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qitwrites · 3 years

Text

a numbers game

Fandom: BNHA

Pairing: Kiribaku

(AO3)

Bakugou knows his personality and general rage-filled disposition towards everything, in general, isn’t winning him any favours, but the texts have made him contemplate just how shitty he must’ve been in a past life to deserve a fate like this.

Because no one - and Bakugou knows such assholes as Monoma - but no one deserves to be on the receiving end of unsolicited dick pics. From random numbers. At all times of the day. For the last 3ish months.

“I am going to throw my phone out the fucking window, I swear on all that is good and pure, fucking bull-“

“More dick pics?” Camie interrupts with a wide grin, plucking the phone out of Bakugou’s hand.

“What the fuck else?” Bakugou snaps, trying to pull his phone back in vain. Camie holds it just out of reach, eyeing the disgusting penis with a critical stare.

"Hmm,” she says, passing the phone back to him before taking a sip of her terrible grass juice that smells like a badly mowed golf course, “the lighting is bad and he hasn’t done like, any grooming at all. 3/10.”

“You’re being generous,” Bakugou huffs, deleting the picture immediately and swallowing the still raging urge to fling his phone at the nearest wall. “It’s unsolicited. And his fingernails are fucking filthy. -100/10.”

Camie rolls her eyes. “You’re being dramatic again Kitkat.”

Bakugou counts to 10 in his head, tries to find that last shred of patience he knows is somewhere deep in his dark pit of a soul and breathes out in a rush.

“I need to fucking figure this out before I actually lose it and track down one of these fuckers and choke the life out of them.”

Because here’s the thing- Bakugou has been receiving dick pics and dirty text messages like hi bby want sex? and imma dick you down gud boo – he’s positively swooning, what a lovely way to be wooed – and he has no idea how to stop it. Yes, he could cancel his number and get a new one, but all of his bank details are linked to this one. He’s had it since he first got a phone in middle school, and now all of his documents are attached to the damn thing. The very idea of going to the banks and the DMV and every other stupid establishment to get it changed makes him grimace hard enough that he decides to bear with it.

Except, every time he receives one of these horrible pictures, his urge to blow up the phone, nay, the entire world, simmers at dangerous levels.

“Cool it kitkat,” Camie croons, giving his forearm a squeeze, “you’re making your homicidal face. That cannot be good for wrinkles.”

“Like I give a fuck,” Bakugou grunts, flinging his phone away carelessly and watching it skitter around on the kitchen counter before halting dangerously close to the edge. “I just want it to stop.”

Camie puts her atrocity for a drink down and pulls the fridge open, rummaging around as she says, “I have a theory about all this.” She pulls out a jar of jalapenos and places it in front of Bakugou. The blonde yanks a fork out of the admittedly cute utensil bucket in the middle of their counter before snapping the lid off and spearing a good 3 pieces in one go. He chews on them slowly and directs a raised brow at Camie.

“Well,” she muses, picking her drink back up, “as a woman that receives a LOT of numbers from guys and gals and non-binary folks alike-“ Bakugou makes it a point to roll his eyes hard enough to knock his head back; Camie’s laughter is loud and boisterous “- I have a tactic for when I don’t know how to say no and don’t want to give my digits.”

Bakugou has another forkful of jalapenos in his mouth when he narrows his eyes at her.

Camie shrugs, “I usually change the very last digit of my number. Works like a charm. I never meet the person again, and they can’t contact me. Win-win.”

“Win-win my ass,” Bakugou seethes. “Do I look like I’m winning right now? I am this fucking close to killing someone, because of stupid tactics like yours.”

Camie finishes the last of her drink, and speaks around her straw, “You say that, but do you know how many people, and especially dudes, don’t take no for an answer? The only reason I give out any digits at all is when I can’t guarantee my safety. I know it’s not like, the perfect solution or anything, but I’m giving you facts right now.”

And Bakugou does, in fact, know that. He’s met those pushy assholes- people that don’t back down, people that don’t take no at face value, people that push and prod and get up in his space. It pisses him off to absolutely no end.

“Whatever,” he concedes. He spears another forkful of jalapenos before grumbling, “So, what the fuck do I do?”

Camie grins, minx like. “Why don’t you text the number one ahead and one behind your own and ask? I mean, in the best-case scenario you figure it out and get it all to stop, in the worst case, you get to yell at like random people. Isn’t that your second favourite pastime, right after yelling at that pigeon outside our balcony, the one with an agenda?”

