#his Majesty Deku? au | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

yourneighborbakugou · 3 years

Text

To Love’s End, Part 2

Read Part One Here!

Summary: When love isn’t enough to mold fate together. Pairing: Bakugou Katsuki x Fem!Reader Warning: angst, fluff Word Count: ~3k Playlist: Interlude by Brillion

Quirkless AU! Feudal Japan AU!

In a far away palace, King Shigaraki (AFO) and his soldiers are gathered in the hall for a meeting.

The loss of General Dabi was a hard hit for King Shigaraki and his plans to overthrow King Sasaki. Dabi had always managed to recruit new soldiers and was revered as one of King Shigaraki’s best lord. Dabi always knew what to say to get poor countrymen who were not happy with King Sasaki’s rule, riled up.

“We should forgive our enemies, but not before they are hanged. An eye for an eye is never enough. Never, never, never.” Dabi always said.

King Shigaraki shushes his army and explains with Dabi gone, he needs to find a successor to take Dabi’s place.

“My lord, please consider lord Tomura. His loyalty to the throne makes him the best fit.” A lord kneels to King Shigaraki. The hall fills with chatter among soldiers, many nodding their heads to the recommendation.

“It would be an honor, King Shigaraki.” Tomura steps up to kneel before the King.

"If I may, my lord.”

Heads turn to the back of the room as a figure in a dark green cloak approaches the King. The figure steps forward taking off their hood.

“Deku.” Tomura hiss under his breath.

“As General Dabi’s right hand man, your majesty, I believe the right as his successor is no other than mine.” Deku kneels, lowering his head.

“How dare you show your face to the King! It was your fault General Dabi died!” Tomura, in rage, drew his sword and made way to Deku. Deku is quick on his feet in drawing his sword in equal strength. Both swords are drawn at eye level, standing mere feets apart.

“My lord died as a sacrifice to ensure the King’s vision. He left his ambitions in my hands and I will not let a disgraced Samurai who didn’t answer the call taint his name.” Deku bite back, unmoved and unshaken by Tomura’s threats.

Tomura’s rage only grew hearing Deku belittle him; he’s now seeing red. And with red comes a fierce swing of his sword towards Deku. Swords clash in the hall as Deku and Tomura take turns swinging at each other. Roars from soldiers erupt as they cheer for who they want to win.

Tomura charges a swing at Deku and Deku dodges before swiftly dealing a butterfly kick with his leg, striking Tomura behind the head, causing him to stumble to the ground. Deku uses this opportunity to pin him down, one knee on the chest and the other pinning the arm that holds the sword. Deku aims his sword to Tomura’s neck, sword threatening to pierce skin should he make any movement.

“I wouldn’t move if I were you”. Piercing green orbs sends a shiver through Tomura.

“Enough!” King Shigaraki raises his palm to quiet the hall. Deku releases Tomura from his hold to face the King.

“I apologize, my lord”. Deku kneels.

“Deku, it wasn’t long ago that you joined our ranks. To be frank, I believe Tomura is the best fit for the job. Dabi would be alive today if you’ve done your job of scouting the grounds that day.” Deku bites his tongue hearing the mistake he made that caused the death of Dabi. Deku has already blamed himself enough since that fateful day. Tomura smirks as he gets up to kneel.

“But Deku have shown more strength and determination than anyone here.” Caught off guard at the King's new confession, Deku raise his gaze to meet him. “I want to see if you really got what it takes to succeed Dabi’s place.”

The King rises from his chair to walk towards Deku. “I will give you the position.”

“My lord—“ Tomura protested. Tomura’s soldiers follow suit from the sides.

“Silence!” King Shigraki lifts his palm. “I will give you the position Deku, if you kill the samurai that killed Dabi. Samurai Bakugou.”

Deku hesitates hearing the all too familiar name and breaks gaze with the King which doesn’t go unnoticed. Before Dabi’s death, Dabi had previously consulted with the King about Deku. Dabi chose Deku as his right hand man because he knew Deku would be a good weapon against the rising star, Samurai Bakugou. Dabi believed that turning Deku against Bakugou was a crucial part to winning the war. King Shigaraki knew that Deku’s weakness would be confronting the friends he used to know and the only way for Deku to truly prove his loyalty to him was to completely cut off all connections to his past.

“Our recent assassination was unsuccessful despite sending some of our best men. I’m tired of us losing to King Sasaki. Surely, Deku, you can do better. Succeed at eliminating Bakugou and the position is yours.” The sound of a sword leaving its scabbard can be heard.

King Shigraki points his sword at Deku, tip under his chin. “Fail and it will cost you your life. Do I make myself clear?” King Shigaraki annunciates his last words slowly. Deku gulps at the position he’s in.

“Tomura, keep an eye on Deku.” King Shigaraki returns his sword and turns around to exit the hall. As the King exits, Deku feels the pressure of a hundred eyes on him.

