure out he cannot. Staring up at the dark ceiling, he cannot hold his eyes closed long enough to drift off.
Outside, the faint light of the moon leaves the outline of the forest beyond a vague mystery that he can just barely make out. The sound of bugs chirping softly in the brush shouting even now about how hot the air hangs is the night’s orchestra,
broken only by the soft coo of an owl high up in the trees. There are no howls this evening, no indication of any danger beyond the thicket and potential of losing your way, but even so Kirishima stares from ceiling to window and wonders and thinks.
Thinks on fables that could be true. Of how many ghosts there must be wandering the woods. Of who might be lost forever and who might still know their name. He thinks on his dreams, on what he persuades himself are still dreams,
even if he can feel the ache of scratches in his hands or the broken skin of his knees. He thinks about how deep the woods run. How far and wide the trees grow. How he would have been lost without his father or Izuku. How he still knows so little.
It is altogether a terrifying concept, one he can’t shake when his world was once ‘home’, ‘village’, and the little road in between and now is…something else entirely. But there is one thing, one thing above all else, that scares him the most. That keeps him awake.
“Papa,” he calls out quietly into the dark, standing in the doorway of his father’s bedroom, wondering now if he’ll get an answer. He tries very hard not to bother him too much in the night, no matter what noises he hears or nightmares that may come,
because even if his father is brave and strong, he still needs his sleep. Even so, there is always a little hope that Bakugou will answer him in the dark. He should feel guilty that he always does.
“Wha’s wrong?” Bakugou’s voice comes, grumbling and gravely with sleep. He sits up a fraction on his bed, eyes blinking blearily in Kirishima’s direction. “Baby?” Kirishima takes this as an opening. He pads over to the side of Bakugou’s bed,
climbing up to curl tightly against him, pressed as closely as he possibly can be while he teeters on the edge of the bed threatening to fall off. He shoves his face into Bakugou’s chest, breathing him in, squeezing his eyes closed so tightly he sees spots and mumbles.
“Wha?” Bakugou pulls him all the closer, holding him as he rolls them both over, so Kirishima is not on the edge, but is instead pressed safely between the wall and the body of his father. “Ei, come on, I can’t hear you.”
There is a soft hiccup, the feeling of dampness on his shirt, before a head of dark hair moves to show instead the face of Kirishima, his eyes wide and wet, mouth parted, lips shaking. “I don’t– I don’t want…want to be a ghost.”
Bakugou blinks in the darkness, not fully understanding. “What? Baby, why would–” But this is not a moment for not understanding. This is a serious moment, a serious request, so Kirishima must right himself for just a moment,
long enough to catch his breath and long enough to take Bakugou’s face in his hands, as tiny and small as they are, and squeeze his cheeks to make him focus. “Papa,” he says, voice as steady as he can make it. “Promise. You gotta promise. I won’t be a ghost.”
Bakugou’s hands cover his own, taking the moment now just as serious as it needs to be. “Baby, Ei,” he squeezes those tiny hands right back. “Why would you be a ghost?” Kirishima remembers teeth and claws and the fear coiling up high in his throat.
He has the scratches to prove it. The world is now big enough for him to not know, but there are points still small enough to hold on to, parts small enough that he can understand.
“If anything happens,” he says. “To me.” Bakugou’s hands squeeze. And squeeze. And squeeze. “Like Izuku. I don’t…I don’t wanna be a ghost. Promise you won’t turn me into a ghost.” “Why would–”
“Promise,” Kirishima repeats, pressing his forehead to Bakugou’s, so close that he can see his eyes even in the dark. “You gotta promise, Papa, okay?”
There is a second of hesitation. Of Kirishima feeling the tears starting to burn in his eyes. Of Bakugou thinking on the manner in which a ghost is made. The manner in which Izuku became one. “Promise?” He has to, even if he’s not sure of its truth.
Bakugou nods. “Promise. But why, Baby?” “Because,” Kirishima hiccups, unable to hold it all back any longer. “I’d forget you. I don’t want– don’t want to– Papa–”
It is then, as Kirishima crumbles in Bakugou’s arms, that he’s scooped up and held close and soothed. With fingers combing through his hair, the soft hum of his father in his ears, the sound of it rumbling through his chest, does Kirishima finally fall apart, finally cry,
for the night before and the day after and for all of the years Izuku has had to go without remembering his mother’s face or name or love.
Above all else, above everything, Kirishima finds that to be the most frightening, because he could not bare to live without knowing how he loves his Papa and how, as Bakugou kisses him gently, as he peppers his eyes and nose and lips in the soft brush, his Papa loves him back.
(( I'm being good and updating this partly because it's another ~commission update~ and partly because...well, I just love this story a whole bunch. So, please enjoy! Also I'm hoping very soon to collect this thread and start getting it up on AO3 as well!))
— Waking up the next morning, and all the mornings to come, Kirishima feels as though he has a new purpose.
He is up with his father, not complaining at all when they rise before the sun, near tumbling from the bed when he peers out the window to find there is still the soft layer of mist sitting upon the dewy grass.
Bakugou hasn’t even gotten the fire started before Kirishima is pulling on his boots to run outside with his basket, hearing the sharp call behind him to not travel too far from their home until the sun is completely seen on top of the horizon.
He listens, of course, as he always does, and makes sure to never let their cottage slip from view when he wanders into the forest around their house. Kirishima slowly circles the trunks of every tree,
walking in tight little circles until he spies small collections of mushrooms growing from the wet, mossy bases. He plucks each and every one with ginger fingers, careful to not break any, as he places them in his basket and moves on.
It takes him until the sun turns the grass bright and the light filtering through the branches to guide him home when he finally make his way back to the house for a small breakfast before getting to work on cleaning the mushrooms properly
before setting them aside to focus on the rest of his chores. All the while he feels Bakugou’s eye on him, never once straying too far from his form even in their small home.
It is not until his basket is full three days later with a wide variety of mushrooms he’s collected from all around their cottage, down by the river, and even deeper into the woods does he finally sit outside their door to set them out.
From the doorway, Bakugou watches him, leaning heavily against the frame with a cup of tea in hand. “Move a little further out,” he suggests. “Beyond the stone entry there, he won’t be able to reach them otherwise.”