“Don’t talk about that fucking pigeon,” Bakugou fumes, “fucking piece of shit bird and those dark, robotic eyes. Something is up with that; you can’t convince me otherwise.” He mulls over the rest of her suggestion before relenting, “Well, I guess I could spare a moment to yell at the fucking extras giving out my number to perverts with no manners and gross penises.”

“I find it so funny when you say the word manners,” Camie says as she walks to her room, “It’s almost like you know what it means!”

She isn’t even looking at him, but she manages to dodge the jalapeno that sails at her head. It hits the wall with a sick squelch, and when Bakugou hears Camie’s door shut, he drops his head on the counter with a loud, resounding thunk and muffles a scream into the marble.

He forgets to send out those texts, and when he receives yet another picture, not three days later, of someone holding their disgusting penis in their hand, like it’s an accomplishment or some shit, he sends out a text message to two different numbers typed with shaky, sweaty fingers.

>> xxx-xxx-xxx6 , xxx-xxx-xxx4

I don’t know who the fuck you are, and you don’t know me, but it’s possible that one of you assholes gives out my number to random people who, in turn, send me fucking dick pics. It’s been over 3 fucking months, so knock it the actual fuck off. And in case it isn’t you, fuck you anyway.

Bakugou wakes up from a restless sleep to sunlight sloping in through the blinds of his room, a dry mouth, and three new text messages from an unknown number.

Because his brain takes time to boot up in the mornings, he foregoes the phone entirely and makes his way to the kitchen in search of caffeine. Camie is always up before him, and he gratefully pours himself a mug of her insanely strong black coffee, the kind to palpitate your heart and make you vibrate in your seat. She calls it jet fuel, Inasa calls it death, Todoroki just blinks.

When he’s half a mug down, he finally retrieves his phone from his room and takes a seat in the balcony, surrounded by plants of all kinds. The sun is bright but not harsh, and he takes a second to enjoy it before opening his messages.

He doesn’t even recall sending the messages last night, and for a moment he’s enraged at the idea that someone sent him even more dick pics, but there’s no photos waiting for him, just three messages.

xxx-xxx-xxx4 omg omg OMG I didn’t think anyone actually used this number im sorry D:

xxx-xxx-xxx4 no really im so so sorry holy shit I was just following this idea that my friend gave me cause im terrible at turning people down but I didn’t realize they were messaging an actual other person OMG

xxx-xxx-xxx4 ofc I wont be giving your number out anymore im just so sorry bro, god, this is so damn UNMANLY of me

At least the person has the decency to sound apologetic. Not that it tempers Bakugou in any way, shape or form, but he takes note of it somewhere in the distant recesses of his mind.

Bakugou you better not give it out anymore fuckmunch. I should sue your ass for putting me under so much psychological distress.

The guy replies startlingly quickly. Bakugou opens the message with a quirked brow.

xxx-xxx-xxx4 shit can you actually do that?

Bakugou has no idea, but the key to selling anything is confidence, and he’s got enough to spare.

Bakugou try me

xxx-xxx-xxx4 IM REALLY REALLY SORRY OK TRULY D:

xxx-xxx-xxx4 and not just cuz you might sue me or anything, it was a terrible move on my part :’(

xxx-xxx-xxx4 can I make it up to you somehow??

Bakugou huffs, deflating a little. He’s angry yes, positively incensed for the most part, but the guy sounds genuinely sorry, and he’s finding it increasingly difficult to stay mad at someone that’s just being so damn decent and taking full responsibility.

Bakugou I don’t fucking know.

Bakugou just stop giving out my no.

Bakugou I swear to god if I get ONE MORE NUDE

Bakugou I will find you

xxx-xxx-xxx4 you don’t have to find me ill come to you

xxx-xxx-xxx4 cuz ill def deserve it at that point

xxx-xxx-xxx4 anyway, im sorry again. really ☹

xxx-xxx-xxx4 I gotta get some sleep, so tell me later about how I can make it up to you!!!!

xxx-xxx-xxx4 goodnight

Bakugou checks the clock at the top left corner of his phone screen. It reads 8:31am.

What the fuck does this guy do for work anyway? And does Bakugou care?

He decides no, he doesn’t, because he’s really too busy to care about anything, especially assholes that hand out his number to horny strangers because they’re too chickenshit to say no.

He nods at his own conclusion, downs the rest of his death-in-a-cup, and walks back inside, ready to start another long day of work. Bakugou gives himself an hour before he puts this all behind him, fully forgotten and finally taken care of.