“With pleasure.” Tomura looks at Deku, face plastered with a smug grin.

~~~

The horizon is now a deep blue color and the lights in the palace are starting to get lit by the servants. The sliding door opens and the aroma of fresh cooked fish is enough to make Kirishima turn his head. Ibara motions the plate of food to him, giving him her best smile, as she makes her way inside.

“Ibara, my lady.” Kirishima thanks her with a kiss on the hand before taking a seat at the table. Kirishima knows the drill; he slides off the top of his yukuta to allow Ibara to rebandange his wounds as he eats.

Camie is passing nearby as she heads to Bakugou’s room. Ibara and Kirishima can be heard laughing and talking about their days before a maid closes the door to Kirishima’s room. Camie huffs in annoyance that Ibara has managed to snag Kirishima while she was still working to get anything out of Bakugou. It’s been a few days since she’s been visiting Bakugou’s chambers and each day has been miserable.

The sliding door opens and the aroma of fresh cooked fish does nothing to gain Bakugou’s gaze from his book. Camie clears her throat and only then did Bakugou look at her. As Bakugou is eating, Camie is changing Bakugou’s bandages. No matter what small talk Camie initiates, Bakugou only responds with grunts and hums. After another hour of excruciating silence, Camie leaves Bakugou’s chambers.

The sliding door closes with a thud. Camie glares at the empty plate in hand, chest heaving with frustration. Camie doesn’t understand what Bakugou sees in you.

Camie starts to walk out back to the hall to exit. Across the other end she sees Ibara exit Kirishima’s room and stops to study them. Kirishima pulls Ibara by the chin and gives her a kiss. Ibara is a blushing mess and covers her face with her kimono. Kirishima smiles and says his good night as he watches Ibara turn to leave. Jealousy grows stronger inside Camie.

Ibara had tried to court Bakugou and was unsuccessful and now she got Kirishima. It’s so unfair!

Camie has been at the palace longer than Ibara has and finding a suitor hasn’t been easy. Bakugou was the first man worthy of her and yet, he doesn’t want her. He wanted a maid--a goddamn unworthy, dirty, filthy maid. The plate in Camie’s hand cracks from pressure.

“L/N, I’m telling you, Kirishima is the man of my dreams.” Ibara expresses her happiness, entering her bedroom and undressing from her kimono. “We kissed for the third day. In a row!” Ibara squeals with excitement.

“Kirishima is a fine man, my lady. It makes me happy to know you’re happy.” you say taking a seat on the ground in front of Ibara’s bed.

“Have you taken care of my dirty clothes and prepared my outfit for tomorrow?” Ibarra brushes her hair.

“Yes, my lady.”

Ibara nods before rambling on some more about Kirishima. Your mind begins to wander to Bakugou. It’s been a few days since you’ve last seen him. Is he doing okay? Is he eating? Is he with Camie right now?

Leaving Ibara’s room that night, your mind was foggy and you know going to bed wasn’t an option. Instead, you head to the kitchen to check on Urakaka, who just got done cleaning. Urakaka is surprised to see you’re still up but offers a glass of sake the King’s guests didn’t finish. You gladly take a seat and enjoy it with her. “Can’t sleep?” Urakaka pours sake into your cup.

“Yeah, too much on my mind.” You grab the cup and take a big gulp.

“Careful. This sake is not for the weak.” Urakaka looks at you with a serious face. After a few seconds of silence, you both laugh. You and Urakaka are no stranger to drinking leftover sake. Being on the Kings good side has its perks.

“So you and Bakugou huh?” Urakaka catches you off guard and you choke on your sake. Urakaka only laughs more.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You clear your throat and wipe the excess sake from your lips.

“Oh come on, Y/N. Who do you think you’re kidding? Come on, spill the beans.” Urakaka nudges you before taking another sip of sake. You hesitate for a second.

Growing up in the palace together as a servant made you two close and you know if there’s one person you can trust on this planet that cares, it was Urakaka.

“He’s amazing.” You start off. Urakaka listens to every word you say as she sips her sake. Before you know it, you’re sharing not just how you feel about Bakugou but also your current dilemma with Camie. You know Camie has caught on to something and in spite of you, she’s done a pretty good job keeping you away. “I don’t even know if he’s okay.” You end, chugging the rest of the sake in your cup.

“Hmm. So that’s why Camie has been insisting that you help with yard work lately.”

Your small talk is suddenly cut short when a maid comes to tell Urakaka Kirishima had requested for some tea for his study. “Go, maybe you’ll catch him.” Urakaka hands you the teapot.

Walking down the hall your heartbeat starts to accelerate, unsure of what to expect. Each turn you made brought you closer to Bakugou. When you reach the end of the wing, you’re at a crossroad. In one direction is Bakugou’s room while the other is Kirishima’s. Your gaze lingers at Bakugou’s door down the end of the wing, wishing to see him come out.

Your heartbeat is moving too fast as your wishes get louder in your head and your head is spinning now. The sake in your veins does nothing but add on to how nervous you felt. Your hands are ice cold and if it wasn’t for the warm teapot in your hands you’re sure they would’ve caught ice. With a deep breath, you close your eyes, inhaling the fresh air to calm the voices in your head and the feelings in your heart.

“L/N?”

Finding the voice that called out to you, your heart sinks at the sight of Kirishima. “L/N, is everything okay?” Kirishima calls out again.

You take a deep breath to ground yourself from the disappointment before making your way to Kirishima. You explain you got lost trying to find his room, though it was a lie. Kirishima welcomes you into his chambers and closes the door behind him.

As you enter Kirishima’s room, Camie watches from Bakugou’s wing leaning against the wall to not be seen. Camie smirks as this knowledge is something she can use against you. Making the decision to go back to Bakugou’s room seems to have been a good one. Camie spent the last 30 minutes watching Bakugou study and though he didn’t say one word to her she didn’t care. His huffs and puffs of annoyance only fuels her. Camie sees this as a challenge; she needs to put you in your place and only then will Bakugou see that you are unfit to be his. Camie walks away proudly.

Bakugou places his book on the table and sighs heavily once Camie closes the sliding door. Finally!

Being stuck in his room all day really sucked but Bakugou preferred to be alone than to be stuck with Camie. Camie was insufferable. He tried his best to let her down but it doesn’t seem like she got the message. Actually, Bakugou knows she’s just as determined to stick around as much as he is determined to leave.

“So annoying.” Bakugou looks down at the bandages around his torso and the flashback of you cleaning his wounds cross his mind. He briefly wonders if you’re okay before his mind ponders if you’re worried about him and if you’ve eaten. Bakugou knows that you tend to overwork yourself when you’re stressed.

“L/N?”

Bakugou hears someone call your name from outside his room and pauses with confusion. Camie left his room not too long ago. Did she bump into you or was he hearing things? Bakugou quickly stands but groans in pain as he gets up too fast. Placing a firm palm on his torso, he curses walking to his door and leans an ear to listen.

Bakugou listens for a few more seconds but doesn’t hear anything. He’s sure he heard your name though. Bakugou slides the door open and peeks down the hall.

“L/N?” Bakugou calls out.

No response but the wind that flows by.

Bakugou would be lying if he said he wasn’t hoping to see you outside. Bakugou closes his eyes and leans on the sliding door. After a few deep breaths, he lowers himself to sit, gazing down the hall in hopes that you’ll appear for whatever reason. The moon is bright in the sky tonight and as it shines down and lights up the hallway, Bakugou wishes to see you.

“Can I ask you a question, Kirishima?” You set down the tea on the table next to Kirishima.

“How’s Bakugou?”

Kirishima chuckles at your question because he figured it was why you delivered the tea to him. Bakugou hasn’t been shy about the way he feels about you to him so of course, Kirishima knew you felt the same way about Bakugou. Kirishima reaffirms that Bakugou was healing nicely, though it has only been a few days.

“We’re tough and the manliest Samurai’s you’ll find. These scratches aren’t enough to kill us.” Kirishima jokes before explaining that Ibara visits often and she’ll tell him Camie is helping Bakugou recover. Though they live in separate wings, they don’t get to leave their rooms because of the King’s order. Kirishima laughs as he jokes about how it feels to be trapped inside his room.

Leaving Kirishima’s room, you feel more at ease. Bakugou was doing okay so that helped calm your worries--well, half of your worries. You wish Kirishima good night as you shut his door. You turn to look at the moon, taking in the beauty of the full moon casting over the palace buildings. As you stare up at the moon you quietly wish to see Bakugou even if it’s in the distance.

Making your way down the hall, you reach the crossroad where you stood just moments earlier. You chuckle to yourself how silly it was when you thought it was Bakugou who called out to you. Taking a look down Bakugou’s hall, your eyes widen and your heart skips a beat.

A familiar pile of blond hair sits in between the door, eyes closed, as if he fell asleep. It must be the sake because before you can object, your legs are pushing you forward to him.

“Bakugou?”

Bakugou hears your voice and groans. “I must be losing my mind. I’m hearing things again.”

“Bakugou, are you okay?”

At your question, Bakugou instantly opens his eyes to look at you. Upon seeing you in front of him, his heart skips a beat and he tenses. You look beautiful under the moonlight.

Gosh he forgot how beautiful you were.

Heat traveled at lightning speed to his cheeks before he could protest.

“Are you okay? Why are you sleeping here?” You look at him worried as you sit on your heels. Bakugou comes to the realization that he had dozed off wishing to see you. He obviously can’t admit that to you though. He quickly makes up something.

“Laying down hurts.” Bakugou clears his throat avoiding eye contact.

You take a moment to examine Bakugou’s wounds and notice a small patch of blood stain on his torso.

“You’re hurt!” Reaching out, you point to the wound on his torso. Bakugou looks down and notices the small patch of blood. Must be from earlier when he got up too fast. He was only kidding about saying it hurts and now he really got you worried.

“Would you like help changing the bandages?” You gaze up at Bakugou through your eyelashes.

Bakugou’s heart is thumping loud, he’s worried you’ll hear it. But he doesn’t want you to go yet so if changing his bandages is what it takes to have you stay for a bit longer, he’ll take it.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t--” You clear your throat and shake your head. “I’m sorry, I had some sake earlier with Urakaka and I’m saying things I wouldn’t norm--” You ramble on with your thoughts. Bakugou finds it cute that you're embarrassed. He wants to see this side of you more.

“Do what you want, women.” Bakugou interrupts you mid-sentence, getting up to enter his room. He takes a seat at this table and motions to the box on it. “There should be some bandages in there.”

Is this really happening? You feel like you’re on cloud nine! Your cheeks warm at the thought of being alone in Bakugou’s room with him.

Looks like the moon granted both your wishes tonight.

To be continued....

Read Part Three

—

Taglist: @cayofdreams

#bakugou x reader #Bakugou katuski #bakugou angst #bakugou fluff #feudal japan AU #bnha bakugou

94 notes · View notes

jackidy · 3 years

Text

To Star Lake: Chapter 3

Rating: T Pairings: Todoroki Shouto/Sero Hanta Characters: Various Universe: Howls Moving Castle Au

Summary: A day of impossibilities starts with a mystery man, with mismatched eyes and cold hands, rescuing him in a dark alleyway as he attempted to go about his business and the pet name sweetheart being said a little too tenderly. It ends with another stranger cursing him in his own store after telling them to leave.

Things like this don’t happen to people like Sero Hanta.

AO3 Previous Chapter Next Chapter

----

“Stop fucking hovering, Deku.”

“He spent most of the night on that stool, Kacchan! What if he’s too sore to move?”

There’s the sound of something being set down, the crackling of firewood sounding endearingly angry as Sero is reluctantly pulled from sleep. Who or, rather, what was a Deku? His track record of meeting new people recently having been reduced to sentient inanimate objects, mentally running through a list of possibilities only to open his eyes and find not an object but a very, very human face.

Sero isn’t sure why he’s so disappointed by that fact.

It’s no surprise he’s as sore as he was the previous morning, if not more so, knowing he should be more concerned about the deafening crack his back makes as he sits up than he is, the concentrated pain in his spine seeming to bleed out into a more bearable ache that bloomed over his shoulder blades and rib cage. The kid, Deku if Bakugou was to be believed, was there in an instant hovering with his arms open, having absolutely no idea where to place them.

“I’m good.” Sero croaks, dismissing the kid with a wave of his hand, legs mid swing off the bed when someone knocks on the door, watching with humoured curiosity as the green haired boy runs down the stairs, back up them again, draping a cloak over his shoulders and changing his appearance with a pull up of his hood as Bakugou barks out what door it was.

How can it lead to Port Haven when Sero had come in through the wastes?

“Is the great wizard Frostfire present?”

His confusion of the name speaks volumes of how little information on magic had made it to the countryside, Sero pushing himself off of the bed with another grunt, smiling to himself when he notices his walking stick leaning against the arm rest of the sofa he’d previously been sleeping on. How had he gotten onto the sofa anyway? Surely that teenager at best hadn’t carried him over?

