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kiribakus · 7 years

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parted, and never parted || kiribaku week 2017

kiribaku || 4,100 words || sfw || @kiribakuweek2k17

Before going into battle, it’s only proper to make an offering to the god of war. But Kirishima’s run out of things to give.

space / fantasy au / nightmares

>> READ ON AO3 <<

“‘There’s nothing left’? What does that mean?”

Kirishima paces in front of the brazier in his tent, hands clasped behind his back. In front of him, Kaminari, his second-in-command, slumps from his attentive posture.

He holds out his hands. “We have nothing left to sacrifice. Anymore and our men won’t just be hurting—they’ll be dying, Eijirou-sama.”

Kirishima shakes his head. “That can’t be all. How much rice do we have left?”

Kaminari’s hands clench into fists. “We’ve rationed down to two bowls a day, with whatever meat the men can scavenge from the forests and rivers. We’ve gone from livestock and fish to frogs and shrimp. We’re living like peasants.”

“Surely the towns we’ve passed through have paid more tribute than that.”

“They have nothing,” Kaminari says. “The other warlords have razed their fields and destroyed their villages so we have nowhere to seek shelter. Any sake or fruits they offer us as tribute have been sacrificed. And if we cut down the rations anymore, our men will starve. Or worse—mutiny.”

“They won’t mutiny,” Kirishima says. “They believe in me.”

“I believe in you,” Kaminari says. “But we can’t keep depending on the gods to protect us in battle��we have to do this on our own now.”

Kirishima stops pacing and sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. “Alright. Alright. We won’t sacrifice rice. I’ve seen them—their strength is flagging. Iron, then.”

Kaminari’s shoulders slump. “What iron, Eijirou-sama? Our fine blades are gone. We can barely manage to sharpen our swords in the ruins of forges.”

“Armor?”

“Tattered and pierced. Not even our enemies would peel our armor off our hides.”

“Heirlooms? Charms? Anything of value, at all?”

Kaminari’s smile is brittle. “You would strip out men of the charms given to them by their wives and children, all to appease this god of war?”

“He is the reason we are undefeated, Kaminari,” Kirishima says. “I pledged my soul to him.”

“No, you are the reason we are undefeated!” Kaminari cries. “You are the Unbreakable Kirishima Eijirou, whose shield never falls and whose sword never cracks. You are able to bend metal with your bare hands and crush bones between your teeth. You are a legend and a god yourself, not…not…”

Kirishima holds a hand up. He moves towards Kaminari, out of breath and hanging his head. Kirishima takes his face in his hands and presses their foreheads together. Kaminari’s cheeks are dirty with the mud and soot that they never seem to be able to wash out, even though they bathe as often as they fight. There’s a slash across his lip from a close call, more nicks below his eye and across his cheek, all in various stages of healing. Kaminari has taken a beating but he is not beaten—their men are not beaten. Not yet.

“I know you are of little faith,” Kirishima says. Kaminari opens his mouth to protest and Kirishima rests his thumb against his lips, quieting him. “You are of little faith in him,” he revises, smiling. “But I feel it in the wind that picks up before we go into battle, the electricity of a coming storm. I smell the scent of blood not yet spilled. I feel fire around my body, becoming my aura, and I know he is protecting me. I know I am untouchable.”

Kirishima leans back, cupping Kaminari’s cheeks. “It is not so high a price to pay for victory. We give him the best of what we have, and he is our beacon of hope. Our enemies are greater in resources and numbers. Would you not say our victories have been miracles?”

“They’re not miracles,” Kaminari grumbles. “You’re a genius strategist and a charismatic leader. Our people follow you because they love you, not because you are favored by a god.”

“Nevertheless,” Kirishima says. “I’ve been praying to him since I was a boy training to become a man. I will not abandon him.” He lifts his eyes to the shadow at the edge of his tent flap. “Jirou?”

“20,000 strong,” she says, bowing deeply. “We are but a tenth of their might. Some might call it foolishness to engage Shigaraki-sama.”

“Some might,” Kirishima says. “Does that include you?”

Jirou straightens up. “I’ll follow you to hell,” she says, unflinching.

“And you?” Kirishima looks at Kaminari.

“Beyond hell,” Kaminari vows.

“Well, I’d personally like to see both of you alive and well at the end of this,” Kirishima says. “Let’s see if I can’t wrangle us a miracle.”