Why the fuck haven’t I blocked this fucker yet, is the first thing Bakugou thinks when he gets more texts from them.

xxx-xxx-xxx4 heyyo!!!!

xxx-xxx-xxx4 did you think of anything????? How can I make it up to you??

Bakugou stop texting me, that’ll be a great start

xxx-xxx-xxx4 I will as soon as u tell me how to make it up to you!!!

xxx-xxx-xxx4 I was being so unmanly and cowardly, I need to fix it!!

Bakugou good for fucking you, leave me alone

xxx-xxx-xxx4 y don’t you keep thinking abt it and lemme know !!!

xxx-xxx-xxx4 if it helps, I can hook u up with some free drinks!! I co-own and bartend at a place downtown!!!!!

xxx-xxx-xxx4 just think abt it

xxx-xxx-xxx4 I gotta get back to work, talk soon!

Bakugou stop texting me dammit

Bakugou isn’t a naïve person, but he somehow convinces himself that this will be the end of things.

It is, predictably, not the end of things.

xxx-xxx-xxx4 I just realized I didn’t give u my name

xxx-xxx-xxx4 Kirishima eijirou!!!

xxx-xxx-xxx4 and you are?

Bakugou blocking you

xxx-xxx-xxx4 aww come on man, don’t be like tht ☹

xxx-xxx-xxx4 wait, r u a man?????

xxx-xxx-xxx4 PLEASE AT LEAST TELL ME THAT I DON’T WANT TO MISGENDER U OMG

Bakugou can you calm the fuck down holy shit

Bakugou yes I’m a dude, you’re fucking fine dumbass

xxx-xxx-xxx4 oh phew!!!!!!

xxx-xxx-xxx4 ok my dude

xxx-xxx-xxx4 please come down to the bar??????

xxx-xxx-xxx4 do you actually drink though?? If you don’t we still have great mocktails

xxx-xxx-xxx4 and I can whip up some awesome protein shakes

xxx-xxx-xxx4 ohhh and our food is bomb,,, I promise

Bakugou do you ever just stop talking

xxx-xxx-xxx4 NOPE :D

Bakugou Not a compliment

xxx-xxx-xxx4 what can I say

xxx-xxx-xxx4 im an opportunist

Bakugou you’re telling me

Bakugou fucker

xxx-xxx-xxx4 IM STILL SO SORRY

xxx-xxx-xxx4 PLEASE COME TO THE BAR LET ME MAKE IT UP TO YOU

xxx-xxx-xxx4 actions speak hella louder than words

xxx-xxx-xxx4 I must action you

Bakugou what the fuck

xxx-xxx-xxx4 you get what I mean!!

xxx-xxx-xxx4 <location> this is the place

xxx-xxx-xxx4 its name is RIOT, u cant miss it

xxx-xxx-xxx4 just lemme know when u can make it

Bakugou I haven’t agreed to shit asshole

Bakugou stop assuming things

xxx-xxx-xxx4 free food, free drinks, free live performance of whatever band’s performing

Bakugou …………………

Bakugou I’ll think about it

xxx-xxx-xxx4 HELL YEAH

xxx-xxx-xxx4 whats your name btw?

Bakugou like id tell you

xxx-xxx-xxx4 I need it for the reservation!!!!

xxx-xxx-xxx4 so that I don’t accidentally serve the wrong gentleman all your free perks

Bakugou didn’t say im coming yet

xxx-xxx-xxx4 im super optimistic

Bakugou I can tell, you’re giving me a headache

xxx-xxx-xxx4 so………… name?

Bakugou no

xxx-xxx-xxx4 I’ll get it out of you eventually

Bakugou try me

Bakugou fucker

If Bakugou finds himself smiling at the end of the exchange, well, that’s his business.

“So, you finally figured out who was responsible for the penis pictures?” Todoroki deadpans around his cosmo.

“That’s wonderful Bakugou!” Inasa booms, slamming his beer down on the counter with gusto. Bakugou throws a spoon at him.

“Shut it Baldy,” he grunts, going back to chopping veggies. “And yes, I did, but now this fucker won’t stop texting me, insisting on making it up to me or some shit.”

“And this is a bad thing?” Todoroki summarizes slowly. Bakugou turns around in time to see him mouth why to Inasa before taking another generous sip of his drink. Inasa shrugs his stupidly large shoulders before asking, “Why is that a bad thing?”

Bakugou throws another spoon at him. “Because, I texted them so I could stop people from texting me. Now this person’s volunteering information to me about being a bartender and shit and constantly apologizing and it’s fucking annoying.”