“Reach them?” Kirishima asks, finding that questions come to him a little easier now, even if they always feel so strange to ask. “You said he could take it.” “He will, but not if it’s too close. I’ve got a spell on our home. No one can break it.”
Kirishima looks back over his shoulder. “Papa…are you a witch?” Bakugou laughs. “No, dear heart. I just love you very much. Now, finish up.” Though Kirishima might ask them, all his questions are answered like this– with answers that leave more questions,
with his father only saying so much and ending everything like it was final, moving on to something else where Kirishima does not fully know how to ask again. So, instead, he nods and goes about picking out the biggest and best mushrooms he’s found,
ones he knows are most delicious when fried with butter and herbs, ones that he himself would be sorry for not eating, so he knows that they are the ones most deserving of being a gift. He arranges them neatly, or as neatly as he is able wild mushrooms set out in the grass,
fiddling with them until he nods with satisfaction and takes a step back to kneel. “De–” he pauses, thinks, then continues. “I-Izuku! If…that’s alright. Ah– Izuku, ghost of the forest! Please take these mushrooms as thanks for bringing me and Papa home.
I hope you like them and next time I go into the village I’ll get you some bacon too! But…I hope these are good for now, thank you!” He bows low and clasps his hands, clapping three times out into the evening light hoping that he was doing it right and,
wherever he might be right now in the forest, Izuku heard him. He is scolded to stay in bed four times that night, hopeful and nervous and curious if Izuku had heard him and would come get the offering,
but Kirishima is unable to sneak close enough to peak out the front window to spy if the mushrooms had been taken or not, as Bakugou had decided after the second time he got caught sneaking out of bed to stay up sitting at their kitchen table to glare at him until Kirishima
finally turned to crawl back under his covers. It took a while to go to sleep, but finally he did, and upon waking up rushed outside to find his little pile of mushrooms gone and, in its place, a small bundle of chamomile flowers wrapped together with twine.
“He knew you weren’t sleeping,” Bakugou explains as Kirishima picks up the gift gently, cradling the flowers in his palms as if he’d destroy them if held too tight. “Come now, I’ll make tea.”
Kirishima watches closely as his father plucks each flower from its stem and pours hot water over them, expecting almost for something special to happen, something magical or strange, but nothing does beyond a cup being pressed into his hands.
He drinks it deeply, settling in to let the warmth fill his body and the fresh scent of summer fill his lungs, eyes drooping until he sleeps, until his father is picking him up and setting him gently down into his bed once more, letting him sleep the morning away without fuss. —
“You come straight home.” “Yes, Papa.” “Before the sun sets this time.” “It’s not the full moon tonight, Papa.” “Eijirou.”
Bakugou looks him sternly in the eye as he finishes tying the laces of Kirishima’s boots, insisting that he be the one to do it as he reminded his son again of the three rules and then of a few more after.
It’s the first time he’s going back to the village for their groceries since the night of…of the real-dream, he’s come to think of it as. His wounds are all scabbed over or healed fully by now to leave behind little silver-pink scars in their wake.
Bakugou brushes over the one right above his eye in this moment, fingers sliding down his cheek to cup his face. “You won’t delay. You’ll gather what we need and come straight home, understand?” There is no argument to be made. Kirishima nods. “Yes, Papa.”
“Good boy,” Bakugou says, leaning in to kiss his forehead. “My good boy. If I’m not home when you arrive, lock the door, and I’ll be back by morning.” Kirishima tries his hardest to not make a face, confused. “It’s not a full moon,”
he reminds his father as though the man is not the one who reminds him of the waxing and waning of the sky. “I know, I know, it’s a simple reminder. Now, go, before the sun gets too hot. Be swift."
Again, Kirishima nods, running off down the well-worn path with his basket in hand and money in his pocket, the list of goods repeated over and over again in his head less he forgets,
and Bakugou standing in their doorway, watching him go until he grew too small and disappeared from view, his stomach slowly sinking the further and further he goes away from him.
((update in part commissioned by @/nrem511 !! Thank you!!! Hoping for another update tomorrow as well! It's been a while, so here's the top if you need it: ))…
Cw shotacon, werewolves, pseudo incest Kiri gets lost in the woods when he's little. He can't remember if he wandered too far or if his mom purposely let his hand go. All he knows if Bakugou found him. Bakugou who's brash and angry and alone. Who lives far off in the woods,
--- Kirishima is careful on his journey from home to the village, no matter how familiar he is with the path. His feet move quickly and where he would once stop to inspect a bed of flowers or listen for the robins singing from the trees,
he does not waste time and keeps himself moving with the road. It is not until he is close enough to the village to share the road with other travelers that do not go as far into the forest as he lives does the boy finally start to relax.
He has to then remind himself that the sun is still up, that there is no moon or nightmare-beasts chasing him, that he is safe and well and doing as he has always done by going to the market.
Now, he must be cautious in another manner as the village is loud and large and filled with people. His father has always warned him about people just as well as he’s warned of the forest– be alert, keep your head down, sometimes people are worse than they appear.
Kirishima has always wondered how he knew so much of the village as Bakugou never traveled there, but he knows now from his stories, from Izuku, that there is caution to be had. He moves through the market with intent, knowing how much money he has and knowing what he needs.
He buys salt first and then small cuts of pork, knowing they have plenty of rabbit and deer to hunt in the woods, but still wanting a gift to present at night. He buys flour and cream, thinking to make some fresh bread for supper that night and
stops by a stand for a few apples that are the first of the season. The wild trees around their home have all gone sick and rotten the last few years and Kirishima has yet to see any of the seeds he plants from the ones he now has to buy take root, but still he is determined.
Walking up and down each cart and basket set out for sale twice, Kirishima makes sure he has everything while counting the change he has leftover just in case he spied anything else. He is careful to keep his head down and be as polite as possible to the adults,
bowing and smiling and thanking them all as they exchange goods and money. Over the years, there have always been rumors. Nothing spoken to Kirishima directly, but whispered as he walked away as people knew how far he traveled to get here and
wondered what happened way off in the woods where he lived. Some whispers were mean and swirled in lore, but others told of how he must be the child of the man who lived out there– someone said to protect them, to make sure the monsters never came too close to their town.