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In a time of uncertainty and sorrow, The Unbreakable Kirishima Eijirou stood out as a lone beacon of hope.

He wasn’t much in the way of a warlord—he had little money, little land, and his army was composed of straggler mercenaries and volunteers from villages he passed through. His force never numbered above five thousand men at a time. And, so the rumors went, he wasn’t a day over twenty-five—the youngest warlord holding any territory in Japan, without a well-off family to back him.

A scrappy soldier like him should have been wiped out after his first battle. Hell, he shouldn’t have been able to raise an army of any kind from the start. Men who spoke about following a code of honor, of protecting those in their custody, of sharing the wealth they gained with each victory: they were a dying breed. Wiped out by the greedy and the wicked, those who killed just to whet their blades with the gore of the innocent, gold shining in their eyes and their hearts shriveled and empty. Men like Kirishima died with fear in their eyes, soaked in their own shit, a sword through their stomach.

But Kirishima didn’t die.

He didn’t falter. He gathered a force of a thousand and wiped out the neighboring tyrannical warlords and their armies overnight. He forgave those who turned against their evil masters. He left soldiers behind to rebuild villages and protect from invaders. He turned off anyone who would raise a hand to a woman or child. And all he asked of the people under his control was food to feed his men, a place to stay, and a small tribute that he could offer to the god he prayed to, his god of war.

The Red Riot—his army—swept across the country, crossing swords with all number of warlords from various families and factions. Kirishima didn’t have any one enemy—everyone was his enemy. He clawed his way through territory, his ranks swelling with men who had seen him in battle.

The Unbreakable Kirishima Eijirou—he never faltered, never earned more than a nick of a blade across his skin, never shattered his sword.

It was said that his army refused to go around mountains—they tunneled straight through. It was said that in battle his sword was too fast to be seen; the last thing you ever heard was the whine of it slicing through air and through your chest. It was said that when he fought, he was lit on fire, that touching his skin could burn you, and cutting him would melt your sword. It was said that Kirishima had gained supernatural powers from a god he killed—so much so that he had become a god himself.

Kirishima never discouraged any rumors except the last one.

His devotion to his god was nothing to sneeze at. Regardless of whether or not his men believed that he was guided by a god, they all respected his devotion. They passed on the finest drinks and the finest clothes, allowing the tributes to be burned in a massive bonfire every night to satisfy Kirishima’s god.

It’s okay if they don’t understand, Kirishima thinks. They don’t know him like I do.

He met the god of war when he was a boy of fifteen, barely able to hold a bamboo sword, let alone the real thing. He had an itch under his skin, the urge to fight in a real war, to protect his five younger siblings and his mother now that his father was dead. He trained for war but was never suited for it, tripping and getting smacked around by the boys that were bigger and stronger than him. He ate dirt as often as he ate rice, coming home with cuts and bruises and a set to his jaw, promising himself that tomorrow he would be better.

It was on his way to one of these trainings that he tripped and fell down a hill, tumbling through the brush and over stones until he rolled to a stop in front of an abandoned shrine. Moss had grown over its roof and down the sides. Cracks were appearing in the stone and it listed to one side. There wasn’t a sign of human attention to the shrine and its god for years and years.

But what caught Kirishima’s eye was not the shrine’s state of disrepair, but the fox carved of white stone under the shrine’s roof. Its eyes were slanted and fierce, all its teeth bared and its tail held tall and straight. To Kirishima, this tiny fox looked like a noble beast, a proud, lonely god with no one to worship him, and what a shame that was, when he was so beautiful and strong.

Struck by inspiration, Kirishima clapped his hands together and bowed before the stone fox. “Please,” he said. “Please, if you grant me the strength to do battle, I swear I will devote myself to you for the rest of my days!” He left behind his lunch and a prayer, feeling as if the eyes of the fox were watching him as he walked away.

That day, he struck the tallest of the boys in his training group down with a single strike.

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Kirishima stands alone before the bonfire. He has sent away all his men, even Kaminari, who wanted to stay. This clash with Shigaraki—this would be their final battle. Kirishima hadn’t said it, but he knew deep in his bones that this would be the last battle before peace would reign. They had favorable relations with Todoroki's faction to the north and Midoriya's faction to the west. All that remained was Shigaraki and his reign of tyranny, destroying everything in his path as he fled, throwing innocent lives away all so that Kirishima’s men would have no place safe to rest.