“You know what’s interesting?” Camie muses, stirring her bloody mary with a long ass celery stick. “You’re getting all these text messages from this bartender, and you can like, so easily block this one number and be done with it, but you like, keeping responding. And keep, you know, not blocking.”

He can’t see it, but he knows Todoroki is nodding, the fucker.

“That is a good observation!” Inasa booms again, and Bakugou has to resist the urge to fling his entire cutlery set at the man’s thick skull. “Do you like this person Bakugou?”

“What’s there to like, I don’t even fucking know him!”

“Well,” Camie starts, takes a bite out of the celery stick, continues, “he’s well-mannered. Clearly good looking, because you got a LOT of penis pictures these past three months, and that also leads us to believe the business is doing really well, if so many patrons come in begging for a number. All good things, don’t you think?”

“I hate you,” Bakugou says, stirring the curry with barely repressed rage. “I hate all of you. I hate humanity. Fuck people.”

“Or fuck this person in specific,” Camie says gleefully. “You haven’t gotten laid in like 8 months boo, you need to get some.”

“You’re the actual fucking worst.”

“In all seriousness,” Todoroki interrupts, putting his empty glass down delicately, “why haven’t you blocked the number? It seems like an easy enough solution.” The asshole has the audacity to sound genuinely curious, if not slightly amused.

Bakugou hates everything.

“I don’t, I don’t fucking know, ok?” He finally admits through clenched teeth. The blonde kills the heat and places the curry on the counter while Camie brings out the rice and some pickled vegetables from the fridge. She pulls out a beer and twists the cap off before handing it to Bakugou, who snatches it away and takes a quick swig before continuing, “He’s actually kinda nice to me, I guess. And I like watching him be so sorry about all those penises. I may have also mentioned suing him for psychological distress.” Bakugou catches Todoroki’s gaze. “Can I do that?”

Todoroki hums, “You can try, but I don’t think you’ve got that solid a case. Plus, haven’t you deleted virtually all the evidence?”

Bakugou grips the neck of his beer bottle harder. “I fucking hate everything.”

bartender asshole <image attached>

Bakugou what the fuck

Bakugou why are you sending me cat pics?

Bakugou also that cat is stupidly cute

bartender asshole I know right?????

bartender asshole her name is ruby

bartender asshole and id die for her

bartender asshole i just figured ud be a cat person

Bakugou ………….

Bakugou I hate u

bartender asshole :D :D :D

Bakugou ugh

Bakugou Bakugou Katsuki

bartender asshole :D :D :D :D :D

bartender asshole HI BAKUGOU SO NICE TO KNOW UR NAME

Bakugou I hate everything

bartender asshole except ruby. Its not allowed

Bakugou …………………………………

Bakugou except ruby

bartender asshole :D :D :D :D :D

Kirishima, it turns out, is a ray of fucking sunshine. Bakugou has a distinct feeling that looking at him directly would be a blinding experience.

Not that he knows who to look for though; he has no idea what this guy looks like. He guesses that he’s buff, with all the times he tells Bakugou about the gym showers running out of hot water and beating his best weights doing bench presses, but he knows nothing else.

He does know that he’s sweet as fuck, making it impossible for Bakugou to stay mad at him. He doesn’t blink at Bakugou’s cussing, and he sends him cute pictures of Ruby.

There is a part of him, small but steadily growing, that wants to meet this stupidly nice bartender.

Bakugou hates everything.

dumbass bartender so what do you do???

Bakugou front-end development and web design

dumbass bartender oh damn!!!

dumbass bartender so youre like smart smart

Bakugou obviously

dumbass bartender have I seen your work anywhere??

Bakugou I recently redid the website of that protein powder company you don’t shut up about

dumbass bartender ????????????????????

dumbass bartender that’s amazing!!!!!!!!!

dumbass bartender I just revisited the website, it looks so cool

Bakugou duh

Bakugou im the best

dumbass bartender I don’t doubt that!!! :D :D

Bakugou don’t you have work?

dumbass bartender aww bakubro are you looking out for me <3 <3

Bakugou call me that again and I will fucking end you

dumbass bartender before the free drinks??? That you are yet to redeem? ?? at my wonderful establishment?????????? :D :D :D

Bakugou I hate everything.

dumbass bartender D:

Bakugou except RUBY DAMMIT

dumbass bartender :D

“Just to recap,” Kaminari says with an incredulous look in his eyes, “this guy cusses like a sailor, is constantly insulting you, never initiates conversation, and you still like him?”