“He’s out at the moment, sir, but I’ll be sure to pass on any message.”

The glare of the morning sun makes him wince, rubbing his eyes with the palm of his free hand, blinking rapidly in the aftermath. He’d never seen the ocean before, never really left the small town he’d grown up in, living vicariously through Mina when she would talk so enthusiastically about everywhere she had visited to gather inspiration for the hat shop. He wonders, fondly, how mad they were going to be when he eventually came home and he revealed he’d finally left town, not because of them but because he had a run in with two wizards.

“It has been requested by his Majesty that all witches and wizards are to report to the capitol city at once for service in the war to come.”

How much of this would they believe though? The only reason he was due to the fact he was living it for how often did stories of curses, magic fires and scarecrows, and moving castles turn out to be true? Not often enough to be true. How many stories of Shouto’s supposed victims had been proven false now? Too many for the concept of him as a heart eater to really have any credibility but not enough to dismiss them entirely.

“Oh, he’s not going to be happy about this.” The kid mutters walking up the steps, carry a scroll he deposits on the table, the form of an old man melting back into him as he pulled the hood down and cloak off. He jumps upon noticing Sero staring at him, Bakugou laughing at the teens expense in a way that was more cackle than anything else. “I forgot to ask! What’s your name? I’m Midoriya Izuku, also how did you get in here? Are you a wizard too? Are you one of Master Shouto’s friends?”

“I’m Sero Ha-”

“KINGSBURY DOOR!” Bakugou yells, cutting off Sero and pushing Midoriya back into a slight panic, yellow cape back on and the old man he had been moments before came back into view. Weren’t they in Port Haven? How were they getting knocks in Kingsbury? Sero leaning over the railing as teenager took a breath and turned the small dial above the handle, the sound of seagulls and the near by port being drowned by the clamour of a busy city, the rumble of cars and the sound of people going about their day.

“Hello, is this the residence of the wizard Iceflame?”

First Frostfire and now Iceflame, how many aliases did Shouto have anyway and why would he even need them? Perhaps he should stop going down that train of thought now, nip it in the bud before it gets out of hand, he has his own issues to deal with without getting caught up in the dramatics of wizards anymore than he already has done. Conversation with the men at the door over, Midoriya closes the door, resting his head against it before changing the small dial again, the vibrance of the city melting away into the dull pallor of the wastes and the gentle sound of rain fall.

“Sero, I walked in, no and no.” He offers in hopes of melting away at least some of the stress off of the other’s face, only for it to be replaced with confusion, the teenager still wearing that face as he walked up the stairs and deposited yet another scroll next to the one he’d been handed not even five minutes ago. Even Bakugou looks on the sceptical side of confusion, making it perfectly clear he didn’t believe a word Sero had just said.

“That doesn’t make sense, most people can’t just walk in here, especially those who aren’t friends with Shouto.” Midoriya stated firmly, a determined look on his face, Sero half concerned he was going to challenge him to a fight despite any assertion Sero may give that he was right and that he did not know who Shouto was, just the rumours that followed him everywhere.

“I’ve never met the guy.” Sero states flatly, earning another strange reaction from Midoriya, this time one of confused surprise, and an oddly smug look from Bakugou. Was he missing something here that he should know, the old man sighing before moving to inspect the cluttered counters around them, frowning at the sight of potions mixed with food, parchments filled with recipes draped over crockery that were perhaps beyond the point of saving.

How anyone lived like this was beyond him, knowing full well he wasn’t the tidiest but he’d never let his messes get to this point, wondering vaguely which side of the line between too busy to clean and too lazy to try the occupants of this house fell under. It’s why its so surprising when Sero finally manages to find food, still fresh and edible, hidden partially beneath a cloche, eyeing the bacon and eggs hungrily before looking up and checking for other ingredients.

Carbs. He was missing carbs, bread being the best suited for what he had in mind but he would take any at this point in order add some bulk to the meal. Vegetables he’d given up on looking for, the only splash of greenery coming from the patches of mould attached to what was once food residue. How was Midoriya an image of health in conditions like this, he was feeling ill just thinking about what layer in the deeper layers of mess.

“What are you doing?”

“Making breakfast.” He replies like it’s obvious, gently extracting the basket of meat and eggs from the side, wincing at the clatter of plates as they fell into the gap left behind, hooking it into his elbow and grinning as he finally spotted a loaf of bread on the table, still fresh and, with any luck, not entirely stale. “Do we have anything to make tea with?”

“Yes, we have a teapot but Kacchan doesn’t listen to anyone bar Shouto and even then, its reluctantly!” the panic in his voice is palpable, Sero only acknowledging his statement with a click of his tongue, setting the food down on a stool by the fire demon, turning his attention instead to the collection of pans hung against the wall. The second from the left is his best option, Sero thinks, big enough for two portions, maybe even three at a push, eyeing the irritated fire and wondering if it even ate.

“Oh, I’m sure he’ll listen.” Sero grins, perking up the way he always did when he was about to get Kaminari in trouble with Mina or vice versa, turning he cast iron frying pan in his hand. It’s a comfortable weight, pleasantly surprised that even with the aches and pains ridiculing his body he was able to hold it this easily, moving back over to the hearth, smile widening with every step as Bakugou started to look more and more like a pissed off cat. “Won’t you Bakugou?”

“Fuck off.” The crackle of fire wood and the floating specs of flame is more comforting than intimidating, Sero feeling more like he was in the presence of a friend than personified fire. “I aint doing shit for you.”

“I guess I’m telling Shouto of our deal then.” Sero smirks, voice dropping to a low whisper so Midoriya could not hear them, taking small joy from the way the fire seemed to still, looking away from the fire to the pan as he turned it in his hands again. He had become more daring with age, it seemed, knowing full well he’d have at least given it a second thought before speaking so brazenly with Bakugou. “Do I look like a man with much left to get fucked up by a wizard?”

The sound of steam, a billow of smoke, fire tempering down to a blue concentrated flame as Sero brings the pan down, flames kissing blackened iron and his hand hovering over metal to check how the pan was heating up. “Then have this curse from me, may all your food burn, bastard.” It doesn’t sting, no anger behind the words masquerading as a curse, Sero noting that the other seemed almost impressed again, electing to not comment on it.

There’s an awed whisper somewhere behind him of ‘Kacchan is doing what he says’, Sero shaking his hand as he moved it from the frying pan, finally hot enough, to the slices of bacon thick enough to be belly pork. Two or three? Two or three? He settles on three, unsure of if it was an apology slice to Bakugou or an extra one for Midoriya, a level of concern in him over the way the teenager stood shorter than him despite Sero having shrunk with age. Maybe this is why his friends referred to him as their dad jokingly.

Sero barely notices the creak of an opening door, the tap of footsteps on stairs, Sero too focused on the sizzling fat and inward lamentation at the lack of seasoning to give the new distraction his attention. “Master Shouto! You’re back early, you received summons from the palace as both aliases, what do we...” The teenager trails off before brightening again, Sero freezing as something cold radiates beside him.

Before a burning fire demon and yet it felt like all the warm had been sucked away, a shiver running down his spine as he looked up at the source of the drop in temperature and he feels himself freeze further.

Apparently, he had met Shouto after all.

It was the man from the alley way, the man who swept him off his feet and into the air, had let him float onto a balcony, kissed his knuckles and called him his. He’d not only met Shouto, he’d also been haunted by the man for the past thirty six hours, the curiosity over what it had all meant dying on his tongue as he remembered his bitterness from yesterday. It was Shouto’s fault he was in this predicament, Sero having only made the mistake of being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

“Obedience isn’t like you.” A quiet quip, a light laugh in his voice as the sound of a gas stove seems to increasing in volume, Sero throwing himself further into cooking so he didn’t become lost in that voice all over again. Flip the bacon? Check. Add the eggs? Check. Empty shells lay on the edge of the hearth, the sizzle of opaquing whites an all too welcome distraction as the wizard spoke again, this time addressing Sero. “And you are?”

“Oh! That’s Sero.” Midoriya chirps in, Sero thankful for the teenager’s interruption, still not entirely sure of what he wanted to say to the wizard. ‘Thank you for saving me, by the way, I appreciate that the price of not being mugged was being a pensioner’ was too angry, too antagonistic for this time in the morning, smiling at the memory of his grandmother telling him that aggression should not be spoken before breakfast, least they sour the food.

“Here let me-”

“No.” His voice is firm, the silence in the kitchen stifling, as Sero looks up at the wizard, look as set as his tone, tightening his grip on the panhandle, challenging the other to try and take it from him. “I don’t trust people who let their kitchen be this messy to cook for me.” Maybe his new found age had made him too bold, watching shock overtake Shouto’s face before he’s laughing behind his hand again.

“Okay, that’s fair.” He leaves Sero’s side then, scooping up the eggshells and moving them closer to Bakugou, turning on his heel to busy himself with something behind the old man. A clatter of ceramic, the whistle of a boiling kettle and the awed curiosity from Midoriya that spilled from his lips like a waterfall, Shouto answering every single one with patience.

Maybe the rumours were incorrect after all, Sero surmises, turning to the table, pan in hand, to find a corner haphazardly cleared, for how many Casanovas spent their time answering a multitude of questions on the properties of rosehip tea from a teenager that was made of curiosity and wonder. He’s barely taken three steps when Shouto is by his side again, strangely reminiscent of the alleyway only this time the cold hand is on his shoulder, not his waist, the warm hand brushing over his own holding the pan before gripping it just above the towel.

Why wasn’t that burning his hand? “Here, let me.” It’s difficult to not listen to what that voice, kitchen towel falling to the floor with a dull thump, hand slipping from his shoulder to the middle of his back to give an encouraging push forward. Midoriya is in the middle of pouring tea when he takes his seat, eyebrows raising in mild disbelief at the small bowl he is given in place of a cup, noting that the makeshift cups for both Shouto and Deku seem to be in a similar state of not being remotely cup or mug shaped.

Plate of food slide towards him, Sero nearly drops his head into his hands as Midoriya offers him a selection of two spoons and a fork, commenting a little awkwardly that he could only have one as ‘the rest are dirty’, Sero taking the fork, making sure to wipe it on his shirt before trusting it enough near his food. He’d been through the wastes and slept in this shirt yet he still trusted it more than this kitchen area.

“So, is there a reason why you’re in my kitchen, Sero?” His voice isn’t accusatory, just a gentle curiosity that takes Sero by surprise and renders him off guard. Shouldn’t he be more annoyed by this? Was a random man that much of a common occurrence in his home that he found no need to question it or was it something else? He daren’t entertain the idea that Shouto not only knew he was cursed but could see him as he actually was.

“I’m your new house keeper, Bakugou hired me.” There’s a choked noise from the hearth, Sero once again questioning where this boldness came from, focusing on looking at the cooling eggs as opposed to giving Shouto any form of visual acknowledgement. He’s going to end up in more trouble, the wave of confidence that came in the form of believing things couldn’t get worse seeming to have dried out already.

Things could get worse. There was still so much he could lose.

“It would be nice to have a more organised kitchen.” It’s Midoriya that speaks now, contemplative, Sero biting back a laugh at the offended noise from Shouto, feeling more at ease. He’s not sure what it is, something about the green haired boy is putting him at ease, the tension that was slowly building in his shoulders slipping away just as easily as it came. “Would probably stop customers commenting on everything.”

The younger pair slip into easy conversation, mostly one sided as Midoriya talked of practicalities within their art of magic, Shouto only offering the odd word here and there in either agreement of dismissal, Sero tuning out the conversation easily enough. Where would he even begin with a place like this? Eyes flicking from the pile of books and parchment before him, to the dire state of the sideboards, looking past Shouto to look at the hearth, grimacing. He hasn’t known Bakugou long but he already knows cleaning the mountains of ash and charcoal from the hearth was going to be an endeavour in and of itself. Maybe he should save that for last.