It was possible that Midoriya or Todoroki might send men to assist Kirishima for part of the territory he would conquer if he defeated Shigaraki. But he couldn’t depend on them. It would take a miracle among miracles for them to fight twenty thousand men on their home turf, when they were waiting for them. He would need to offer a sacrifice greater than any he had before, and he had nothing.

Almost nothing.

He sheds his armor and his weapons, sheds his shirt and his boots. He stands before the fire bare-chested and barefoot, armed with nothing but a knife in his hand. For the greatest miracle, he would need to make the greatest sacrifice.

“I have no rice and no meat for you to make a meal of,” Kirishima says softly to the flames. “I have no sake so that you may drink and be merry. I have no silks with which you may clothe yourself, no armor with which you may protect yourself, no swords or bows with which to hunt and strike others down. I have no gold or jewels that may catch your eyes.”

He sinks to his knees. “You know me, great one. I have been by your side for ten years. I have given all that I have to you; for you gave me the gift of battle—my heart’s one desire. I have dedicated my life to honoring you with my gift in war, not using it for cruelty but rather to protect the people and uphold a code of honor. I am nothing but thankful and honored to be your worshipper.”

He bows his head. “But I must ask of you once more. It is impertinent of me to ask for anything when you have given so much, but I ask for the sake of my men—for the sake of everyone who has stood at my side and supported me. Tomorrow we fight for the last time. If we are not victorious, all will be for naught. We must be victorious.”

Kirishima raises his eyes, looks into the fire. “So I ask you, great one: will you not see us to victory, one last time? You are the god of war; this is your calling. Please see my men through one final battle. I do not have fine wares to offer you. I only have my single greatest treasure.” He takes a breath. “I offer you my life, and the gift of battle that comes with it. I hope you will accept this humble offering.”

Kirishima’s hand does not shake as he grasps the handle of the knife. He turns the knife inwards, wrapping his left hand over his right. Taking a deep breath, he closes his eyes, holds the knife above his heart—

—“No!” Kaminari cries out—

—And Kirishima hesitates. It wasn’t Kaminari’s cry, as he rushes to Kirishima’s side and tries to pry the knife from his hands. It wasn’t a lack of devotion, because Kirishima was at peace with giving his life to this god in order to secure a future for his men and his people. It was a flickering in the fire, a change in the shape of its movement, a sudden rush of heat against his face. Kirishima opens his eyes.

“You fucking moron,” Kaminari hisses, still trying to pry the knife from Kirishima’s hands. “You idiot, you selfless bastard, how dare you offer up your life when—”

“Look, Kaminari.”

“No, I will not look. I won’t settle for anymore of this nonsense about your god when you were about to abandon us—”

“Denki. Look.”

At the sound of his given name, Kaminari looks up. He glances at Kirishima, follows his gaze to the fire, looks back at Kirishima to ask what the hell he was looking at, then has to ogle at the fire as he finally sees the figure standing at the center of the bonfire.

He’s dressed in nothing but a cloak of white fox fur, a fox head hood over his hair—as white as the fur—and paws draping over his shoulders. There are lines of red running down from his eyes and over his cheekbones. Around his neck he wears a necklace of fox teeth, small and sharp. The fire does not burn his cloak nor his skin; his feet are bare against the orange embers.

Kaminari meets eyes red as fresh blood. He takes a step back.

The figure is not looking at Kaminari though—he only has eyes for Kirishima, who holds his gaze only a moment longer before he sinks into a bow of complete submission, his body curled over his knees and pressed as flat on the floor as he can. Kaminari stumbles to his knees as well, although he does not bow.

The figure tilts his head to the side, firelight catching on red fangs pierced through his ears. “You recognize your god?” he asks, barely audible above the crackle of the fire.

“I’ve known you for ten years,” Kirishima says. “I would recognize you anywhere, in any form.”

“Then look upon me,” he says. “I did not take a human form to be ignored.”

Kirishima looks up.

The god steps forward. Where his foot lands, the coals spark up even hotter, flames licking at the sky, wavering uncontrollably. When he exhales, smoke passes between his lips. He steps out of the fire and the grass beneath his feet turns to ash. The flames lick at his skin, pulled to his presence like a magnet. He wears the flames instead of clothing, and Kirishima’s eyes tear up as he tries to look into the brilliance that is his god.