Kirishima’s answering grin is bashful. “I mean, when you put it like that it sounds not so great, but he’s really not that bad! He’s super funny and confident, and he LOVES Ruby. Plus, I don’t like him like that, I just think he’s cool.” Kirishima picks up another glass from the washer and starts carefully drying it with his dishcloth before saying, “And, you know, I did put him through a lot by giving out his number. His behaviour is kinda warranted if you ask me.”

“I mean, in the beginning maybe, but haven’t you guys been texting for over a week now?”

“Denki, are you forgetting that giving out another number was your idea?” Kirishima mutters, narrowing his eyes at his best friend. “I’m in this mess because of you.”

Kaminari suddenly seems to find the glass in his hand a lot more interesting. Kirishima’s laugh echoes around the empty bar.

‘What’s so funny?” Ashido muses, bringing a crate of bottled beer behind the counter.

“Kirishima is going gaga over angry dick pic man.”

“I’m not going gaga, what the heck-“

“I think it’s cute,” Ashido says with a big smile. “It’s been so long since I’ve seen you actually be interested in somebody; it’s really cute!”

“I don’t like him like that,” Kirishima stresses, though his cheeks are a little warm. He can blame that on the lack of air conditioning, he thinks.

“We talking about angry dick pic man?” Sero asks with a shit-eating grin. “10 bucks say he’s actually a middle-aged guy with a cheese fetish.”

“That’s so random-“

“You’re on!” Ashido yells, slapping her hand into Sero’s. “I think he’ll be a hottie.”

“He hasn’t even said he’ll come,” Kirishima says, eyes downcast.

“He’ll come,” the three chorus, going about doing their tasks. Kirishima shakes his head fondly and finishes up with the glasses. Just as he’s put all the shot glasses away, he feels his phone vibrate.

Bakubro just finished a massive project

Bakubro could use a drink this weekend

Bakubro know any good spots?

Kirishima’s face breaks into the biggest smile as he rushes to answer.

Kirishima I know a bar that serves free drinks with your name on it!!!!

Kirishima amazing food, dope music, the bestest drinks

Kirishima ive heard the bartender is a great guy too

Bakubro way to toot your own fucking horn damn

Kirishima :DDDDD

Kirishima bt seriously

Kirishima please? ???? ??

Kirishima PLEASEEEEEEEEE??????????????????

Bakubro ugh

Bakubro fine.

Bakubro Friday night at 8

Kirishima looks up from the screen and calls out, “Denki!”

“Yeah?”

“Switch shifts with me, I’ll do Friday.”

“Um, ok, why though?”

Kirishima doesn’t respond, just goes back to texting, his heart thudding in his ribcage.

Kirishima YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

Kirishima cant wait :D

Bakubro I’m bringing my stupid friends btw

Kirishima wait

Kirishima you have friends???????

Bakubro I am going to end you

Bakubro you know what? Fuck you im not coming

Kirishima BAKUGOU NO

Kirishima IM SORRY OFC U HAVE FRNDS

Kirishima please come

Kirishima how big a table should I reserve????

Bakubro don’t bother

Kirishima IM SORRRYYYYYYYYYY

Kirishima <image attached> <image attached> <image attached>

Bakubro bastard

Bakubro you playing dirty by sending me pics of Ruby

Kirishima need to weaken your guard somehow

Kirishima pls tell me it worked

Bakubro ugh

Bakubro ill be there

Bakubro reserve a table for 4

Bakubro your stupid bar better be worth it

Kirishima I promise it will be!!!!

Kirishima whoops in joy, slipping his phone back into his pocket. He looks up to see three sets of eyes looking at him with varying degrees of amusement.

“You get a really mushy look on your face when you’re texting him, it’s almost gross,” Sero points out with a laugh.

“Hush you,” Ashido admonishes, whipping her dishcloth at him. She walks over to Kirishima and gives him a big hug. “I think it’s very, very precious.”

“What did he say?”

“He’s coming this Friday!” Kirishima beams, holding Ashido closer against his side.

The three giggle.

“10 bucks say Kirishima messes up the drinks at least once.”

“HEY!”

Ashido squeezes around his middle. “Hon, I love you, but I’m not dumb enough to go against that.”

“HEY!”

They end up laughing and fibbing at each other for the rest of the prep time, and Kirishima feels his heart absolutely soar.

Friday brings with it crunch time, running lines and lines of code, having a mini-breakdown because the stupid text block keeps floating around on the webpage like it’s in outer fucking space, being forced into one of Camie’s ridiculous vlogs and having an existential crisis about what to wear on a non-date get-together with the guy that ruined Bakugou’s life for close to three months.