He did not listen long. He moved quickly to fill his basket and be on his way, eyes keeping sight of the sun and how it moved across the sky. Kirishima didn’t want to be out on the road when it got dark, even if there was no full moon to light his way. — “Papa?”
The door creaked as he opened it, closing it softer as he came inside just in case Bakugou had come home early and was resting. “Papa?” The cottage, however, was empty. His father was nowhere to be found, but Kirishima did not worry. He would be back, he always came back.
So, Kirishima placed his full basket down on the table and moved to build a fire from the dying coals in their hearth, stacking new wood and lighting kindling and watched for the fire to burn bright and steady before moving back to his groceries.
He lit candles as the sun now dipped and set out deciding to keep busy and make his bread and dinner, thinking it would be nice to cook the pork and set out another offering for Izuku to find. He went out to pluck some carrots from their garden and
be careful when he lifted the heavy cast iron to cook. Kirishima was much slower than his father when cooking, being careful with the knife as to not cut himself and make sure to not burn himself with the fire. It took time, but time was all he had here in the woods,
home all alone, and so Kirishima didn’t mind. He cooked the pork and carrots and made up two plates, slicing up one of the apples to split between the them, wondering if Izuku liked sweet things like fruit or only pork and mushrooms.
He worries for a moment, thinking he should have stopped on the way home to find a few mushrooms to add to it, wondering if Izuku would be upset, before shaking his head of the thought and taking up the plate to set outside. Just as before, he is careful in his presentation,
making sure it is far enough away from their house that Izuku will be able to get it. He gives a small prayer once more, bowing his thanks, and hopes that a hungry animal won’t come along to eat it before Izuku does.
He goes back inside, making sure to lock the door behind him just as his Papa instructed, safe inside, before sitting down at the table to eat his own meal. Then, he’ll make bread. He’ll wash up and go to sleep and, come morning, he’ll wake to Papa and have breakfast together.
He’ll be praised for his baking and they’ll share an apple and Kirishima hopes he’ll have enough cream leftover to make butter after. The day was good, tomorrow better. The sun is so low in the sky now the sky is streaked in fading oranges and reds
and the shadows are long and black across the forest. Kirishima picks up his apple half, plucking out the seeds to save for later, and presses the fruit to his lips.
Then, very suddenly, there is a knock at the door. (Kirishima never gets to finish his dinner.) ---
Bakugou walks the forest floor, mist curling around his ankles, having followed the dying light into night. Here, far off in the forest, sitting on what felt like the edge of the world, was what his father used to call a Thin Place.
He’d also spoken of the dangers that lay hidden beyond the trees and earth. He’d speak of shadows and light and warn of where the veil sat thinnest, but still, he spoke of the wonders. He spoke of the beauty. He spoke of how he memorized these woods,
walked it every night and every day, and learned of all that the world contained, even the parts he could not see. He said he protected the forest, this Thin Place. He said there was caution to be had when the realm of Fae and magic crept into the world of humans and,
even if Bakugou was still young at the time, too young to fully grasp how grand it all was, he still had to wonder when his father spoke of this protection and, why then, he ever let it mingle so. “You are restless.” Bakugou looks across at his companion, walking beside him,
though his feet never move. Izuku stares off ahead of them into the thicket of trees, his lantern held out to light their way. “And you should be,” Bakugou counters. “You feel it too, I know.” He has not been truly at ease since the last full moon. If he had been any slower,
Eijirou would have been lost to him and with that Bakugou would not know what to do. It was his duty to make sure that the separation of worlds stayed just that– separated. But the wolves came more frequently to hunt through the forest and the fairy folk grew more clever.
He’d heard whispers of travelers on the roads, stories from villages further down then the one Eijirou walked of babies missing from cradles in the mornings or children vanishing from lush meadows at sunset.
They grew brazen and, with the appearance of both his mother and Todoroki at his home, it left an uneasy feeling in Bakugou’s stomach. The veil grew too thin. These woods would not stay safe for long. He could not keep Eijirou protected as he had been.
“You care for him deeply,” Izuku says, words near whispered in the wind, the ghost now staring directly at him with the wide glow of his eyes. “No one else would,” Bakugou replies. “No one else /did/. He was just…” “Alone.” “Alone.” “Like you.”
Bakugou bristles. “He was /abandoned/. His mother left him to die, my father didn’t mean to leave me.” “No,” Izuku sighs, head turning slowly back to face the forest, to be guided by his light. “And still he never came back.”
Bakugou knows that in Izuku’s current state there is no point in fighting him. He can yell and scream and snarl and still the ghost will only stare at him, unblinking, and wait for his anger to leave him. If it had been years ago, decades,
he knows that Izuku would be more forgiving with his words. He would be kinder, softer, would change the subject or dance around the obvious until it flutters off on the breeze, but he is too far gone to remember much beyond the blunt.
Izuku does not mean cruelty, but all the same it comes.
He has seen the changes and the slow disappearance of the boy he once called a friend. Before Eijirou, Izuku was the only one he had, the only company on his walks through the forest, and having to watch him lose more of himself has not been an easy task.
Often now, he wonders, when calling his name will not have him appear. When the familiarity of it will no longer resonate. His father never explained to him what happens to a ghost, even one as powerful as Izuku, when his name is lost even to himself.
“Deku–” Bakugou looks up to find the ghost has stopped. He’s frozen where he stands, turned with his lantern to cast a glow directly East of where they walk, nothing seen beyond the tall cluttered trunks and branches of ancient trees.
He stares, eyes wide, glowing green and bright and sickly. “Deku?” Unmoving.
“Dek–” “Something is here.” Bakugou stills. “Someone.”
He turns toward the lantern’s glow, nose up to scent the air, gauging the wind and direction and– At the end lies his home, their small cabin, nestled between river and road. “Deku, where’s Eijirou?”
He is home. Eijirou needs to be home.
The ghost does not move. “I do not see him.” “What?”
He cannot remember the last time he has ever seen Izuku fearful. When he finally turns toward him, Bakugou knows he will remember forever more.
“I do not sense him. His being is not here. His spirit–” The flame in his lantern flickers. “There are Others.”