“What is this?” The god asks.

Kirishima swallows. “I am giving my life to you,” he says. “In exchange for—”

“Giving your life to me?” The god snorts. “You were about to take your own life in my name and waste the gift I have given you. Do you think so little of this blessing?”

“No!” Kirishima shouts. “Never!”

“Then why do you return it? Do you not want it?”

“I—” Kirishima averts his eyes. “I was asking a greater favor than even this blessing. It’s only fair that I return the gift you’ve given me. To ask for more would be…”

“Would be what? Too much?” The god blinks. “Do I look like an unforgiving god?”

(At that moment, at least, Kaminari thought he looked pretty terrifying, scolding the greatest warlord in all of Japan.)

“But—” Kirishima says.

“But nothing,” the god says. “Stand, my insolent mortal.”

Kirishima gets to his feet slowly, eyes wide.

“Do you know what a battle is, to a god of war?” the god asks.

Kirishima shakes his head.

“Child’s play,” the god says. “It is a run through the woods. It a wrestle with a brother. It is burning of energy, when I get restless. It is nothing. I could slay every one of Shigaraki’s men when the flick of my wrist.”

Kirishima and Kaminari swallow.

“But do you know what it means to raise a god?” he asks, reaching a hand tipped in claws to rest the back of it against Kirishima’s cheek. “Of course you don’t. You never even considered it.”

“Great one…?” Kirishima asks.

“Enough of that,” the god snaps. “Great one this, and great one that. You are…a precious friend.”

“Me?” Kirishima squeaks.

“When you found my shrine, I was barely a god,” he says. “I had no purpose, no worshippers, on the verge of fading from this world. Then you came along. You offered me a prayer and all the food you had on you. And I, who had grown mistrustful of mortals, decided to take a chance on you and grant your wish, with what little power I had in my body.

“Lo and behold, you came to me again and again. You never asked for more than that tiny gift I had given you, but bestowed offering upon offering, gratitude and devotion. Through these ten years, you have made me from nothing into what you believed me to be: your patron god of war. I am now the strongest in the land, as you have become strongest in the land.”

He takes a hold of Kirishima’s face. “I was content to live in the shadows, watching over your battles and protecting you. But then you just had to do something as fucking stupid as trying to kill yourself in my name. Did you honestly believe I wanted that?”

“I—” Kirishima starts, but the god cuffs him across the head before he can finish. Kirishima stumbles, tearing up at the force of the blow.

“That’s for insulting my nature, bastard,” he says. “Now thank your god for showing you the error of your ways.”

“I—thank you?” Kirishima says. He’s staring at the god, who has his lip curled and is crossing his arms. “But…what can I do to get you to grant my wish? Like I said, I have nothing left to offer you—”

“Weren’t you listening?” the god growls. He grabs Kirishima by the hair and presses their foreheads together.

Even though he’s trembling, Kirishima holds the god’s gaze. He expects to see anger overlaying his reflection to match the bristly exterior of this beast. What he sees instead is depthless, warm red, looking through him to his core and warming him from the outside in. There isn’t a lick of anger or disgust, only—dare he call it by name—fondness.

“I would burn the world to ashes, if only you would ask me to,” the god says.

“Please,” Kirishima begs. “Your name. You must tell me your name.”

The god huffs. “Katsuki. I am a victor. You made me a victor, Eijirou.”

“You call me friend,” Kirishima says. “You call me by my name. You have watched over me for ten years. This final wish I make of you—please let me repay you somehow. So we can be equals, and never owe each other again.”

“Hmm,” Katsuki says. “You have already given me enough, though.”

“Please, there must be something.”

“So presumptuous,” Katsuki says, “to think you have what it takes to satisfy me.”

“I’ll do whatever I must,” Kirishima vows.

“Fine, then,” Katsuki says. “Serve me forever, as my equal. Marry me.”

In the background, Kaminari chokes on his own spit. Kirishima makes a low noise in his throat. It’s as if all the heat from the fire has rushed to his face.

“Marry you?” he repeats, coughing.

“What? You’d die for me but draw the line at giving your life to me, forever?” Katsuki raises an eyebrow.

“No,” Kirishima says. “That’s not—no. It’s just…unexpected.”

“Then dance with me,” Katsuki says. “Dance with me, and see if this is what you want.”