Camie spends most of the day laughing at him. Bakugou throws more condiments at her.

“Fucking help me at least, you useless wench,” Bakugou growls, shifting to clothes as he throws a pair of jeans at her. Camie dances out of the way and doubles over, laughing till she tears up from the force of it all.

“I can’t, I just can’t,” she wheezes. “Did you just say wench? What era are you from babe?”

“FUCK OFF,” he roars, leaping towards her. Camie shrieks and ducks away, making a beeline towards his closet.

“Ok, ok, let’s get you dressed! What kinda look are you trying for?”

“Fuck if I know,” he grouses, feeling oddly out of his depth. He wants to look good, but he has no idea for what.

That’s a lie, he knows why. He just won’t admit it.

“Well, why don’t we pick something simple but flattering? Plus, if it's in your style, you’re bound to be more comfy.” Camie pulls out a pair of black jeans that are ripped at the knees, a black fitted round-neck tee shirt, and some black boots. While he’s changing, Camie pulls out a silver chain, some bands for his wrists and a collection of rings.

“Do you want me to do your eyes?” she offers, holding up some mascara and an eye pencil. Bakugou shrugs and sits on the edge of his bed. Camie’s smile is soft as she stands between his thighs, gently but efficiently applying his make-up. When she’s done, he walks over to the mirror to look at himself, and he has to admit- he looks good. Always one to take care of his body and his figure, Bakugou is lean muscle packed into a 5’10” body. His blonde hair is as messy as ever, but the combination of his make-up, the accessories and his clothes give him an edgy look like no other. Camie throws a dark fitted jacket at him before sauntering over to her own room.

He continues to reply to some work emails when his phone buzzes.

dumbass cant wait to see you!!!

dumbass just ask for me at the bar

dumbass or I might be the one to greet you!! :D :D

Bakugou I know dumbass

Bakugou what, are you nervous or some shit?

dumbass I mean, kinda????

dumbass it’s our first time meeting afterall

dumbass I don’t even know wat you look like!!!!

Bakugou blonde wearing all black

dumbass redhead wearing a shirt with the riot logo!

Bakugou whatever

Bakugou ill be there at 8

Dumbass cant wait <33333

Bakugou dumbass

Bakugou scoffs, his own nerves calming at the thought that he’s not the only one that’s a bit out of sorts. It’s nice to know that sunshine Kirishima is jittery about all this.

Also, interesting to know that he’s a redhead. Bakugou can’t quite imagine it, but in a few minutes, he won't need to.

His stomach roils with anticipation, and Bakugou hates every single thing.

Camie pops out of her room at half-past 7 in a maroon romper that cuts above her mid-thigh, hair done in a loose bun, makeup absolutely perfect. Her heels put her at a height taller than Bakugou, but he’s gotten used to being the shortest in their stupid posse. Doesn’t piss him off any less though.

She gets a phone call just as she pushes a tube of lip gloss into her purse.

“We are downstairs!” Inasa’s voice rings through her speaker, stupidly loud.

“Can it, baldy,” Bakugou grunts with a roll of his eyes, “we’ll be there in a sec.”

“See ya!”

Before Bakugou can usher Camie out the door, she pushes her clutch into his hands and walks over to the kitchen cabinet, pulling out two shot glasses and a bottle of tequila.

“Wha-“

“Liquid courage, my dude,” she says, pouring two generous shots and pushing one at Bakugou. She picks her own glass up and gives him a devilish smirk, “Bottoms up bitch!”

Bakugou picks the glass up with a resigned sigh but smirks back equally devilish. They cheers, smack the glasses against the counter and drain them smoothly. Camie puts the glasses in the sink, places a smacking kiss on Bakugou’s cheek and laughs brightly as she dances out of the way of his rage.

They finally load up in Inasa’s range rover, Todoroki plays classical Japanese music over the speakers and Bakugou regrets everything.

Riot is apparently something of a beloved establishment in its neighbourhood, and Bakugou growls when he sees how long the line leading to the bar is.

“Holy moly, that’s a lot of people!” Camie points out helpfully as she disembarks from the car.

Todoroki straightens his two-tone denim jacket and runs a hand through his hair as he says, “We have a reservation, so I think it’ll be fine?”

“Yes, I agree with you Todoroki,” Inasa beams, locking the car behind him as they walk towards the building. The outside is made of exposed brick and neon lights, and the RIOT sign is a deep red colour, eye-catching and beautiful.