“Sero?” He jumps at his name, looking back to the magical pair and finding them both looking at him, Sero blinking owlishly under the mix of concerned and humoured looks. Why did Shouto look like that? What had he missed? “I asked you what was in your pocket.”

His pocket?

Wrinkled hands pat trouser pockets, bemusement clear as day when something crinkles under his touch, slipping his hand into his pocket to find a note. How long had that been there? These had been fresh out of the drawer when he’d put them on, his only handling of paper when he left the note for Mina and Uraraka, eyeing the purple note warily before placing it in Shouto’s extended, expectant hand.

Paper touches skin. Paper explodes into blue flame and ash, hands recoiling at the flash of heat as intricate details scorch themselves into the table, Sero quickly checking his hand for any burns before looking to Shouto, no longer weird in his welcome but aggravated, a tension building in his shoulders, something about the expression seeming weirdly familiar but Sero couldn’t place why.

The silence stretches as a pale hand presses against the table, the smell of acrid, burnt flesh filling the air as blue fire sparked to life around Shouto’s hand. Sighing deeply, Shout stands, the mark on the table gone and the hand that had been on the table now cradled to his chest, the remainder of his tea downed, his half eaten plate of food dumped into Bakugou’s flames.

“Move the castle seventy miles north, I’ll be needing hot water too.”

It’s Midoriya who first breaks the silence at the table, Bakugou cursing up a storm towards Shouto in the background as he turned to Sero, a set look on his face that the teenager was failing to not show as threatening. “Are you working for Dabi?” His voice is low, Sero growing more confusion at the sudden tension. He hadn’t known who Shouto was until about ten minutes ago, how was he supposed to know who this Dabi was?

“Kid I have no idea who Da-”

“Pass that on to little Shouto, would you.”

Something snaps in him then. A white boiling rage that was so out of character for him that it threatened to suffocate him. Dabi. Dabi was the man following Shouto. Dabi was the bastard who had done this to him. Slamming his hand on the table, he barely feels the pain from the impact, Midoriya jumping back from him and even Bakugou stops his tirade against Shouto.

“I do not work for Dabi.” He spat his name out like it was poison. “He’s the reason I-”

His lips seal, a pain developing in his vocal cords as he tried to speak of the curse, tried to tell the increasingly panicked looking teenager about how he wasn’t in his seventies but twenty four, how he’d been cursed for just being seen with his master. Sero’s attempts to speak of his predicament end with an angry sob, coughs wracking his sore throat, a warm hand rubbing his back as another cup of tea was slid towards him, the comfort Midoriya offered welcome but doing little to ease his mood.

“I don’t work for Dabi.” He repeated softly, the floral tea providing another performative sense of comfort, warming his old bones and easing the physical aches and pains that plagued him.

“I know, I’m sorry I asked.”

#todosero #seroroki #sero hanta #todoroki shouto #midoriya izuku #bakugou katsuki #bnha #bnha howls moving castle au #to star lake

11 notes · View notes

belladxne · 4 years

Text

you've got a look in your eyes (i knew you in a past life)

[see notes for AO3 & ff links]

prequel fic | part of the put your faith in the light that you cannot see series AU: Breath of the Wild pairing: KiriBaku word count: 5,504 Description:

(one glance and the avalanche drops, one look and my heartbeat stops)

One hundred years ago, there was a prince who would come to wield the sacred power inherited from his distant ancestor, the god Bakusatsuo, and a courageous knight chosen by the Sword that Seals the Darkness who fought at his side.

If only it were that fucking simple. Katsuki has spent his whole life being told he alone holds the sealing power that will repel the impending return of the Calamity. He's royalty, he's descended from the mortal incarnation of a god, he's been assured all his life that he's special for having this ability, and yet he still can't even harness a spark of the power. How could he possibly be blamed for resenting whoever comes to draw the sword, and masters their destiny as simple as that?

Katsuki stalks around his study with an indescribable energy welling up in him, clawing feverishly up his chest and throat. He won’t call it panic because it’s not—it’d be lousy and lazy to describe it that way when it ignores that he’s always dreaded this and has been near-resigned to it for maybe years now. He won’t call it what it’s not, but—but it evokes something similar, some same instinct of fight or fight in his gut.

Deku should be back soon. Should’ve been back at least a day or two ago, realistically, and the extra time spent waiting has been as much an agony as it’s been a relief. Katsuki doesn’t know if no news is good news, or simply a delaying of the inevitable.

He slams his fist on the desk with a force that rockets through his knuckles, up his wrist, a roar of frustration forcing its way from his chest, and then runs his hands through his hair, mindlessly tugging. He isn’t even supposed to be in here right now. If his mother knew he was shirking his training—“training,” she calls the endless prayers and rituals and meditations and recitations and time wasted on his knees doing the same things that never fucking worked—she’d no doubt bite his head off. No matter.

Deku should’ve been back by now. They’d sent him, finally, after years of talking and talking and driving Katsuki insane about it, to see if he was the hero of legend. If he would be the one to draw the Sword that Seals the Darkness. And Katsuki wants, more than anything, to vomit.

It’s all he’s been fucking hearing, for years now. Apparently it doesn’t matter that Deku’s not like him. That he’s not special. He’s not royal. He’s not descended from a god, or a hero, or any legend of note. He’s not even Sheikah by blood, but he’d been raised among them and trained among them and apparently had worked so hard, despite being such a nobody, that out of all the actual Sheikah they’d chosen to send him to the castle under the impression he’d be a suitable companion and protector for Katsuki.

If the assumption that he needed companionship or protection weren’t degrading enough, they had to add insult to injury by encouraging someone as weak and timid as Deku to think he could believe he was on Katsuki’s level and even capable of protecting him. Katsuki had the blood of Hyrule’s patron god in his veins, the legacy of a sealing magic that had been passed down through the entire royal line, but, hey, Deku had a can-do attitude and all the backbone of a welcome mat, so that made them equals, did it?

Somewhere along this line of thought, Katsuki’s hands had started shaking, and he squeezed his eyes shut so tightly it hurt as he leaned all his weight on the desk. Because if everyone was right about Deku after all—then he wasn’t just equal. If the sword chose him, let him wield it—then he’d have mastered his destiny, and all it’d have taken was plucking a blade from its stand.

This shrinking, trembling little nobody wouldn’t be equal to Katsuki, who’d tried and tried and tried and tried and couldn’t unlock the power that was his birthright.

He’d be above him. For having mastered his destiny in a way Katsuki just—just couldn’t.

Fuck, destiny—that was the real worst part, wasn’t it?

Not just that Katsuki worked harder than anyone else he’d ever fucking met and had nothing to show for it but scathing gossip from his own subjects, not just that the entire court hailed Deku as some sort of prodigy who could ever be mistaken for his peer, not just that the damned nerd might actually even shatter Katsuki’s entire understanding of the world and come back with that sword on his back as indisputable proof that everyone was fucking right and he was better than Katsuki after all and Katsuki really was useless if he couldn’t even measure up to someone so—

It doesn’t matter. It’s not just that. It’s that if Deku comes back wielding that sword, their destinies are tied forever. The hero of Hyrule, and the descendant of Bakusatsuo—they were always bound, by fate, by destiny.

If everyone’s right about Deku, Katsuki will never be rid of him—will never have hope of being free of this constant reminder that there’s nothing special about him. That the blood of Bakusatsuo in his veins, the royal position of his birth, the sealing power supposedly lying dormant within, the favor of each of the three Goddesses granted to him by his bloodline and status as Hyrule’s crown prince—it’s not enough. He had every head start in the world, and he can’t fucking measure up.

And this nobody, with no significant blood, no amazing history, no special boon—he could achieve what Katsuki never will, with ease, it seems, and Katsuki will be tied to him for the rest of their lives. He’ll never escape it.

He really does want to vomit.

He doesn’t know what he’ll do when Deku gets back—because it feels like an inevitability, at this point, how everyone talks about this. Maybe that’ll finally be it—maybe he’ll just fucking snap and the power will come flooding out of him and raze this kingdom to the fucking ground in an uncontrolled rage- and anguish-fueled haze.

That thought doesn’t bring him any sort of bitter relief, either.

Manifesting his power, being able to carry the fate of this kingdom on his shoulders—it was the one and only goal he’d worked for his entire life. Not even resentful misery at a merciless fate can erase that—can take away the need to have others see him, to have them know that he’s competent enough, strong enough, powerful enough to carry that weight. No petty destruction could bring him the same—the same—not even satisfaction, but relief.

Katsuki doesn’t just want the gossip mongers to say he’s good enough. He needs it.

Just as he’s preparing to slump into the chair beside his desk—to hell with training and prayer; he’s more than shown his devotion and dedication, and even if one of the three Goddesses or Bakusatsuo himself were to see fit to come back to this realm to personally unlock his power for him, it’s going to take something he hasn’t been doing nonstop for ten years already—he hears footsteps on the stone signaling someone’s approach, and he tenses.

“Your Highness?” The attendant who stands in the doorway might spark apprehension at the best of times—but right now Katsuki’s nerves are frayed and he’s solidly at his wit’s end, and there’s something he can’t place in the young man’s tone and expression that grates at him like nails on a chalkboard. He knows, before the attendant even opens his mouth once more, what will come out. “Midoriya Izuku has returned from the Great Hyrule Forest. Her Majesty the Queen expects your presence in the throne room immediately.”

Fuck.

Katsuki barely registers anything past the word returned, not once his ears have begun ringing, and it wasn’t panic before but it feels like it now, and he really can’t fucking stand this. He nods dully and thinks there’s probably a scowl on his face, but he doubts it has its usual ferocity even as he grits his teeth to bite out, voice hollow, “Thanks. I’ll be there. You’re dismissed.”

The man doesn’t so much as twitch at Katsuki’s lack of formality. Obviously the castle staff all know to expect it by now. Less expected is the way he doesn’t so much as budge at Katsuki’s dismissal, even when Katsuki moves to get past him. He has to change; he’s not going to the throne room in his ceremonial prayer garb, but the attendant opens his mouth and seems to brace himself for backlash.

“Her Majesty was insistent that you come immediately—”

Katsuki rolls his eyes. Of course the old hag had been insistent, had been up the attendant’s ass about making sure the man would be up his ass about getting there. Well, they can both fuck off.

“I’ll be there,” he interrupts, halting just in front of the attendant to glare up at him. “Now fuck off already.”

The attendant hesitates only a few moments longer, likely less than enthusiastic at being caught in the middle of a battle of wills between the infamous queen regent and crown prince, but the conflict at least serves as a catalyst to pull Katsuki back into his own body, enough so that he knows the severity of his glare is back in full force. Predictably, the attendant caves.

“Your Highness,” the young man acknowledges with a nod of his head, before he beats a hasty retreat. Katsuki’s satisfaction is less than fleeting—gone in such a flash he can’t be sure it was actually there. It doesn’t matter. With something heavy and leaden in the back of his throat, he stomps out of his study and across the walkway to his room. He waits only for the door closing behind the unwanted messenger before he begins to tug off his ceremonial clothes, a process that takes hardly a couple moments.

It’s not so quick a process to don his usual attire. Still, it’s not so slow as he’d like, either, as he mindlessly and efficiently dresses with all the numb haste of a man determined not to be late to his own funeral.

He doesn’t want to go. He doesn’t want this news. He doesn’t want to face the nightmare scenario that’s going to be realized right before his eyes, but there’s no avoiding the inevitable—and at least there might, might be some avoiding of his mother’s temper if he doesn’t piss the old hag off by holding everything up. Despite every instinct in his body screaming for him to linger and hold off on what’s coming, he makes his way out of his own room, through the brief passageways to the sanctum.

He can’t say what it is that’s roiling under his skin, mostly because he doesn’t even feel like he’s inhabiting his own skin right now. His body’s moving itself, his mind is—it’s somewhere, but it feels miles away. There’s a grievous swooping in his gut and an uneasy tremble through all his limbs but it feels… muted, like he’s somehow disconnected.

There’s only each step his feet take, and the dread that continues to flood his system.

It turns out, his mother being such a bitch about him coming immediately was completely fucking unnecessary—not a shock, but he’s too numb to get irritated about it—because in the brief, near-unseeing gaze he flashes around the vast room as he enters it’s obvious that Deku’s not even here yet, that hardly anyone is, apart from the queen.