If there is more, Bakugou does not hear it. He is gone through the forest, chasing after the unfamiliar scent and praying for a familiar one to surface. He does not think. He runs. And runs. And runs.
The entire forest is a blur of dark color muddied together with each foot fall. He barely touches the ground, rapidly pushing off the soft earth in long strides to keep him moving forward, faster, faster, faster-- He tastes the air on his tongue and still, even closer, there is
nothing of Eijirou in it. There is smoke and fire and mud and leaves, but nothing of the boy who he tucks in at night. His mind is distracted. He's frantic. For the first time in many years, he slips up. He forgets that there isn't just wolves that stalk these woods.
The treeline thins and breaks. He catches sight of his home, the cottage with its thatch roof, tiny fence and right there in front of it looking just as he should, is Eijirou. He turns towards Bakugou at the sound of snapping twigs and the rush of wind, his hair is in his eyes,
he starts to smile. Bakugou does not reach him as a rope is suddenly pulled across his neck, stopping his momentum with a strong jerk that slams his body back to the ground. He loses all air, gasping, hands coming up to claw at the rope that now wraps around his throat,
the touch of it burning deep into his skin. He can hear it sizzle, but he has no breath to scream. Around him, there comes a loud chatter of laughter and, when he looks up, eyes watering with pain and a desperate, silent, plea, he watches as Eijirou smiles wide at him,
too wide and wrong and /wrong/ as he starts to laugh and laugh and laugh. His voice changes, moves from the light childish laughter he knows to morph into a loud shrill of bells that makes him hiss, his ears ringing. And then, the creature before him, the one impersonating his
beloved, starts to melt right before his eyes. His panic subsides for a moment, his anger increasing as red floods his vision. A changeling. His hands claw up fist fulls of dirt, jaw snapping as he growls, but before he can move to rise, to tear the rope and rip the
changeling to shreds, a boot slams down on his back and the forest grows louder with the laughter from things hidden within. "Now, now," A rumble of a voice speaks. "I wouldn't get up if I were you."
(( Hello and happy 2023! Here's the top of my fic 'You Won't Be Alone' which hasn't update in a little bit, but will now be updated on Mondays! Please enjoy 💞 ))…
Cw shotacon, werewolves, pseudo incest Kiri gets lost in the woods when he's little. He can't remember if he wandered too far or if his mom purposely let his hand go. All he knows if Bakugou found him. Bakugou who's brash and angry and alone. Who lives far off in the woods,
Bakugou tries to turn, he tries again to get up and kill whoever dares come to his home, but he soon realizes the pressure of the boot in between his shoulder blades isn’t the thing keeping him prone. He tries and fails, mind yelling for his body to move,
for him to fight and kill, but nothing happens. His muscles simply twitch, a flutter of lightning through his body, but beyond that he is still staring at the dirt below him. “Ah, there we go. Can’t get up, can you?” The voice above him asks. The man steps away,
removing the force from his back, and Bakugou knows he is mocking him. “Come on. Try.” He does, desperately, pushing himself up with all of the force of will he has, but there is no strength in his limbs.
Bakugou gets up only a fraction from the ground before collapsing back down under his own weight. Around him, the forest again laughs. The man above him does so too, manic and cruel as he kicks Bakugou, rolling him over onto his back.
“Pathetic fucking mutt,” he sneers down at Bakugou with a grin of pale skin and marred scar tissue pulling too tightly at his flesh. His teeth are all sharp edges in his mouth with his canines prominent and sparkling in the dark.
His hair is pale and his eyes burn bright blue in the darkness. He smells of blood and decay. He is no man. Bakugou bares his teeth. “What did you–” His words are choked out of him as the rope around his throat tightens as
things hidden within the trees pull until he is gasping and the woven fibers singe into his skin. He claws at it, feeling the threads catch, but not break, woven with enchantment or made from something greater than him. The creature kneels down, chuckling.
“You know, when they told me to come get you, I thought it’d be more of a challenge,” he says. “You’ve killed how many? Five wolves since winter passed? I figured this may be fun, but no.” His smile falls, lips curling up into a sneer.
“I come all the way out here and the thing that takes you down is your own blind desire and a little rope.” He spits, the lob landing on Bakugou’s cheek who only glares back at him. They stare at each other, Bakugou growling low and the creature simply staring before letting out
a heavy sigh and standing once more, shaking his head. “It is true what they say. The human does make you weak.” Bakugou snarls, lunging forward, the rope slack enough that he nearly gets to his knee before collapsing again, clawing against the ground,
against the weakness that seeps into his bones. “Where is he?!” he shouts. “What the fuck did you do to him!?” The creature clicks his tongue. “The flower really must be going to your head, hu? Well, I will say one thing, you’ve gotten your protections down well.
None of us were able to get through that little barrier of yours.” He points across to the cottage, to Bakugou’s home where the changeling stands in front of it with mud sliding from her shoulders and arms,
smiling from ear to ear as she stands with her toes right on the edge of the protection circle, unable to go any further. He knows he should not speak more, he knows that he should keep his tongue still in such company as either the creature or changeling or
any of the other things hiding in the dark could use it against him, but he is growing panicked and his heart will not stop pounding in his ears. “Then where–” “Inside, you stupid dog.” The creature takes him firmly by the chin to jerk his head over,
forcing him to stare at his home. “The thing you want so badly is inside.” /He is not,/ Bakugou wants to say. He cannot smell him, he can’t be there, he can’t be there.
“But don’t fret, pup,” That hand squeezes him, nails biting deep into his skin as he’s turned once more to face the creature who smiles with sharp teeth and wild eyes. “He won’t be for long.” The man drops him, the rope at Bakugou’s throat tightens once more.
“Iguchi, Sako, tie him up.” From the trees come shadows, come things with more ropes that bend Bakugou’s arms and wrap the burning fiber tightly, bounding his arms, his wrists, pulling his hair and shoving his face to the ground. “Toga.”
Bakugou fights against the hands, the force, resisting just enough to look up at the changeling as she turns to look at them, head cocked. Bakugou can’t breathe. The creature doesn’t flinch. “Burn it to the ground.” Bakugou thinks the entire world flips upside down.