So Kirishima does. He moves in the traditional dance between a man and his suitor—usually a woman, but in this case, a god. Their palms touch as they move past each other. His steps around the fire are light and steady, focus given more to the sweeping hand movements and clapping to the time of a melody that a band plays just out of sight. Was it Katsuki’s godliness that made the music play? Kirishima can’t tell. It’s haunting and lovely, each note vibrating and hanging in the air.

He doesn’t look at Katsuki as he dances. This is a dance for him, to see how their rhythms match up and how well they fit. All he sees of Katsuki is the flash of white fox fur or skin covered in flames, with the warm press of a palm to his every time they pass each other. But as the music gets louder, Kirishima feels a change in the atmosphere. Katsuki’s palms get rougher and larger, the brush of fox fur closer and closer. Kirishima thinks he hears a snarl when he spins, or catches the flash of black gums over yellow fangs. The music reaches its climax and Kirishima spins once more, reaching his hands out to take the hands of his partner.

His hands fall, instead, to either side of a great muzzle. The kitsune stands taller than him, leaning his muzzle down for Kirishima to grasp. Under his fingers, Katsuki’s fur is soft as down. His eyes are narrow and red, red, red, bleeding down in tear tracts from his eyes to his muzzle, striping it. Each of his nine tails bears a different red pattern along its length. Katsuki looks into Kirishima’s eyes.

One for every year I’ve known you, he says. And one year to be complete.

“This is who you are,” Kirishima says.

My love for you is undying, Katsuki says. Will you take my hand?

“For as long as you’ll have me, I am yours,” Kirishima says. He reaches out a hand and when he blinks, Katsuki is standing before him as a human again, taking his hand and pulling him close to seal their mouths together.

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Those who lived to see The Red Riot’s final battle say it was blessed by the gods. Like parting a flock, the smaller force cut through Shigaraki’s men. It was like they weren’t even there. Two thousand men against twenty thousand—they cut through their ranks like an arrow through a man’s heart, the men not feeling pain or fear as they cut down their enemies. So ferocious were they that Shigaraki’s men broke formation and ran.

But the crown jewel of The Red Riot had to be Kirishima Eijirou. No one could touch him. He ran fast as a fox, ducking and weaving through every stroke and stray arrow that came his way. He was unbreakable, then, more than any other moment. His men swore that in that battle, he truly became a god. With every sweep of his sword he was laughing, as if he knew there was no mortal alive who could lay a hand on him.

Some promised that they saw a golden-white kitsune racing at his side.

Kaminari never affirms or denies those rumors, but watches with a smile as Kirishima chases down a man with fair hair and an otherworldly air about him, back in his village, the old shrine just a minute's walk from his home.

#kiribaku #bakushima #krbkweek #bnha #fics #HAHA ONE I ACTUALLY LIKE #expect more kitsune bakugou he's my fave #i like to think kiri also became a god himself eventually

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embers-blaze · 4 years

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BNHA Fic. Wolf Bakugou Katsuki X Rouge Sinnett 1

Got bored. Decided to do this. My OC I’ve talked about like a hundred times on my main blog. Except it would probably be cast in the Tudor era? When witches were ‘spotted’ and killed. Yeah, that time zone. 17th Century got it. Might change Rouge’s clothes to fit.

If you want any info on her I might make a character sheet, oh and she is not canon to my Black Butler/Naruto fic, totally separate. I haven’t gotten it all planned out yet, but with all this spare time I might be able to finish at least one of these stories.

Hope you enjoy.

Word Count: 2002

###

It was sunny today. The sky held no clouds as far as my eye could see, markets were in action and children ran around. Truly this place could be seen as happy.

But all of that was fake. I remember how they would gather any weapon they could if anything out of the ordinary were to happen. I couldn’t count the number of times stuff like that happened to anyone, last time… It was only a child. Her Parents didn’t even stop the people from taking the child away.

Because of the colours of her eyes.

But that didn’t stop me from freeing the poor kid. She was so frightened at the same time. I will continue to save anyone from that type of prejudice.

After all, there was only one true Demon. After what they did!

After what I had gone through, I swear it won't happen to anyone.

Ever…

‘A poster?’ I thought. It was new as the ink was still wet as the words [Beware The Monster. Beware, Stay Away From This Foul Demon] were written across a plank of wood. People were gathered around a man who was chanting insignificant words I couldn’t even listen too.