He bows the way he always has to whenever one of them enters the room with another, and he doesn’t even have the presence of mind for his blood to boil at the requirement like it normally does. He can’t focus on anything long enough for that.

Stiffly approaching where she stands in front of her throne to stand at her right side, Katsuki’s barely conscious of his posture or propriety. It’s all he can do to take his place, face forward, and play his part through the jumbled way his thoughts crash restlessly around his head in waves.

“Katsuki.” He doesn’t turn to see her face, but he can hear the disappointment dripping from her tone, and it makes him feel—feel—disgusting, somehow, a mental sensation like something slimy washing over his skin. “It took you long enough.”

As dazed as he is, he’s perfectly divided between the overbearing urge to snap back at her or simply not respond at all in his hazy state. Decorum, however, would mark both as unforgivable, a matter he’s grappled with all his life, moreso now that his own kingdom has started to loathe him. It takes more effort than it ever has in the past to strain for a response suitable enough to fit him through the situation, his thoughts disjointed as they are.

“I came as fast as I was able, Your Majesty.”

He doesn’t call her mother when he grits the words out—he never does. He hasn’t in years, maybe a decade. If they were alone, he’d have called her hag instead, and likely have gotten a smack to the head for it—but they’re almost never alone, almost always surrounded by an unremarkable backdrop of servants and guards and courtiers, all always listening for Katsuki to find some new way to disgrace himself.

The queen makes a scolding, derisive noise, and his hands twitch as somewhere faded and distant he feels the flare of indignation she always brings out in him, but he can’t maintain a hold on this conversation any more than anything else right now. He merely clenches his fists and, in effort to keep his gaze from flashing around the room wildly as if in search of escape, he finds a spot to the left of the main entrance, where the wall meets the floor, and levels his gaze there, eyes unfocused and unseeing.

Trying to calm himself has never come easy in the past and it doesn’t now, and he loses himself in the attempt—he couldn’t say how long it is before the massive double doors finally swing open, a servant announcing, “Your Majesty, Midoriya Izuku and his companion have come, just as you requested, ma’am.”

As simple as that, any attempt at composure is gone—once again, Katsuki’s ears ring, and it feels as though the floor has dropped out from under him as he swallows roughly, nearly dizzy for how quickly he pales. Fuck, it’s here, it’s finally happening, and there’s nothing he can do to stop it—for the first time in years he almost actually feels religious, enough so to want to drop to his knees and beg Bakusatsuo or the three Goddesses or—or fucking someone to just—to stop this before it happens, to save him from this.

He doesn’t. As it is, it takes all his strength not to sway to his knees anyways, but he keeps standing, faking steadiness with all he has in him.

His gaze doesn’t move from the spot he’d affixed it, still so inattentive he can barely register as Deku and another body move further into the room, each dropping to a knee before him and his mother, heads bowed low in deference. Fucking hell, he doesn’t know how to get through this.

“Izuku,” his mother greets, and Katsuki clenches his teeth, shuts his eyes, tries and fails to take a steadying breath. The level of familiarity is, of course, far from common, but the relationship between the Sheikah clan and the royal family has always been closer than most.

Even so, Katsuki knows she only goes as far as Deku’s given name because she knows Katsuki thinks he’s above needing Deku around as a companion, or protector, or gods forbid an equal, and she wants him to know he isn’t above shit. An awful lot of what she does is centered around trying to send him that message.

“If my understanding is correct, the day we’ve all been anticipating has come, and the Sword that Seals the Darkness has finally been drawn. This is so?”

Against his will, Katsuki’s eyes pry themselves open, and for all his reluctance his eyes flick unbidden to Deku. There’s something different about him, something beyond description—he seems… more confident, more vivid. He seems steady and unyielding, the green of his hair even seems fucking brighter somehow, and the way the light shines off of it almost creates an illusion of lightning crackling through it until Katsuki blinks. Lightning, a symbol of Farore. Fuck. Even with his head still somewhat downturned, Katsuki can see there’s a new light in his eyes, and it really sinks in.

The churning in his stomach is back, moreso than before, and Katsuki doesn’t know if he’s going to be able to move an inch before his nerves make him empty the contents of his stomach all over the throne room’s floor. He’s never felt this fucking helpless or hopeless, despair taking over at the blatant change in Deku that must have come from—

The thought stops cold as Katsuki starts to tear his eyes away, and he finally realizes something crucial.

There’s no sword at Deku’s back.

No grand, enchanted blade, no magnificent work of craftsmanship bearing the familiar Hyrulean Royal Family’s symbol. Not at his back, not in a parcel in his hands, nowhere. Even the shortsword at his waist is the same shitty eight-fold blade he’s always had, definitely not something new. There’s a hiccup in Katsuki’s thoughts, mind simply stumbling to a stop in its tracks as he fails to process for a moment. There’s… no way this can be the case. He’s heard the kingdom talk for years. He’d known the futility of hoping against the predicted outcome. He’d heard his mother just now.

How can Deku not have the sword?

His mind still hasn’t caught up, but some part of him must have, because his eyes finally register the other person in the room, the one who’d entered with Deku. His gaze shifts over unthinkingly, taking in hair that’s an absolutely atrocious shade of red, styled into the stupidest fucking spikes Katsuki has ever seen. He looks over the unfamiliar new face with the same lack of comprehension, seeing but not exactly perceiving the strong jawline paired with soft features; the pointed nose paired with rounded cheeks; the large, cat-like crimson eyes paired with small, furrowed red brows. He’s dressed in the typical armor of a Hylian soldier, though there’s no helmet to be seen to cover his absurd hair.

A feeling washes over Katsuki, one he has no idea how to name or place, one unfamiliar but that he knows, knows is somehow caused by the sight of this boy he doesn’t recognize at all. He can’t look away, except to briefly stare behind him.

To stare at a point, just over his left shoulder, where a masterpiece of a sword is strapped to his back. The hilt is elaborate; a deep, royal blue, with a green pattern woven around the hilt, and golden accents embedded in the wing-shaped guard. Katsuki’s never seen it before, but he knows, feels it somewhere deep and undeniable, that this is the Blade of Evil’s Bane.

Katsuki stops breathing. His eyes snap back to the boy’s face and slowly, finally, understanding dawns, seeps through him with a dizzying sense of relief so intense he almost—he almost fucking starts crying. Deku’s not the chosen of the Master Sword. Deku’s not the Hero of Hyrule. Deku’s not—he’s not suddenly and out of the blue a master of everything Katsuki’s a failure at, he’s not tethered to Katsuki’s side for the rest of his life—Katsuki can—can escape this, can actually fucking breathe—

And he does, lets out a breath so painfully shaky with overwhelming gratitude towards fucking any one of the gods out there who had a hand in this, who saw fit to grant him this reprieve, because there’s no outcome he can imagine worse than being some fated pair with Deku. He hopes the exhale isn’t too audible, too obvious to those in the room.

“Yes, Your Majesty, ma’am.”

Deku’s answer startles Katsuki, makes him realize—fucking—this entire winding, tumultuous journey his thoughts and emotions have trekked through has somehow taken no more than a handful of seconds. And only now, secondarily, does Katsuki’s understanding that this newcomer is the sword’s chosen shift from what it means for him and Deku, to what it means for them.

His first thought, taking in the sight of this other boy with his new understanding that this is the prophesied hero of legend he’s to save the entirety of the kingdom with is—just who in the hell is this clown?

“This marks a day of grave importance, then—and prodigious news for the kingdom, as well,” Katsuki hears his mother say beside him with the voice she uses to seem important and respectable in front of people who matter. (Katsuki clearly isn’t one of those people, in her mind.) “This makes the forewarned return of the Calamity seem all the more real—but it also gives us another weapon required to bring about its downfall. Nearly all of the pieces are in place to secure our victory.”

Katsuki doesn’t miss how pointedly she says the word nearly, and it brings him back into his own head, if only slightly.

“You understand, it is a shock to many of us in the castle that Izuku is not the hero foretold—I doubt there’s a soul in the room who isn’t surprised to discover it—but it is an honor to meet the champion with the spirit of the hero, chosen by the sacred blade. Is it true that you are a knight?”

A knight? So he’s not merely a run of the mill soldier, the way his armor suggests. Katsuki’s gaze is analytical now, and as the rush that accompanied his worst fears being alleviated finally ebbs, he finds new, subdued unease and dread taking their old place. What kind of person is this, the hero he’s destined to face the return of the Calamity beside? And—and what does it mean, that he’s drawn the sword when Katsuki can’t even manage a mere spark of the power that he’s supposed to master?

The boy nods, the very image of approval-seeking, meek respect. Katsuki feels his nose wrinkle.

“This is Kirishima Eijiro, Your Majesty,” Deku pipes up, and almost as soon as Katsuki’s irritation flares that he’s speaking for this Kirishima, the redhead shoots Deku a glance that almost looks… grateful? Katsuki wants to roll his eyes. “I—I was passing to the Great Hyrule Forest the way we planned, and when I neared the training camp by Rauru Settlement—Kirishima’s one of their most competent trainers; he trains all of their soldiers in fighting in unconventional styles—he’s familiar with how almost every army in Hyrule fights, and—”

“Izuku,” the queen interrupts, flatly. She can fake familiarity, but she can’t fake care, or patience—and while she makes it clear she must like Deku more than Katsuki, it can’t possibly be by much.

A brief glance reveals that Deku flushes, but he doesn’t startle like a rabbit frightened of its own shadow, anymore. Katsuki’s brow furrows. What in the hell is his deal, now? Even as he wonders at this, he can’t keep his gaze from the shitty-haired asshole that Deku has brought.

“Apologies, Your Majesty! I—he helped me dispatch of a monster camp that had set up too close to Rauru Settlement, that I encountered on the way, and he offered to accompany me to the sword, for safety in numbers. When we finally reached the heart of the Great Hyrule Forest, where the Great Deku Tree watched over the blade...” There’s something in the way Deku says the name, something that—that reeks of awe, and… gratitude? Something like it, at least. “I wasn’t able to draw it—it—trying took a lot out of me. But Kirishima felt drawn to it, and when I suggested he try his luck, he drew it with ease. I’m more than sure of it, he does bear the spirit of the hero, and he’ll serve the kingdom well, ma’am.”

There’s a silence that follows while his mother seems to ponder who the fuck knows what, Katsuki’s eyes still intent on the face he can’t seem to pull his gaze away from, still studying. He feels sick again, but this time the sensation’s not as physical. With ease, Deku had said. This Kirishima had drawn the blade—had mastered his destiny—had bested Katsuki—with ease.

He doesn’t know what to make of him, this boy who’s remained stone-still and stoic through this entire explanation, but he can’t help but wonder—how the fuck is this fair? As if sensing Katsuki’s thoughts, the knight suddenly chances a glance upwards for nearly the first time since entering, his eyes finding Katsuki’s as if magnetized, curious and open.

Something jolts through Katsuki so overpowering and fierce that his heart skips a beat, before galloping ahead at a breakneck pace as his breath hitches, transfixed by a sensation he cannot name. It’s—somehow, red locked with red, Katsuki is overcome by what feels almost like familiarity, but so much more than that, so much weightier. The way the knight’s eyes widen, he thinks it might be mutual.

Katsuki rips his eyes away, feeling unsteady. What the fuck was that? What the hell?

He obstinately refuses to look back, no matter the odd draw he’s felt so far, adamant not to let himself be buried once more by—whatever the hell that phenomenon was. He grits his teeth, fists clenching tighter, and forces himself to glare Deku down instead.

“And this Kirishima cannot explain any of this for himself?” his mother finally asks, and it’s one of the rare, almost nonexistent times she’s ever said something Katsuki would want to ask himself. He still will not allow himself to look back to Kirishima, but Deku shoots the knight a look, and there’s another brief pause while something seems to pass between them.

“He… doesn’t speak much, Your Majesty.” Deku only pulls his own stare away from Kirishima halfway through the sentence, and it rankles at Katsuki to know he can read Deku well enough to tell that the look on his face means he’s reluctant and unsatisfied to be speaking as he is, that he’s not being fully truthful. His expression shifts, though, to absolute faith and certainty as he asserts, “But his skill with a blade speaks for itself, and I know beyond a doubt that you’ll only ever need to see him in battle once to agree, ma’am. He has my complete faith.”