Time does not matter. It slows down cruelly simply to make sure Bakugou bears witness; to make sure that he remembers and never forgets. There is a second where he is not in his body. A second where he watches the changeling turn towards the cottage and lift her hand up.
A second where the smallest spark bursts to life in her palm. A second where, with a smile, she blows the spark out and they all watch as it flutters on the makeshift breeze up and up and up to slowly fall like an autumn leaf down upon the very edge of the thatch.
And, in that second, it ignites. Bakugou yells, throwing his body upward to knock the hands that wrap around him free. His body is heavy and not his own, but still he forces it forward, forces his burning muscles and aching bones to run, eyes focused solely on the changeling,
on her wild smile and high laugh and Bakugou sees red as he gets close enough to smell her, to smell the rotten earth dripping from her skin and the sharp smell of fermented fruit left in the sun too long. He is close enough to taste her pulse on his tongue and
the satisfaction of his maw crushing through her skin and muscles and bones as he rips her head clear from her shoulders. But the blood never comes. He is cut short.
Time moves again as the creature slams his body back to the hard ground, the wind being knocked from his lungs as he crumbles and then is lifted by a fist in his hair, a hand of mangled flesh purpled and dead.
“Watch,” the creature hisses into his ear. “Watch your home burn with everything you love inside with it.” The flames move quickly. The entire roof is alight in moments. The dark black of night is now burning too bright with fire and smoke as it coils up into the sky to block
out all of the stars. The wooden supports crumble, sparks curl up in bursts of hot air as the house collapses down on itself– windows bursting from heat, the fence ablaze, the stone shell hot to the touch and smeared with ash.
Bakugou watches. The rage boiling inside of him turns into fear, into despair, as he can do nothing more than watch the home his father built for them go up in flames. And still, he does not know where Eijirou is. His panic coils like poison in his stomach.
/He is not here,/ he keeps telling himself. /He cannot be here./ And still, he thinks of the chance. /He is not here./ He smells burning wood and animal fat. /It’s not him./ Bakugou cannot contain everything inside of him and screams. /It cannot be him./
He screams for his home, for his father, and for the boy he has called son. /It cannot be him./ He screams and screams and screams. /Eijirou./ He does not say it. /Please./ He dare not give them the power of his name, even now. /Do not let it be him./
It is the last thing he thinks before he is hit, pain blooming at the back of his head, and Bakugou falls unconscious to the ground with the last sight of his charred home etched forever into his memory. --- -- -
The sound of water dripping against stone is what he wakes up to. His body is cold and Bakugou is surprised he has woken up at all. He opens his eyes slowly, pain radiating from the back of his head, though there is no light to blind him, he can still see.
The space he is in is dark, but he has never had an issue seeing without the sun. His body is cold and his arms are numb. He lifts his head to look, finding himself sitting on a stone floor surrounded entirely by stone walls.
The room is not very large and he can’t see the outline of a door along the wall, unaware of where an exit may be. The water keeps dripping steadily, a soft trickle to the left of him forming a small puddle he cannot reach. When he tries to move, his body is slow and sluggish.
He groans as he tries to simply move his leg, finding that his strength has been lost to him. When he tries again with his arms, his attempted movement ends in a sharp hiss as his skin touches a burning cold that sizzles into the skin of his wrists.
Bakugou looks up to find his arms bound above his head in chains, thick cuffs dug into his wrists sitting looped in a ring high above him. His shoulders ache from their stretch and his wrists… There is blood, new and dried, that drips down from where he is bound,
marking his skin and seeping into the fabric of his shirt. Again, he tries to pull at the restraints only to end with a sharp cry and the burning cold bite sinking into his flesh.
“Be still,” a voice comes from the darkness. “You are not foolish enough to think you can break silver bonds.” Bakugou’s head follows the words, slow to move and think, he knows that voice, knows that softness like snow blanketing a field.
He bares his teeth as much as he’s able, growling out into the darkness, not such a fool to be lured in by a voice. When he tries to speak, his throat is dry and tongue is too thick for his mouth. He swallows twice before forcing his voice to stay true.
“I should have known this to be your doing.” “I take offense to that,” Todoroki says, standing still and quiet in his dark corner. Bakugou did not see or smell where he entered, wondering just how long he had been there in the shadows watching him.
“I prefer to not be lumped in with my brother’s…activities.” Brother? Bakugou stiffens, staring at the muddied figure of Todoroki Shouto whose eyes glow softly in the gloom,
a blue and gray unmoving stare. Bakugou clears his throat, wiping the surprise from his expression. “I will lay the blame for your kin at your feet and take the pound of flesh I am owed.” “A pound?” Todoroki’s head tilts, falling smooth and sharp to his shoulder.
“Is that all it is worth?” Bakugou blinks and Todoroki is in front of him, kneeling just out of reach, still staring, head bent. He hadn’t heard or seen him move. “If a pound is all, I certainly would have given it to you sooner. It would have been far easier than the…
...mess my brother has made.” Bakugou snarls, body lunging forward to pull against his bonds, fighting as best he can against the deep burn that blisters through him in an attempt to get at the throat of the fairy that kneels before him. He feels new blood flow down his arms,
slick and warm, as the pain digs down into his bones and all his flailing grows weaker, futile. Before him, Todoroki simply sighs before standing smoothly back to his feet. “Be /still/,” he repeats.
“There is wolf’s bane in your blood, those wounds will not heal until it has dissipated and even so, you will not be free until someone frees you.” He shakes his head. “These are the consequences of your own actions. I gave you the chance to come willingly.”
“Like hell I would ever–” And then it hits him like a wave coming into shore, slow at first with building momentum until the force of nature drives the water forward, crashing down in a violent act of churning water and foam.
He looks on at Todoroki, focusing on his form, his figure. He stands as he always has, barefoot and stalk straight, but Bakugou can now see the sharp arching tip of his ears in the dark and the long near invisible curve of thin membrane that juts from his back.
They flutter the more he stares. No. It cannot be.
Todoroki sees the realization cross his face, sees the shadows fall, and gives him a soft smile, the sharp edges of his teeth gleaming in the dark. “Welcome home, Beloved. I will see you again once the sun is up.”