The ‘Beast’ had Ash blond hair, from the dirt in the abandoned forest, which was forbidden from anyone entering.

Eyes of the blood of his enemies, apparently it was said once he saw you, it was all over.

And his fangs as well as his claws, so sharp they could rip the neck of any child and woman, beware beware, blah blah blah, what a bunch of morons.

Well, not all of them.

The hand on my shoulder proved that to me, my single friend in this whole damn Village. Our meeting was irregular, to say the least.

It was after I had saved that girl, he saw me, he was right to feel scared, I was covered in blood after all, and not all of it was mine but I couldn’t tell him that then. There were many that had tried to kill me, and within the battle, I could not take them all on without some scars.

I believed he would try to kill me or shout about my presence. I was close to losing consciousness. Too tired but my first thought was to protect the girl at any cost.

But then he helped me.

And took care of some of my injuries, I had first told him it wasn’t of any need, but he insisted on doing so.

He also cared for the kid; a girl named Eri I was later told. She had beautiful long Silver hair and gorgeous red eyes. She was absolutely adorable. After she fell asleep I asked the stranger why he cared for us. He said:

“I knew deep down that you’re a good person, and that you were concerned more with the child than yourself, it wouldn’t have been right for me to abandon you like that” I had slightly blushed at the comment before quietly thanking him. It had been a long time since someone had last given me such generosity.

“No problem, oh I haven’t introduced myself. I’m Izuku, Izuku Midoriya”

“I’m Rouge Sinnett” And ever since then, we became close friends. We travelled from Village to Village just us three. And stay in case any ‘trouble’ appeared. I had made my disdain for the humans known to Izuku and he had wanted to change my mind, saying how not all humans are bad and in fact, they could be good just like him. He was incredibly stubborn to prove his point, that was one of the main reasons we came out as this travelling crew.

“Hey Rouge, I didn’t think you’d be up so early?”

“Well with all of this racket I could not fall back asleep.” I jabbed my thumb in the direction of where the older man continued to speak of tales of a Demon that had also resided in those woods, something about having different coloured hair. I stopped listening.

“C’mon I know a place with some herbs I’m in short supply off.” He dragged me off to this hut while we waited.

Eri was tucked safely in the small hut we found amongst our travels, it was our home I was able to make look decent within some hours. Eri and Izuku were both astounded and surprised. It was small but held a homely feeling.

I looked towards the forest when Izuku and I headed back. He seemed confused about my interest in the forest but figured I would be fine. After all, I had been able to protect the two in a number of situations.

But he could still tell something was bugging me.

“What's the matter Rouge?”

“One of the humans spoke about something being in the forest, I’m not sure if it's another poor soul trying to escape from its captors or not.” He could tell I was upset, he knew how much I hated creatures with no protection or strength being thrown around like nothing. So he tugged me back, holding my hand and rubbing circles on my hand. We were close, him a Brother and me the Sister.

“Izuku! Rouge! I missed you” Small hands enveloped around us as we gave our own love back to her.

“We missed you too sweetie, I’m so glad you were such a good girl for us Eri, now how about we eat ok?” She nodded enthusiastically before dragging our hands to the fireplace.

We talked and ate. Played some games before Izuku tucked Eri into bed. I was outside still looking out into the forest, as he soon noticed.

He sat next to me and nudged my shoulder to gain my attention.

“Y’know you could go out and find whatever it is that’s bothering you, we’ll stay here” He smiled his cheeky grin.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes now go, I know once a thought comes into your mind it won’t go.” He gently pushed me away towards the forest before I nodded back.

“I’ll try to be quick” I zoomed into the forest in a blink of an eye, Izuku just shook his head as he went back inside, he was getting sleepy as well.

‘Goddamn, it!’ The being howled in pain internally. With him running through the woods he didn’t look at the ground he hurriedly stepped on, causing his foot to set off a trap.

They would find him now.

Damn everything to hell, he didn’t ask to be hunted.

And with all those pesky Villages and their pitchforks, he’d be lucky to survive from his injuries.

Or maybe he would be sold to another human again, not like he stayed for long anyways, he was always on the run, surviving on his own.

He didn’t need anyone.

“Minister I think I heard a trap set off” No, this was not the end!

He would fight till his last breath like he always did.

Like he always would.

“You’re-” A voice.

He had stupidly let his guard down to not notice someone approach him. He bared his teeth and claws out to give off his dominance, signifying he was not dead yet. But he was surprised to see no pitchfork but a woman instead.