They bypass the people in the line and walk up to the bouncer, who eyes them warily. He’s built like an absolute tank, broad and block-like, and his silver hair shines in the artificial light.

“Can I help you?”

“Bakugou, table for 4,” Camie says cheerily. The bouncer looks immediately enamoured with her before his eyes go wide.

“Wait, Eijirou’s Bakugou?”

Bakugou’s ears burn at that.

“I’m not fucking anybody’s!” he snaps. The bouncer immediately looks at him, and his face breaks into an even wider grin.

“Well, I’ll be damned! Can I see some ID real quick?”

Bakugou cusses colourfully under his breath but pulls out his license, and after a quick check, the bouncer, whose name is Tetsutetsu, steps aside to let them in.

“Have a good time!” he says happily, almost too happily. Bakugou feels his hackles rise.

“What the fuck?”

“It appears that Kirishima talks about you at least as much as you talk about him,” Todoroki observes, walking next to Bakugou.

“I don’t talk about him, fuck you!”

Todoroki’s delicately raised brow makes him want to punch something. Or someone. Preferably both.

“Fuck you all,” he reiterates before stomping inside.

Now, Bakugou is a relatively creative soul – his job kinda demands it – so it’s not his fault that he’s actually quite captivated by the interiors of this stupidly popular bar co-owned by a stupidly nice person.

The inside has exposed brick as well, and most of the furniture seems to be retro. There are large pipes and barrels behind the bar, made of what seems to be pure copper. Black marble covers the bar tops, and the lights are a mix of neon and muted whites, bright enough to see but still bathing the room in an alluring aura. There’s music thumping through the speakers, loud enough to dispel any silence but still at a bearable volume.

“Swanky,” Camie whistles, taking it all in.

Bakugou nods begrudgingly before setting his eyes on the bar.

“I’ll go get us a fucking table,” he mutters before walking over, hands digging deep into his pant pockets. He sees a lanky black-haired guy and a girl with tan skin and pink hair behind the bar, talking animatedly with the patrons as they serve them drinks at a dizzying pace.

When he finally gets a spot at the counter, the pink-haired girl finishes up with a customer and bounds over to him.

“Hi,” she greets, smile wide and happy, “haven’t seen you around before! What can I get you?”

“Kirishima,” Bakugou says because apparently, his brain to mouth filter has decided to abandon him in his time of need. The girl tilts her head in confusion and Bakugou feels the life drain out of him.

“I’m sorry?”

“I’m fuckin here because of dumbass Kirishima,” Bakugou barely grits out, fingers digging into his palms painfully. “The name is Bakugou, table for 4?”

He sees it all in slow-mo- the way her mouth goes slack, the way her eyes light up like firecrackers on New Year’s, and then the way her smile becomes positively blinding. He hates her already.

“Holy shit,” she breathes, “of course! So glad you’re here! Oye, Sero?”

“What?” the black-haired guy says without looking, topping up a perfectly poured glass of beer.

“You owe me 10 bucks.”

This gets his attention- he hands the drink off and looks at her, “Why would I-“

The girl just gestures at Bakugou and winks, “It’s him.”

Sero – or plain face, Bakugou’s brain helpfully supplies – immediately looks at him, his eyes widening. “Shit, seriously? Aw, man.” His smile becomes mischievous. “I’ll get Kirishima.” He opens the door behind the bar and disappears.

“What the fuck was that?” Bakugou snaps, beyond irritated to be so out of the loop.

“Nothing, nothing,” Pinky sings, raising her hands in a placating gesture. “Kirishima will show your party to your table. Do you want anything in the meantime?”

“… a beer,” Bakugou concedes because he’s not dumb enough to not get a drink before he sees Kirishima if he can help it.

“Coming right up!”

He waits at the bar, watching as his group of dumbasses ooh and ahh at the place, looking delighted. A bottle of cold beer hits the counter with a satisfying thunk, bringing his attention back to the bartop.

“Enjoy!” Pinky still has a stupid smile on her face but before Bakugou can say anything, the door behind her is thrown open and plain face steps out.

“The restocking can wait, literally the only thing you’ve talked about for the last 3 days is finally happening.”

The guy following him is all tanned skin and thick muscles under a fitted deep red tee shirt. His hair is a bright unnatural red, pulled into a high pony with a few strands still framing his face. His eyes are a softer red than Bakugou’s own, his cheeks sharp and high, and when his eyes meet Bakugou’s, a zip of electricity races down his spine and along his limbs till he can feel it in his toes.