((cw slight todobaku)) Bakugou sits in the dark alone for hours. He’s not sure for how long exactly as there are no windows to show a cast of light and no other visitors to break up the stillness of his prison. Only him and the slow dripping of water beside him.
When Todoroki leaves, he fights against his bonds with as much force as he can muster, warning and silver be damned, but all it does is shoot that cold pain through his body, burning him until there is no strength left and he slumps in his chains.
From there, he must sleep, for there is darkness that he can see and then darkness that he can’t. It lets him leave behind the heavy ache in his shoulders and the poison in his blood to a place that is nothing but inky black weightlessness. He thinks of his father.
He dreams of him, he must, conjuring up images of what he looked like while smiling at the first blossoms of spring or how warm he was wrapped around Bakugou, keeping him perfectly still, as they watched a doe and her fawn walk silently through the forest.
Bakugou wonders if this is right. If this is how his father actually was, how he actually looked, or if he is too much forgotten and not enough memory wondering if his hair and eyes were the right shade of brown or his hands as big and strong as Bakugou remembered.
He can’t recall what his voice sounded like anymore. In the dream, he watches his father speak, his mouth move, but no words come out. There is no sound around them, no voice to be heard. Bakugou turns his head to look, watching the wind rustle tree branches, but make no noise.
The forest is completely silent, there is nothing, there is no one. When he looks again, both mother and baby are staring at him, frozen where they stand, silent, still, staring. Staring. Staring. He catches his own reflection in the fawn’s black glassy eyes,
a child barely eight with missing teeth and round cheeks and clothes he still needs to grow into. Bakugou blinks and the fawn is gone. The doe with it. When he turns, his father isn’t beside him any longer. The forest is still. The forest is quiet.
He can’t even hear himself when he starts to cry. Bakugou is alone. He wakes up with a gasp and jerk, body jolting as the silver bonds cut into his skin to shock him fully back into himself, nose curling with a snarl as he tries to rip the metal from the wall to no avail.
A second later, he knows he’s not alone anymore. He can smell him. “Exactly how long have you been watching me, creep?” Todoroki is back in his position of kneeling in front of Bakugou, just out of reach, with his back perfectly straight, his hands placed perfectly in his lap,
and his eyes bright and unblinking at him. It reminds him there is good reason humans fear the fairy folk. “Long enough to know you were having a nightmare,” Todoroki says. “Your pulse is still pounding away in your throat.”
Todoroki’s eyes look down, just, memorized by the little flickering of his artery. Bakugou snarls, snapping his jaws, wishing he could get close enough to tear a chunk of flesh out of him instead of being forced to simply be a toy on display. “What the fuck do you /want/?”
His eyes flash up again to stare directly at him, face still like a porcelain doll's. “I thought you might like the opportunity to get out of this dungeon you find yourself in.” “To what?” Bakugou snorts. “Marry you? I’d rather die.”
This brings the first sign of emotion to Todoroki’s face. His eyes roll dramatic and slow at Bakugou’s proclamation before settling once more in his unwavering stare. “Please, Beloved. If this was to finally be our wedding day I’d hope to not go to such drastic measures as this.
Though,” A finger taps delicately against his lips. “You still might die in these circumstances.” He shrugs. “Only time will tell.” “Then why the fuck did you have your brother kidnap me and burn down my home?”
And Eijirou…he does not think of Eijirou. He cannot bear the thought of where he could be right now. Again, Todoroki rolls his eyes and Bakugou wonders if he just learned that little trick today. “I did nothing of the sort. My brother would rather kill me as well as you,
though he has not had any luck on the former just yet.” Todoroki smiles, the gesture too tight and unnatural with his glimmering fangs to be anything but unsettling. “No, no, you…you instead were brought here for another reason. Something, I believe, far worse.”
Bakugou feels the blood in his veins run cold at those words, at the look in Todoroki’s eyes. He’d only ever known someday he would be dragged back through the Veil to finalize the union between the Fae–
some ancient promise of the vampire king and the wolf pack to intermingle their bloodlines and stop whatever blood shed still sat between them, past, present, and future. There was never any other fate he knew to befall him. “What worse could there possibly–”
“Ah, ah,” Todoroki silences him, moving suddenly forward, leaning so close to Bakugou that he can feel the soft breath of his words as he speaks. “None of that now. For now, you are trapped in my father’s dungeon and thus under my care…” His eyes move down to his mouth,
nimble fingers coming up to stroke along his throat, touch just as cold as the empty stone around them. “...and I wish to show you kindness if you show me such in return.” Bakugou does not flinch away. “What is it you want from me?” “A taste,” he smiles. “Only a taste.”
“Disgusting.” When Todoroki laughs, the sound is that of soft bells ringing, reminding him of the fiery blaze he was forced to watch. “You wound me, Beloved.” His hands wrap around his throat, thumbs smoothing up along his jaw. “Now give us a kiss…”
There is nowhere for him to go as cold lips touch his, petal soft like a flower after the first frost of Autumn. He does not react when Todoroki’s tongue licks him, but his mouth is soon forced open as his thumbs dig hard into the hinges of his jaw,
prying him open with a sharp gasp of pain that is taken advantage of. Todoroki moans as he licks into Bakugou’s mouth, tasting him fully, his hands keeping a strong hold of Bakugou’s face so he can’t move an inch as the half-fairy explores as much as he wants.
He feels the teeth not a minute later, sharp fangs sinking into Bakugou’s bottom lip, biting down until Bakugou yells with a growl at the sudden pain, jerking his head to the side to escape as soon as Todoroki lets him go.
Bakugou's mouth fills with the taste of copper, warm blood now dripping down his chin. He looks up to see Todoroki kneeling between his legs, his fingers scooping any stray drops of blood from his lips to push them into his mouth with a soft purr of satisfaction,
licking away every smear of crimson until nothing is left. His eyes are wide, staring at the mess on Bakugou’s chin, looking like he wants more. “Delicious. The human world leaves you sweet.” Bakugou spits at him.
The glob of saliva and blood lands directly on Todoroki’s cheek who only smiles at his scorn, collecting the spit on his finger tips and shoving them into his mouth. They’re removed with a loud ‘pop’, Todoroki humming as he licks everything clean.