He could tell by her short figure.

He saw her blue eye--yes singular--quickly scanning his appearance before her eye rested on the trap that encased his foot.

Then they both heard it.

“It definitely came from this direction, Men! Arm yourselves!” The orange hue of fire could be seen by the pair as they momentarily watched.

And only one could escape.

“I know you probably think I’m going to turn you in but I’m not” She bent down but he was still on guard. He’d been lied to before like hell he’d be lied to again.

She reached out to grab the ankle trap but he clawed her away, thinking she would leave and give him up.

But she looked at him, with a pleading look almost.

“I promise I’m here to help, please just trust me this once”

They were getting closer.

‘Maybe she isn’t lying. Ugh, fuck it all!’ He tried to undo the trap himself, but he was making too much noise.

!!!

Her hands wrapped around his, and they were warm. Like really warm.

He let out a grunt and turned away, the girl took that as an indication to help.

“This will probably hurt, I’ll try to do it fast ok” He grunted again, he was already annoyed with having to have help in the first place.

But she was honest.

It hurt like a bitch.

He would’ve screamed an immense amount of profanities, but it wasn’t the time for that.

And he didn’t even shake her off when she dragged him away.

‘The hell is she taking me!?’ He didn’t get to ask before they ducked into a bush.

“Stay here,” He didn’t respond in time as she left. He hadn’t a clue what she was doing.

Snap.

‘That bastard set another trap off!’ He had to run, but his leg would surely give out at any moment.

“Young Maiden, what has happened! Men help her!” He heard the sound of metal broken apart as whimpers from a woman were heard.

A woman who didn’t sound like the one he had just seen.

Did she just leave-!

“Minister, I’m sorry… He took my child and left me, please find her. Please! They went that way!”

!!!

“What!” He grunted but clamped his hand over his mouth. That wench, double-cross him huh? When he would get his hands on her-

“Of course, men, get going! Don’t come back until the head of that Beast is in your hands” There were cheers as they all made there way in the direction the woman pointed in.

‘They’re going to find me because of that- that- Damn it! The hell did I trust her’

But as time went on. He didn’t hear footsteps coming towards him… But going further and further away.

‘What’ He had the urge to look back, but he suppressed it.

Whoever it was had just lied to them.

“Hey… Wolfy, they’re gone now” It was her!

He growled at her, angry that she tricked him, for making him believe that, angry for that stupid nickname.

“Get lost” The first words he uttered to her. Not bad considering he was more of an act now talk later kinda guy. The fact he was giving her a chance was saying something.

“Hey, wait. I’m sorry if you think I’m bad, or if I’m two-faced, but I promise I’m not.” He still didn’t believe her, but going out by himself now, he could still be caught.

“Your point” He growled out. Hand out to possibly strike her again.

“Just let me treat your injuries. And then you can decide if you never want to see me again. Please” She was begging with him. But just how good of a liar was she?

“…Fine”

After a while, they walked back to her hut silently as he leaned into her, for balance of course. Not because she was warm or anything.

“Why are you helping me human woman” He felt her shift in her steps, the question obviously caught her off guard.

“Well, for one, no one deserves to be hunted because of their birth origin, and I wanted to see if the tales of the ‘Beast’ were real” He tsk and turned his head, obviously embarrassed when he saw her smiling face.

“And secondly… I would prefer it if you don’t associate me with human scum.” He looked back, she was still smiling.

“I’m a Demon, so please kindly remember it.”

“Fat chance, wench. What fakery will you say next?” He seemed so smug with himself. No way was this, human actually a Demon. Like he would be tricked so easily.

“I will drop you”

“Don’t you dare!”

###

That’s it, the first chapter of Wolf Bakugou x Rouge. I got so bored and I have some ideas on how to continue so hopefully I can continue and complete these short stories. I fucking love BNHA I think its great, but I love the AU’s that have been made and wanted to make one myself. If you like it please tell me and I’ll try to make more.

My inspiration for this was because I’ve always read fanfics where it’s a human who saves someone and the Beast learns that not all humans are bad, but what if it was a Demon, someone who shared the same pain. Plus someone who won’t be so helpless and kickass. I have an idea of a Fantasy Dragon King Bakugou AU as well so if your interested I’ll try to upload that soon.

I hope you have a good day. Cya.

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