The noise Katsuki’s mother makes in response puts him on edge, if only because he’s on the receiving end of it so often. She makes it when she won’t go so far as to assert her disapproval, but she wants it made clear that she’s withholding any approval as well.

Katsuki chances a glance to his side, to gauge her demeanor in his periphery. She’s eyeing Kirishima appraisingly, a look Katsuki has often associated with a lioness looking for the weakest in the herd to hunt down, for anything she can exploit. She seems, soon enough, to come to a decision, tilting her head upwards slightly.

“Then may I once again extend my welcome, and emphasize what an honor it is to meet the wielder of the sacred blade. Rise, both of you.”

Both stand from the knee they had taken, rising with straight postures, hands clasped behind their backs, and heads remaining bowed respectfully.

“Kirishima, it sounds as though you are more than dedicated, and notably accomplished. This is something we will need more of in the castle, as we devote ourselves with singleminded focus to our final preparations to thwart the Calamity’s return.” Again, the words are pointed, directed more to Katsuki than the one they’re actually addressed to. Katsuki can feel her eyes on him, oppressive, as she continues, “Starting tomorrow, you are to take over as the head of Prince Katsuki’s personal guard, and you are to become his appointed knight. You must accompany him at all times, to ensure his safety and to prepare for the role the two of you will share when All For One once again rears its head. Is this clear?”

Katsuki can barely even catch how Kirishima bows and nods with prompt obedience as his own head swivels, mouth agape as he stares incredulously at his mother.

“Your Majesty,” he bites out, trying with all his might to hold onto some shred of etiquette despite the red tinting at the edges of his vision, “I don’t think that’s necessary. I don’t need—”

“What you need, Katsuki,” she cuts him off sharply, glare heated and tone caustic, “is to remember your place, and to meet the needs of your kingdom in the coming Calamity. Perhaps the competence of this knight, who has no such hindrances with meeting his own destiny, will rub off on you. This is not negotiable, and you will not treat it as such.”

Hot shame and an angry flush burn at him equally. There has to be something—something he can say—some argument he can make to get himself out of this, but as he struggles desperately to find it, fucking Deku clears his throat.

“Pardon my interruption, Your Majesty, but if Kirishima is going to be with Kacchan from now on, I think that makes this a good time to explain that I won’t be able to remain at the castle any longer.”

Katsuki and the queen both snap their gazes to him, Katsuki livid at the interruption as though his time to argue his case was over, and his mother with surprise. No one simply informs the queen something like this, without asking her leave.

“And why might that be?” Her tone is even, but Katsuki’s sure everyone in the room can hear the underlying dangerous note in her voice at the perceived insubordination.

Deku meets her eye, and it strikes Katsuki as wrong. He was never able to do so so steadily before. “Ma’am, in the wake of the prophecy of the Calamity’s return, I know most people in the kingdom have been looking to old legends again—so I’m sure you’re familiar with the legend behind the Great Deku Tree. A hero sacred to the Goddess Farore, gifted with Her blessing and tasked with roaming the land to be a caretaker to Her creations.”

Katsuki is preparing to snap a dismissal, unaware and uncaring where he’s going with this, but Deku presses on, “A hero who fulfills this duty for as many centuries as they are able, before choosing a successor and settling in one place to transform into the next Great Deku Tree, to protect Farore’s creations from up close.”

Choosing a successor.

The purposeful way he says the words, the shift in his demeanor—Katsuki stares at him, agape and disbelieving. There’s no way, it’s—it doesn’t seem possible. And why him, of all people?

“Your Majesty, the Great Deku Tree of our time—the legendary warrior, All Might—he awoke when Kirishima claimed the sword. And after he spoke to us, he chose me as his successor, and passed Farore’s blessing to me. I have to return to the Great Hyrule Forest after this to learn from him, ma’am, and after that… I don’t know.”

A murmur passes through the room, making Katsuki actively aware, for the first time, of its other occupants. Mostly guards, but a small handful of courtiers as well—he’d known they were there, before, but they had faded in the background as they often did for him; seeming little more than an everyday backdrop to his and his mother’s power struggles. He only really registers them all now to share in their shock at having such unexpected turns of events, twice in one day.

He stares at Deku, and it occurs to him—yes, the rest of the kingdom was wrong. Deku wasn’t special. He hadn’t had any grand destiny, or power, or role always living inside him. He wasn’t born with the same greatness that—that the chosen hero and god-blood prince were said to have. Instead, he’d forged his own destiny, made himself into someone special, on his own terms.

Katsuki feels envy like he’s never felt in his life blow through him, grinding his teeth so hard he swears he can hear it. He’s always hated Deku, but this—this is too much, it feels like acid eating away at his insides.

In the stunned silence that captivates the room, Deku seems to understand that no one would dare or see any need to challenge his right to leave. He draws himself to his full height, and adds, “It’s been my honor to serve the royal family, Your Majesty, but I know with Kirishima here that Kacchan will be in good hands. You can trust Kirishima to keep him safe.”

In good hands—as if he needs that—as if he’s still so helpless and useless as they’ve always treated him, like he really needs protecting and constant accompaniment. Deku says it, and Katsuki feels a familiar bitterness welling up as he finally looks once more to Kirishima, a fierce glower taking over his expression.

Kirishima having the sword is better than Deku having it—anything is—but Katsuki doesn’t, can’t find it in himself to feel gracious to the knight for that.

He knows resentment when he feels it. And he’s not going to shake it—not now, maybe not ever.

If this asshole thinks he’s just going to trail behind Katsuki like a good little knight and not deal with the crown prince’s ire, he’s got another thing coming.

#kiribaku #bakushima #krbk #bkshm #bakugou katsuki #kirishima eijirou #bakugo katsuki #kirishima eijiro #midoriya izuku #bnha #mha #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #fic #fanfic #fanfiction #it's mostly just katsuki having an existential crisis & mentally taking it out on izuku #anyways i heavily hijacked and bastardized LoZ lore for this & i'm not sorry bc the changes to the lore Delight me

23 notes · View notes

sundove88 · 3 years

Text

1-A and The Beast (MHA Beauty And The Beast AU Fanfic) Chapter One: The Disappearance of Inko Midoriya

Inspired by the Gravity Falls Beauty And The Beast AU made by @artsycrapfromsai

10 years later...

A dark green haired boy named Izuku Midoriya hopped onto his favorite green bike and pedaled into the village to pick up some items from the market. He went by Deku not because he was absolutely useless, but because to disguise the immense power he had.

“Hey, Deku.” His childhood friend, Katsuki Bakugo, said as he opened his door and tried to keep up. “Hey, Kacchan.” Deku replied with a smile. A young girl named Uraraka Ochaco snuck away from her family’s flower shop to catch up with her friends. “Hi, you guys!” She said, hovering in midair while doing a backflip.

Soon, many of their friends had joined them- including Melissa Shield, their new friend who had just moved to town from the city. Together, they were Team 1-A, a group of friends who met in the village square every day after helping their families. But despite this village life, they wanted adventure and to explore the world outside their home.

“Kids, you’ve just read this yesterday!” The bookseller said, holding up a copy of Mystery of The Jeweled Prince. “It’s our favorite! It has everything: A team of brave heroes, a prince in disguise- we love it that much!” Kyoka Jiro said as she hopped down from the ladder, holding up a copy of the book.

They knew everyone in their small town was friendly and kind- except for Kai Chisaki, AKA Overhaul and his three naughty little sidekicks: Tomura Shigaraki, Dabi, and Himiko Toga. He was so mean, that he snatched the novel out of the kids hands without their consent.

“How can you, like, read this?! There’s no pictures in this!” he complained, flipping through the novel. ”Well, imagination is there for a reason.” Momo Yaoyorozu said with a smirk. “Well, I don’t care.” Overhaul said and tossed the book in a mud puddle, while Toru Hakagure caught it immediately. “We’ll be taking that.” She said as she put it into her bag.

“We’d hate to call your mom this, but she’s a crazy old lady!” Toga said as she blew a raspberry. “She needs all the help she can get.” Shigaraki replied. “What?!” Shoto Todoroki cried out. “My mom’s no crazy old lady! She’s a genius!” Izuku said. Just then, an explosion came from the Midoriya family residence, where Inko Midoriya was working on a new invention. “We’re coming, mom!” Izuku said as he got onto his bike and pedaled home, his friends catching up.

“Hey, kids!” Inko said as she swept her hand across her face, wiping off soot from the explosion. “Hey, mom. Need any help?” Izuku said, comforting his mom. “Yeah. I think my invention just needs a few fixings.” Inko said, pointing to some areas that needed a little fixing.

“Don’t worry. We can do just that.” Denki Kaminari said as he got his electric powers working, while Ejiiro Kirishima flexed his muscles. With a little help from her son and his friends, Inko was finally able to get her invention to work.

Just as she set off for the fair with the family horse, Majesty, she gave Izuku and his friends one important piece of advice: “Always listen to your heart and be kind to all whom you meet.” Inko said, and then she was off.

But some way or another, she had taken a detour into the darker part of the woods, and Majesty got scared at once. “Gaaaaah!” She cried, running for her life when she saw a pack of wolves.

Looking up at the sign, she could faintly make out the following words: U. A. Castle. “Huh. Hopefully this’ll give me shelter for the night.” She thought as she entered through the gates.

“Hello? Anyone home?” She asked as she entered the Great Hall, but no one answered. But a nearby megaphone and a sleeping bag DID notice. “Hey, lady!” Said the megaphone in an excited tone.

“No way...” Inko said as she stared at the megaphone in wonder. The megaphone was Present Mic, and the sleeping bag was Shota Aizawa. Present Mic lead Inko to a very comfy chair, but Mr. Aizawa relented.

“Monseiur Toshinori doesn’t allow guests whatsoever!! We’re all gonna be in dead meat!!” the sleeping bag cried. But Inko was fitted into the chair anyway, where Kamui Woods the Bonsai Tree, Buster the Footstool, Best Jeanist the hairbrush, Midnight the perfume bottle, Eri the yarn doll, and some of the other servants were waiting to give her a cup of coffee.

But just when Inko was about to sip down the coffee... A wolf like mismatched animal came into the room. It was the Beast! “There’s a stranger in here for sure.” He said. “So you’ve come to look at me, eh?” the Beast said.

“Look. I don’t mean any harm. I just need somewhere to stay for the night!” Inko cried. “Well, I’ll give you a place to stay!” the Beast said, dragging Inko to a tall tower cell. “See? I told you we’re all gonna be in dead meat.” Mr. Aizawa said, facepalming with his imaginary arms.

Meanwhile, Chisaki was all ready for his first date with Inko. He had all the reservations made, but there was one small problem: He had forgotten to ask her out! So Overhaul knocked on the Midoriya Family door rudely, and Bakugo answered it.

“What Do you want, Chisaki?!” He said, letting Overhaul in. “Think about it this way, Deku. When your mom and I are married, you’ll have lots of little step siblings that’ll keep you company. Also- I’m super popular, and you’ll be popular as well. What do you say?” Overhaul asked.

“You will never, if ever, be my stepfather! Detroit Smash!!” Izuku Cried, pulling off a One For All On Overhaul while Uraraka opened the door, making him land in a nearby fish pond outside with a SPLASH!! Toga immediately made the jazz band stop, and she, Dabi, and Shigaraki went to check on their boss. “I’ll have Inko as my wife, whatever it takes!” Chisaki complained, as he stomped out of the pond as a fish on his head flopped back into the water.

Later, the kids hurried to the nearby hills to clear their minds on what had just happened. “Man, I don’t want Chisaki for a fatherly figure.” Izuku said, as he picked a dandelion and blew on it, making a wish that he would have the kindest father figure the world could offer.

Just then, Majesty rushed into the clearing, looking very worried! “What is it, girl? Where’s mom?!” Izuku cried, as he boarded Majesty. “Take us to her.” Melissa said as she told Majesty where to go. Soon, they arrived at U. A. Castle, where Kirishima got an uneasy feeling in his gut.

“We should go back.” He said. “There’s no time. Mom... we’re coming for you.” Izuku said as he and his friends bravely entered the dark castle. They were ready to save Inko from the terror that was awaiting them...

15 notes · View notes

pitviperofdoom · 7 years

Text

BNHA: Riddles in the Heart, 3/3

Pairing: Tododeku

Summary: The law is clear: whoever correctly answers three riddles will marry the prince, while all who fail are to be executed. The people live in fear as more challengers try and fail, and the throne grows bloodier with every passing year. But a young prince, nameless and in exile from his home, believes there may be more to this brutal challenge than meets the eye.

Of course, there’s only one way to find out: ring the gong, and take the trial.

(Royalty/Fantasy AU)

AO3

Act III: None Shall Sleep