“I forgive you, Beloved, don’t worry. I know you’re upset. Which is why I got you a present.” He smiles again, clapping his hands together. “Think of it as an early wedding present, hm?” He doesn’t know what to expect as Todoroki sits up and leans into him,
thinking for a moment he’ll be bitten again until those long fingers are at his wrists hanging above his head, unfastening the locks and letting the silver chains fall down around him, his arms doing much the same having been released after so many hours.
They tingle with pain and needles as blood rushes back into them. “Now, Beloved.” Todoroki leans in even closer, their noses near touching with his proximity. “You must behave.”
Bakugou rubs his wrists, nose curling. “Or what?” Todoroki smiles. His eyes are bright, unblinking, with not a single emotion sitting behind them. “Or I break your pet.”
((cw for descriptions of blood/violence!)) Bakugou lunges without thought, moving off of pure instinct alone as soon as he hears mention of Eijirou spoken on that vile creature’s tongue. He knows his movements are still lagging,
but Todoroki does not resist as Bakugou tackles him to the hard floor and digs his claws into the fairy’s shoulders, sinking deep within his skin and muscle, blood spurting from between his fingers. “WHERE IS HE!?” Bakugou snarls, teeth extended,
maw open inches from Todoroki’s face. He drags his claws through flesh, knowing he will be able to inflict far more damage before Todoroki’s body gives out or Todoroki himself gives in. There is little more than a flinch from the fairy as
he continues to stare up at the wolf above him. He leans up just a little, the small fraction he’s able to move with Bakugou’s body pinning him down. “Manners,” he whispers, smiling as Bakugou howls above him, pulling back one hand to curl it into a fist,
and slam it down upon Todoroki’s cheek. The cold dungeon fills with the sudden, sharp, sound of bone cracking as Todoroki’s head whips to the side. “This is me asking /nicely/!” Bakugou snaps. The smell of sickly-sweet blood fills the air,
a small pool of it starting to grow beneath Todoroki where Bakugou still keeps one set of claws sunk into his shoulder while the other is raised, knuckles bloody, ready to punch him again. “Now, where /is he/?” As Todoroki turns to look at him, his movements are stunted.
He does not groan in pain or voice any discomfort, but his head moves slower in small jerk movements. His jaw is dislocated, blood and drool splattered on his chin and cheek. His eyes are fiery as they stare up at Bakugou, unable to speak with his broken bones,
but his body mends easily and quickly. Bakugou watches and hears the shifting of his jaw, muscles and tendon being pulled back into place, bones reforming. Todoroki glares at him as he reaches up and, with a sharp ‘snap!’ puts his jaw back in its proper place.
He stretches it a few times, rotating it until each little crunch disappears and then licks the blood from his lips. “If you kill me I assure you you’ll never see him again.”
“Death would be too easy for something like you. I’ll keep ripping out your teeth until you finally talk.” Todoroki smiles. “We’d be here a long time, beloved. And your poor sweet thing would be all alone.” Bakugou growls. He shifts his hand in Todoroki’s shoulder,
pulling his claws free for just a moment before sinking them deep within Todoroki’s collar, scraping against his bone. “I’ll pull you apart one piece at a time.” “Promise?” Bakugou curls his fingers, digging in under flesh, fat, muscle,
gauging a hole into Todoroki’s chest to pull against his collarbone that finally, /finally/, makes the creature hiss. “Do you /really/ want to play these games?” “Why not?” Bakugou’s eyes glow red in the darkness. “/I’m/ winning.” “I figured you’d rather see him.”
Bakugou stills. “Remove yourself from my person and I’ll bring you to him.” He shoves his hand in a little bit deeper. “If you have so much as touched a hair on his fucking head–” Again, Todoroki rolls his eyes. “Yes, broken bones and teeth and all your threats. Now, get up.”
He hates that it’s an order and almost doesn’t, happy to shed more blood before listening to anything this foul creature has to say, but his rational brain pushes past his feral need and knows the faster he cooperates, the faster he can see if what Todoroki says is the truth.
If he does have Eijirou, he’ll be able to have him back. If he doesn’t, well, Bakugou will go right back to removing body parts until he’s satisfied. Slowly, he gets up, wiping the blood on his hands across Todoroki’s woven shirt to which the little princeling curls his nose
in disgust having to wait a few seconds for his body to heal enough that he had full movement in his arm and shoulder, rising up from the ground as his wounds still mend themselves. He sighs, brushing the dirt off from his clothing, nose still upturned at the smears of blood.
“Follow me.” Bakugou is led through a door that seems to appear out of nowhere in the stone wall with a simple wave of Todoroki’s hand. It grinds stone against stone as it opens slowly, baring a staircase that spirals upward and grows brighter with more light the further up
they go, dim and then white and blinding as Todoroki pushes open a wooden door that leads out into a bright open hallway with high windows that reach the ceiling. The floors are polished marble, the walls a smooth light stone,
and beyond the high windows that look like they’re set in gold is a forest that stretches out far and wide beyond what Bakugou can see. The trees are large, full and bright, every color looking sharp and perfect with specks of bright whites and pinks throughout the green foliage,
flowers blooming upon the treetops in the bright summer sun. He knows immediately it is not his forest. The trees stretch too far, their branches twist and turn unnaturally up to a sky that is tinged in purples that shimmer and shift in the blue. Everything is pretty,
everything looks perfect. It is made to be alluring, made to make you want to stay. It’s always been a trap. Todoroki walks swiftly down the hall, his feet silent as he goes, making Bakugou have to turn away from the view and
follow him close behind lest he lose himself in the winding grandeur of this kingdom. Finally, after many turns and twists, they stop in front of a grand door that stands nearly as tall as the windows, the wood of it a deep,
old oak with swirling gestured carvings curling all the way up its surface. Each groove dances with a golden magic, shimmering and flickering across its surface. Bakugou knows a fairy spell when he sees one.
He is sure on the other side there will be protection runes carved neatly under the heavy golden handle. “Now,” Todoroki turns before opening the door. “Be careful, he will be delicate as he sits.” Bakugou wishes to shove past him,
but knows only Todoroki’s hand would be able to move that door. He stands still, fists clenched at his sides. “Open it,” he grounds out.
For once, Todoroki does as he’s told, and seconds later Bakugou steps forward to find Eijirou, his little cub, his heart, laying upon a large pile of blankets and pillows in the center of Todoroki’s room, peacefully sleeping as if nothing in the world were wrong.
(( I haven't linked in a minute, so if anyone wants to read from the top this european inspired fairy tale story with werewolves here you go: ))…
Cw shotacon, werewolves, pseudo incest Kiri gets lost in the woods when he's little. He can't remember if he wandered too far or if his mom purposely let his hand go. All he knows if Bakugou found him. Bakugou who's brash and angry and alone. Who lives far off in the woods,
Bakugou's entire world narrows down to a single point, of Eijirou and only Eijirou. If this were a trap, he would fall for it without a second thought, needing only in this moment to make sure his son was okay and nothing else.
He runs across the room, sliding down onto his knees cushioned only by the plush nest surrounding Eijirou to take the boy up in his arms. 'Hey, hey, baby, baby wake up, wake up." He speaks softly, as softly as he can with panic clogging up his throat as Eijirou's body stays
limp in his arms as he holds him, trying to be gentle as he shakes him. "Little thing, come on, open your eyes." He wants to call out for him properly, but still knows the dangers of speaking Eijirou's name, and so makes sure to keep it held tightly to his chest.
He knows his gentle touch is growing more forceful as he shakes the boy with no response. Bakugou leans in closely, ear pressed against his chest, to listen to the steady calm of his heartbeat, beating proper behind his ribs. He smells like his son,
like all the flowers he favors picking and the deep earthy scent of the woods that surround him. There is the faint cling of pork and fat that has seeped into his clothing, but all of that is familiar and right, even when surrounded by the
belongings of Todoroki that smell coppery and sweet. He smells like him, he is solid in his arms, he is Eijirou. Bakugou lifts his head, baring his teeth. "Why won't he wake? What the fuck did you–" As he blinks, Todoroki has moved from the doorway to kneel right beside him,
his hair moving softly with the sharp movement before settling down once more around his face. "As I said, he is /delicate/," Todoroki huffs in annoyance. "You've not made it easy to take him, even with him being our property. He’s been asleep for two days."
Bakugou growls, wanting to rip his tongue out of his mouth. Todoroki simply ignores him. "Without a name and that annoying little protection you insist on keeping around that cabin, the only thing left to do was to trick him."
He moves in a little bit closer, gesturing for the boy in Bakugou's arms to which Bakugou snaps his jaws, snarling as he holds him all the closer. "Do you want him to wake or would you rather he sleep until death?" Even with the mild threat, Bakugou hesitates.
He thought he had lost Eijirou once already and he wasn’t about to ever let him go again, but he knew what Todoroki said was the truth– if the half breed did manipulate Eijirou and put him under a spell, then he wouldn’t be able to wake him any time soon.
Still, he takes a moment to assess Eijirou. He looks unharmed and there is no scent of blood on him. His face is soft, resting peacefully even with Bakugou’s manhandling of him now.
He holds him a little tighter, squeezing him gently, feeling his small body and the warmth of his skin– “Fine,” Bakugou finally says, laying Eijirou back down upon his blankets and pillows. “But if you do anything–”
“Like I said before,” Todoroki leans in, staring down at the sleeping face of his son. “I mean him no harm and so no harm shall come to him.” he peers up at Bakugou, smiling. “For I know desire when I see it and know that getting between a dog and his dinner is counterintuitive.”
He nearly claws the smile off his smug face. “Now,” Todoroki looks back, bringing a slim finger up to brush down Eijirou’s forehead, down the bridge of his nose, running along the little tip and dipping over his soft lips.
“It’s time to wake up, precious pet, Daddy wants to see you…” Bakugou knows whatever magic he speaks is more of his vampire blood then fairy, even if the very act of acknowledging it surely pains Todoroki to do so. His words are soft, his touch even softer,
as his finger trails down to glide over Eijirou’s throat, his attention being drawn towards the quiet pulse beating just below the skin right before Bakugou clears his throat and Todoroki looks back at him with a pout. He sighs. “You truly are no fun.”
“If you ever think of touching him again–” Below them, the bedding rustles. Todoroki fades out of existence for Bakugou as Eijirou stirs. His eyes flutter, heavy, but his lashes move and he makes a small groan as he comes back to himself looking tired, but awake.
Bakugou nearly collapses as he sees his eyes finally open, unfocused and wide, before his gaze steadies and focuses. “P-Papa…?” His voice is hoarse, throat dry, but he speaks and Bakugou gathers him up once more in his arms to hold him tightly,
face buried at the crown of his head. “Baby,” Bakugou breathes, forcing down the shudder of relief that floods him. “Baby, baby…I thought I’d lost you.” He hugs him tightly, feeling the burn of tears that threaten to fall as he holds him,
feeling the life come back into his limbs as little hands touch at his arms and back. “I didn’t…didn’t go anywhere, Papa,” Kirishima mumbles against his chest. “Papa…?” Reluctantly, Bakugou pulls away, cupping the boy’s face in his hands, stroking his cheeks.
He doesn’t know what else to say at that moment, because they have gone and are gone, far, far, away, and Bakugou still needs to figure out a way to get back. But then, Kirishima’s eyes grow wide and he gasps, pulling himself away from Bakugou to sit up fully,
reaching to the top of Bakugou’s head. “Papa!” He cries, sounding now much more awake. “What– Papa, you have /ears/!” Little hands tug at his air and, when he reaches further, tugs again with his fingers now plucking at his new appendages, gifted by the Veil.
“Like, like a dog’s! Or a–” “Or a wolf.” Kirishima stills, silent, then slowly turns to look at Todoroki who still kneels down beside them both. His eyes are bright, wide, unblinking, unnatural, with sharp teeth and sheer wings like a dragonfly’s that flutter behind him.
They glimmer as if basked in starlight. He knows him from the river and knows him by the knock on the door. He thinks about the shadows in the forest and the creatures on the full moon. Kirishima’s heart stops. “Or a wolf.”
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marble / she.her / 29 / bi.queer / writer / comics / sports anime / 🦈 🔞 I AM A NSFW FIC WRITER. DO NOT FOLLOW IF YOU ARE UNDER 18! 🔞
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