The tunnel led out of an old shed at the edge of the square. Deku nudged the door carefully ajar, checked for guards, and finally slipped back out into the open. Tossing the torch into the fountain, he scanned the square until at last he spotted the familiar figures of his companions, clustered together and watching the palace gates.

He tried not to run too quickly, not wanting to look suspicious or draw attention to himself, and finally managed to sidle close enough to sprint the rest of the way under the cover of darkness.

“I have some good news, and some bad news,” he said, nearly startling the life out of Uraraka.

“Deku! W-what—how did you—where did—?”

His father caught hold of him, looking dazed with relief. “You’re alive. My son—does that mean…?”

“What happened?” Iida asked.

“The good news is, I answered all the riddles,” Deku went on, watching the palace on the hill for any sign of activity. “The bad news is, King Enji found out who I am, and… he isn’t happy about it.”

“Well we knew he wouldn’t be,” Iida pointed out. “But if you passed the trial anyway, then his happiness doesn’t enter into it.”

“Normally that would be true, but it turns out we may have underestimated his hatred for us.” Deku clenched his teeth. “I think he would have killed me on the spot, but I bought time by extending the game.” He saw them opening their mouths, surging forward to question him, and shook his head furiously while grasping his father’s arm to forestall interruptions. “I don’t have much time. The king has to guess my name by sunrise. So until then—you know nothing of me. We’ve never met.” At the top of the hill, guards were emerging from the palace. “I have to go.”

“Your Highness—” Iida warned.

“He tried to torture the answer out of me the moment I named my challenge,” Deku hissed back. “And he would have, if Shouto hadn’t helped me escape. If they find out you know me, he’ll try to do the same to you.” He looked around once more, checking for approaching guards. “I’m sorry. It’s all gone wrong—just stay ahead of them until sunrise.”

“We’ll split up,” Uraraka said. “Iida, stay with the king. Let’s go, Deku.”

Deku blinked, startled. “Wait—but it’d be better if—”

“No buts,” she snapped. “Clearly you need a bodyguard, so let’s go.”

“I’ll protect your father with my life,” Iida said fiercely.

“We’ll see you again at sunrise,” the king added, releasing his son reluctantly. “Good luck.”

As guards began to rush down the hill, the nameless prince and his single guard fled the square.

---

“The challenger has fled! By order of the king, no one in this city shall sleep until the challenger’s name is known! Anyone who brings forth his name or the young man himself shall be rewarded! Anyone caught sheltering the fugitive will share his death sentence! Any home, shop, or building suspected of hiding him will be put to the torch with its owners inside! The king has spoken!”

---

Uraraka had not let go of his wrist for several hours. They had stopped perhaps twice, never for longer than a few minutes—enough to drink a few mouthfuls of water, and then move on again.

The king’s guards were out in force, combing every inch of the city for them. At any given moment, it seemed that the two of them were barely a step ahead of capture. Hungry, weary, and longing for sleep, the pair kept their feet moving and sought a proper hiding place. Thankfully none of the townsfolk were after them, but after the king’s grim threat, they could not be counted on for aid.

At last, when their path took them close enough, Deku remembered the secluded garden where he had spoken with Prince Shouto earlier that evening. The thick flowering plants provided ample cover, as long as they kept off the path, and from there they had a straight shot to the graveyard nearby. The two of them crept in among the tombstones, many of them clustered and crowded together, and paused to breathe.

Here, at least, the guards did not dare to walk.

“Well, at least this is nothing new for us,” Uraraka remarked under her breath. “On the run from people trying to kill us. If nothing else, we’ve had plenty of practice. Right?”

Beside her, Deku stumbled mid-step and sank to the ground. He crouched in the shelter of a tall headstone, trembling.

Uraraka knelt by him. “I think we can afford to catch our breath. Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” Deku rasped. “Just fine. Sorry. Don’t worry about me, I’ll be all right. I’m sorry. I…” His voice cracked, and he shifted until his side was pressed up against the stone, knees drawn up. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Uraraka, I’m so sorry—”

“Deku?” Uraraka shifted closer, feeling her way to Deku’s shoulder in the scant light of the moon. His head was down, his face hidden as he ran his shaking hands through his tangled curls, but she could hear him crying quietly. “Deku, talk to me.”

“This wasn’t what I wanted,” Deku whispered. “I didn’t—I didn’t mean for this to happen, I swear—”

Her soft sigh barely reached his ears before she drew him into a hug. “I know. I know you didn’t.”

“You heard what they said. You heard—Uraraka, he’s going to kill people.”

“Look at where we are, Deku,” she reminded him. “He already has.”

“But—all those people, who took the challenge, they knew the risks,” Deku went on, breath hitching with quiet sobs. “They knew—they could die. But—but now this whole city, all these people—because of me—”

Uraraka’s arms tightened around him. “It’s not just you,” she said. “You’re not the one threatening them. Deku—” she pulled back, hands on his shoulders, careful not to use her power by accident. “Deku, the only way you’ve caused any of this is by playing fair, and expecting the king to do the same. And he didn’t.”

“I should’ve known,” Deku whispered. “But—I was stupid. I’m only alive now because others helped me. Others took risks for me, and—” He shuddered again, tears falling freely from his eyes. “I thought I could help the prince. But I think I just made everything worse for him.”

“You said he helped you escape,” Uraraka said. “Do you think we can count on him to help us again?”

Deku tensed immediately, eyes wide. “I can’t—Uraraka, no, I don’t even know how his father’s punished him for helping me escape, I can’t—I can’t ask any more of him.”

“Come sunrise, we’ll need something,” Uraraka said softly. “If King Enji didn’t accept his first loss, then something tells me he won’t bend to a second.” She looked to where the palace stood silhouetted against the night sky. “If he’s this mad, I wouldn’t put it past him to execute every soul in this city if he doesn’t get his way.”

Deku shuddered again.

“We won’t let him.” Uraraka squeezed his shoulder. “Breathe, Deku. Use that mind of yours.”

Slowly, Deku took a deep breath and let it out again. It shook both ways. “I’m trying. I can’t stop thinking about Prince Shouto, and that command from before—none shall sleep. How many people are awake and afraid for their lives right now?”

“They’re why we need to win this,” Uraraka said fiercely. “If we give up, then they may be spared tonight, but all of this will only continue. More people will die. You know that, right?”

Shakily, Deku nodded. “Do you think Father and Iida are all right?”

“Definitely. There’s not a soul alive who can catch Iida.”

“If King Enji finds Father…”

“Then he’ll hardly recognize him,” Uraraka reminded him. “His Majesty doesn’t look himself these days, remember? We can’t give up, Deku. Whether or not King Enji likes it, the more we best him, the greater claim we have.” She patted him. “You keep using that head of yours, and let me know if you think of something. For now, let’s find somewhere more defensible.”

“R-right.” Shakily, Deku rose to his feet again. “Thank you, Uraraka.”

Her teeth flashed in the dark as she grinned. “Anytime, Deku.”

In the heavy silence of the shadowed graveyard, a whisper-shout cut through the night. “There you are!”

Uraraka cursed under her breath, and she seized Deku’s arm in a tight grip and readied herself to flee. “Run!”

“Wait!” Deku dug his heels in, twisting around in the direction of the voice. He squinted in the darkness, straining to see. With his eyes long adjusted to the night, it was easy to pick out the figures approaching. Three of them, and no more. “Wait, Uraraka.”

“But—”

“I hope you’re fucking proud of yourself, Deku,” Bakugou snarled as he stormed into view. Kirishima and Kaminari still flanked him. All of them looked harried, and had abandoned their palace uniforms for more inconspicuous clothing. “This goddamn manhunt has trashed half the city!”

Deku winced. “This isn’t what I thought would happen, Kacchan.”

“What, you thought the man who’s hated our king for years would hand over his throne?” Bakugou snarled.

“Our king?” Uraraka echoed. “You mean these three…?”

“I didn’t want his damned throne!” Deku snapped, still fighting to keep his voice low. “I thought that once he knew that, he could be reasoned with.”

“Well, lesson learned,” Kaminari said dryly.

“I have to ask, though,” Deku went on. “You three—did you know about the trap?”

Kaminari’s face darkened. “I didn’t. If I had, and if I’d known that you were…” His voice trailed off. “I’d never have led you into that throne room, Your Highness.”

Kirishima punched Bakugou in the shoulder, none too gently. “I can’t believe you knew he was our prince the whole time.”

“Shut the fuck up, Kirishima, I didn’t know about the goddamn trap, either!” Bakugou seethed. “So, Deku, do you have any more clever plans? Because you’re going to fucking need one.”

“We’re with you if you do,” Kaminari said. “It’s the only chance we’ve had to escape since we first got here.”

“We’re not escaping,” Deku said.

“Fucking typical Deku,” Bakugou growled. “Then you’d better start thinking, Deku, because time’s running out.”

“For King Enji, yes,” Uraraka said. “If we stay ahead of the guards for just another hour or two, it’ll be dawn.”

“To hell with King Enji! I’m talking about our king!” Bakugou’s voice cracked. “What’s your brilliant idea for that, Deku?”

Deku went still. “…What?”

“You didn’t hear?” Kirishima’s voice shook. “Some guard had spotted you with two others—an old blind man and a guard with glasses.”

“They were caught, not too long ago,” Kaminari added. “Last we heard, King Enji was holding them in the courtyard. He’s… he’s going to try to torture your name out of them.”

For a moment, Deku swayed on his feet. Then he moved like lightning, power crackling along his limbs, lending him speed as he turned toward the palace and lunged—

“Deku, no!” Uraraka caught him around the waist with both arms. “Just wait! Bakugou is right! We need a plan!”

“Let go!” Deku twisted in her arms. “Iida—my father—”

“They’re still alive!” Kirishima said. “They’re still alive, and the prince—Prince Shouto—he’s doing what he can for them. But…”

“I have to go to them!” Deku pleaded. “Uraraka, let me go!”

“I feel the same way!” Uraraka cried out. “But you can’t just rush in blindly! That’s what got us into this! Think, Deku! How can we win this?”

Deku went still. He was shaking again, tears gathering in his eyes as he stared up at the palace with raw pain on his face. “I… the guards… the king is strong, and I can’t fight him alone…”

“You’re not alone,” Uraraka gritted out, not letting go of him. She turned to glare at King Enji’s former servants. “You three—are you still loyal to our king?”

“Do you think we’d be here if we weren’t?” Bakugou snapped.

“We had to drag Bakugou off before he tried a rescue himself,” Kirishima said. “We thought it would be better to find you and see if you had anything.”

“The people here live in fear,” Deku spoke up suddenly. “Do they know where the blame lies? Would they fight back, given the chance?”

“From what I’ve heard, they’re mostly like you,” Kaminari replied. “They comfort themselves, thinking the king can be reasoned with. He’s harsh but honorable—that’s what they think. That’s what they tell themselves.”

“Then we have to let them know they’re wrong.” Deku’s teeth clenched. He had gone still in Uraraka’s arms, as tense as a coiled spring. “Uraraka. You were right. He has me on the run because I’ve been playing fair, and acting as if he will, too. I need to stop playing fair.”

“Oh!” Kirishima cried suddenly. “Speaking of not playing fair, the prince—the other prince, I mean, Prince Shouto—he said to give something to you.”

“When the fuck did you talk to him?” Bakugou demanded.

“Well…”

“Kirishima got caught when he sneaked back into the palace to see what was going on,” Kaminari answered for him. “Luckily the prince was the one who caught him.”

“He didn’t catch me,” Kirishima said stubbornly. “I went looking for him on purpose.” He looked to Deku. “He said to give this to you, if I happened to find you.”

Reaching over, Kirishima passed him a scroll. It had been removed from its roller, creased and rumpled from being shoved roughly into his pocket. By the light of the moon, Deku unrolled it and held it up for the others to see.

It was familiar to him, as battered as it was. It was written in skillful script and stamped with the royal seal—all three of the prince’s riddles, and their answers. And on the bottom corner, hastily scrawled in a much less careful hand, was a note, signed with the prince’s name:

Shout them in the streets.

Deku’s eyes widened. “Oh,” he whispered. “Oh, you clever boy.”

---

The blind king knelt in the grass, chest heaving with every harsh breath. With his hands tied tightly behind his back, he could not feel for his companion, or do much of anything. With his head still pounding from a sharp blow, it was a miracle in itself that he was still upright. “Iida?” he rasped.

“Still here, Your Majesty.” The young guard’s voice was steady—deceptively so. Blood ran from his forehead, and one eye was nearly swollen shut. “Enji’s left—probably giving us a moment to—” One of their guards struck him, cutting him off.

“That’s King Enji to you,” the man snapped. “His is the only majesty you need to be worrying about.”

“He’s no king of mine,” Iida growled.

Somewhere behind them, a side door into the palace opened and shut, and light, swift footsteps made heads turn toward their source. Iida drew in a sharp breath, and the guards’ armor rattled as they stood swiftly to attention.

“Your Highness,” one of them said stiffly. “We are under orders from your father to prevent anyone from—”

“If you want to prevent me, then I welcome you to step forward and try. Otherwise, hold your tongue.” Prince Shouto’s voice was as cold as it was familiar to the two prisoners. Ignoring the sentries, he knelt down by the blind man and held a cup to his lips. “Here—drink this.”

Carefully the king sipped from the cup, and cool water soothed his parched throat. The cup shook in Prince Shouto’s hand as he took it away again. “Thank you, young prince,” the blind man said. “And thank you for earlier, as well.” When there was no answer, he continued. “It was you, wasn’t it? In that crowd?”

“Yes,” Prince Shouto replied, moving away. He offered the cup to Iida as well, who drank from it gratefully. “…I didn’t recognize you, King Toshinori.”

“Perfectly all right,” Toshinori assured him. “You weren’t meant to.”

“Thank you,” Iida murmured. “And thank you… for…” His voice trailed off, and he eyed the guards warily.

“It’s all right,” the prince replied flatly. “My father already knows I let your prince escape.” He took the cup away and moved back to Toshinori. Reaching out, he placed his right hand against the darkening bruise on the blind man’s forehead, soothing the pain with his power. As he did so, the edge of his sleeve slipped back a few inches from his wrist.

“Your arm,” Iida said quietly. “It’s bandaged. Did he…?”

“That’s not important.” Prince Shouto covered the bandaging with his sleeve again. “He’s beginning to panic. It’ll be dawn soon, and he’ll lose this game again if neither of you talk.”

Iida grinned fiercely.

“That only means he’ll be more desperate,” Prince Shouto went on. He could not look either of them in the eye. “Whether you speak or not… I don’t know if you will survive the morning.” His knuckles were white with tension. “I’m sorry.”

“From what I’ve been hearing,” Toshinori said gently. “It doesn’t seem as if you’ve had much of a say in all this, young prince. What have you to be sorry for?”

“I’m sorry you got caught up in all this,” Prince Shouto replied. “And I’m sorry I can’t do more for you. I… can’t repeat what I did, earlier. If I could, I swear to you I would.”

“That’s treasonous talk, Your Highness,” one of the guards snapped. Iida kicked out at him, and received another clout to the ear for his trouble.

“I suppose even a king like Enji has men loyal to him,” Toshinori said grimly.

Prince Shouto gave the guards a scornful glare. “Their loyalty is bought and paid for.”

The palace doors were flung open again, and the king himself came storming out, flames darting about his shoulders in his fury. His face was fixed in a furious snarl. “Get away from there,” he snapped, and Prince Shouto hesitated a moment too long before backing away.

“You’ve lost,” he said simply. “You know these two won’t talk.”

“Don’t underestimate me, boy,” the king snapped. “There is still time. Perhaps having one tortured will loosen the other’s tongue?”

Iida surged forward on his knees, until a guard stopped him with a spear point to his throat. Defiantly, Iida pressed his chin against the blade. “You might as well kill me,” he dared them, as a drop of blood trickled down his neck. “I’d rather die then give you what you want.”

“You say that now.” Enji’s eyes gleamed with malice. “Perhaps you’ll sing a different tune when you’re missing a few fingers.”

“Enji, stop this!” Toshinori cried out, turning his sightless face toward the other king. “This is madness and you know it! Besides—the boy knows nothing. He is only a guard, nothing more—do you think I would trust my heir’s identity with a mere footsoldier?”

“Your Majesty—” Iida warned.

“Let him go, Enji,” Toshinori said. “Torturing him will gain you nothing. My son’s true name is known only to me.”

King Enji turned to him slowly. Hatred hardened his features to cold stone. “So,” he said quietly. “I have you in my custody, and you offer your life to me willingly?”

“My life, yes,” Toshinori replied. “Nothing more than that. It’s me you hate, isn’t it? Well, I am here before you, blind and helpless. You have me at your mercy. Kill me, if that satisfies you, but I will never let you have anything else.”

Enji struck him across the face. Toshinori’s head snapped to one side, and blood trickled from his mouth, but he made no sound. “I once dreamed of defeating you,” Enji snarled. “Such a pathetic dream that turned out to be.”

“Coward,” Iida spat.

“You have nothing left,” Enji went on, ignoring him. “Your kingdom is lost to marauders. You’re blind, crippled—a wasted skeleton, a shell of your former self. Why do you defy me still?”

“I am fighting the only way I can, for reasons you will never understand.” Toshinori replied, as the bandages dampened over his eyes. “It is nothing less than love for my son. I have watched him grow, from the day I met him as a child to the day I named him my heir, and I will happily die for his sake. For hope for his future. His happiness.” The smile he gave was a bloody one. “That’s the beauty of it, Enji. Our sons will be so much more than either of us ever were.”

Prince Shouto stared at him, wide-eyed. King Enji’s eyes blazed with fury.

“You heard him.” For once, Enji’s voice was quiet, trembling with fury as he addressed one of the guards standing over Iida. “He’s of no use to us. Kill him.”

“Enji, no!” Toshinori roared.

The words had scarcely left his mouth when the cries from beyond the walls finally reached them. The guards froze in alarm, poised to strike Iida down. The king whipped around, rigid with shock.

A single scream rose above the others, and before the shocked eyes of all those in the courtyard, a lone thrashing figure rose up above the top of the wall. It was one of King Enji’s guards, shrieking as he fell the wrong way, higher and higher until he was too small to see. Another guard, stationed on the wall itself, toppled backward into the courtyard with three arrows protruding from his chest.

On the other side of the wall gates was an ominous explosion, followed by several more. The gates shook with each one, until they finally slammed inward.

Kirishima barreled in like a juggernaut, carried forward by the force of his own charge. He skidded to a halt, chest heaving, as an arrow glanced off his skin as harmlessly as if it were stone. Not far behind him strode the still-nameless prince, with Uraraka by his side. With them were Bakugou and Kaminari, and what looked to be only the front of a crowd of armed city folk.

“It’s getting on to dawn, Your Majesty.” The prince’s voice rang out clear above the cries of the crowd. “Have you found my name?”

The king’s flames crackled like thunder in his fury. “What is this?” he demanded.

“Your citizenry, King Enji,” the prince replied. “They wanted to see how the game ended.” At the look of rage on Enji’s face, the prince smiled. “Are you surprised, Your Majesty? I did tell you what I intended to do. Shout the answers to the riddles in the streets, remember? Name you an oathbreaker to your own people.” He held up the scroll in one hand, and inclined his head to Prince Shouto. “It didn’t hurt to have the authority of the Crown Prince himself behind me.”

The king bared his teeth. “You think I can’t put down a simple revolt? Have the perpetrators executed?”

“If you’d like to execute an entire city, you can certainly try,” the prince retorted. “I was almost amazed, Your Majesty. It’s as if your subjects were waiting for an excuse to turn on you.”

“Little brat—”

“Loyalty costs so little, King Enji,” the nameless prince taunted him. “A kind word. A helping hand. A promise kept.” His teeth showed sharp and white as he spoke. “To think a cheap king like you tried to buy me.”

Before the king could form a reply, day broke.

The sun rose above the horizon, touching the edges of buildings and turning the sky from inky blue to purple and orange. The wall might have hidden it otherwise, but with the gates open, no one could deny that dawn had come. A cheer rang out from the small army at the gates, and the guards at King Enji’s back faltered.

“My name is Izuku.” The prince’s smile shone brighter than the rising sun. “I am King Toshinori’s hand-chosen heir, and I have beaten you twice now in a single night. You’ve lost, Your Majesty.”

Enji’s grip tightened on his sword, and he rounded upon the blind king that knelt at his feet.

No one saw Prince Shouto move. No one saw him snatch a sword from one of the shocked guards—not until he stood between his father and the blind king, blades ringing as they clashed.

“Even you would betray me, Shouto?” Enji snarled. “You might be spared execution for being my son, but there are far worse things than death!”

“I am done with waiting,” his son hissed back, eyes burning with cold anger. “I am done with surviving. This ends now.” His eyes turned to Prince Izuku. “There will be more guards coming from inside,” he said. “Can you handle them?”

“I’m in your debt,” Izuku replied.

“No.” Shouto’s left side lit up with flames, while ice spread across the ground from his right. “I’m still repaying mine.”

A battle broke out in the courtyard, as guards raced from the palace and angry citizens poured in to meet them, led by Prince Izuku and the three former palace servants. Uraraka charged the guards holding Iida and her king alone. One she sent screaming into the sky, the other she wounded before she cut Iida’s bonds and pressed a dropped sword into his hands. Izuku joined them, and together they formed a shield around King Toshinori, protecting the blind man from harm.

In the midst of it all, the rebels gave their king and prince a wide berth. Fire danced and leapt, ice creaked and groaned and shattered, and blades clashed viciously.

And when the dust and the blood finally settled, the courtyard was strewn with dead. A few citizens, but far more guards, lay lifeless on the grass.

King Enji knelt among them, wounded and unarmed, with the point of his son’s sword pressed to his throat.

His hateful eyes locked with Shouto’s. “Go ahead, boy. Kill me.”

“I should.” Shouto’s voice was cold. “For what you did to my mother, I have the right. But I won’t. I’m not like you, Father. I don’t need to kill to get my way.” He raised his head and looked around, eyes alighting on one of his father’s own dead guards.

“Prince Shouto?” Iida stepped forward. “He may be a difficult prisoner. If I can assist you in any way—”

“That man there,” he said, nodding toward the dead guard. “He’s carrying shackles that block magic. I have a feeling we’ll need them.”

By the time the sun had fully risen above the horizon, the former king had been dragged down to his own dungeons, and the dead had been carried out of the courtyard for burial. The moment his father was secure, Shouto ran immediately to a secluded tower of the palace, unlocked a door for the very last time, and freed his mother from her long imprisonment. When she was told what had passed, she collapsed in tears of relief and remorse, as her own long ordeal was finally over, as well. The prince wept as well, and years-old hurts finally began the long journey toward healing.

It took quite some time for Prince Izuku to stop crying from relief, or for his blind father to release him from his joyful embrace. When the tears had finally run their course, the queen was freed and cared for, and the wounded were in the care of the smiling old healer woman from the city, Prince Shouto quietly drew him aside.

“It’s done, isn’t it?’ Izuku said, before Shouto could speak. “The challenge. All the death and fear.”

“Of course it’s done,” Shouto replied. “You won it, after all.” He hesitated, looking toward the sunrise. “My father broke his oath,” he said. “But I will not. You told me before, that you didn’t need the reward that was offered, but… if you would ask it of me…” He bit his lip, and turned to look at Izuku’s face. “What is it you ask of me?”

“I had plans,” Izuku replied. “I took the challenge because I hoped to end the conflict between our kingdoms, and to gain a strong ally—my kingdom needs friends, these days. But I also meant what I said before.” He met Shouto’s eyes. “I saw you in the tower, on the morning of the execution. I saw how sad you were. How trapped you were. You looked like you needed help.”

“I did,” Shouto admitted. “As for the rest, I’d say that any bad blood between our countries ended with my father’s reign.” His eyes glinted with fierce determination. “And if it’s aid you need, then you shall have it. Your enemies are mine.”

“Thank you,” Izuku said, with a soft sigh of relief. “And…” He stepped closer, and clasped the other prince’s hands warmly. “I don’t want to bully or manipulate you into anything. I don’t want you to see me a certain way because you were forced, or because you think you have to. But, since neither of us are interested in marriage, then… perhaps I might have a chance to court you properly?” The other prince’s scarred face flushed crimson, and he went on hastily. “L-like I said—only if you want to! But if you do, then… I’d like to win you over the right way.”

Shouto’s eyes softened as he looked at his fellow prince. Slowly, he lifted one of Izuku’s hands and pressed it gently to his lips. “You say that as if you haven’t won me over already.”

A soft smile came unbidden to Izuku’s face. “Humor me?”

Shouto lowered their hands and returned the grin. “No more riddles?”

“Not for a while,” Izuku replied. “It’s your decision to make, Prince Shouto. As it should have been from the beginning.”

The next kiss came to the corner of Izuku’s mouth, soft and feather-light. “I like the sound of that, Izuku.”

---

“I’ve got one for you,” Izuku whispered in his ear, many months later when battles were won, invaders routed, cities freed, and old wounds and scars slowly healing.

“Ask away,” Shouto murmured back, and Izuku recited the rhyme as soft and lilting as a song.

“This thing all things overpowers

Freezes, burns, creates, devours,

Breaks what heals and heals what breaks,

In equal measure it gives and takes,

Molds the world and conquers man,

Tell me what it is, if you can.”

And Shouto thought for a moment, his lovely eyes far away and bright. When he answered, it was not immediately with a word, but a kiss. Izuku melted against his side, so close that you could hardly tell where one ended and the other began. Shouto did not speak again until all the thoughts had fled from Izuku’s mind.

“Love,” he whispered, so close that Izuku could taste the word. “The answer is love.”

Izuku smiled into the kiss. “Isn’t it always?”

#my hero academia #boku no hero academia #tododeku #royalty au #fanfiction #tales from the pit

73 notes · View notes