When the man makes his way over, Bakugou also notes how damn tall he is- easily around 6’4”. His smile is shy, and he smells like sandalwood.

“Bakugou, hi,” he breathes, hesitantly holding his hand out. Bakugou takes it in a daze, still amazed by just how stupidly beautiful this stupidly kind bar owner is.

“Heyyo, you disappeared fam, how’s it going?”

Bakugou hates everything.

He reluctantly slips his hand out of Kirishima’s warm, firm grip and turns to Camie with venomous eyes. “I literally just met him Cam, shut the fuck up.” He turns back to Kirishima, “Can you show us to our table?”

Kirishima shakes his head once before his smile turns blinding, and Bakugou finds himself fighting the urge to shield his eyes. “Of course,” he says in a voice that’s deep and warm and honey-like, “right this way!”

Bakugou snags his beer off the counter and takes a quick swig before Camie steals it and takes a few sips of her own. He growls at her but otherwise behaves, watching Kirishima’s back as he leads them through throngs of people engaged in cheerful conversation.

“Ok, well, he’s hot,” Cam says around the lip of the bottle. “Total beefcake. Whaddya think, boo?”

“I think you should fuck off,” Bakugou hisses, his face burning.

“If you wanted to go on a date, you probably shouldn’t have invited us,” Todoroki says, taking the offered bottle from Camie.

Before Bakugou can explode in their faces, Kirishima stops and turns around. “Here ya go!” He gestures to a table behind him, tucked into a more private corner of the bar. It’s large and cushy, and when Bakugou gets in after Camie, he’s surprised at how soft the material is.

“So?” Kirishima says, eyes trained on Bakugou.

“Fuckin what?” Bakugou snaps, voice lacking any heat.

Kirishima laughs, head thrown back to reveal a long, thick neck and Bakugou is so damn weak.

“Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friends?”

Bakugou clicks his tongue before gesturing at each of them, “Camie, marketing expert by day, YouTube beauty vlogger by night, pain in my ass always. Todoroki, environmental lawyer and a soba obsessed weirdo. Inasa, physiotherapist and resident dumbass.”

Kirishima gives them all a wave before saying, “Kirishima, co-owner of Riot and the reason why Bakugou saw more unwarranted penises than strictly necessary in a lifetime.”

“Asshole,” Bakugou grumbles, earning him another laugh and a bashful hand ruffling the back of Kirishima’s head.

“Still so sorry about that man,” Kirishima offers, “everything’s definitely on the house for you all! Speaking of ordering-“ Kirishima moves on to explain their ordering system-

“You can scan the code with your camera app,” the redhead says, pointing at the barcode on the centrepiece of their table, “and it pulls up our bar and food menu. Just enter your order and your table number,” he points at the large digits on the side that glows a bright 15 back at them.

Inasa pulls his phone out to order. Before he leaves, Kirishima says, “Can I get your drink order before I go?”

Camie asks for a LIIT, Inasa gets a Soju bomb and Todoroki starts off with his usual- a cosmo.

“You good on that beer?” Kirishima asks Bakugou warmly, his eyes dancing with mirth.

“I’m fine,” he grumbles, sliding lower into his seat. “Maybe get me another, your choice?”

“Coming right up,” Kirishima beams before stepping away, and Bakugou’s heart splutters around his chest at the sight of sharp white teeth and cheek-aching grins.

“He’s so cute!” Camie squeals, stealing the last of his beer. “And he’s totes into you too.”

“I have to agree, he’s very attractive,” Todoroki says impassively.

“Certified hottie,” Inasa rounds up, flashing his own biceps for some reason.

Bakugou is so done, and they’ve been here all 5 minutes.

“Kirishim- Kirishima, the beer is overflowing,” Ashido says, pushing him away and taking over. “God, you’re so gone for him, it’s almost embarrassing.”

Kirishima snaps out of his stupor and moves to take the glass back. Ashido hip checks him away.

“You’re being a little stupid, go help Satou with plating and take the food to lover boy’s table.”

“He has a name, you know,” Kirishima mumbles, but Ashido simply laughs, and Kirishima feels his neck and ears go warm.

Because who let Bakugou walk into his bar looking like that? Looking so damn gorgeous in his all-black get up and his perfect eye make-up and that fierce scowl?

Kirishima’s heart had pretty much stopped at the sight of him, and it was yet to regain its usual rhythm.

The redhead rests his forehead against the wall and mumbles, “I’m so screwed.”

“We know buddy,” Sero says, patting his back sympathetically, “we know.”

For all that Bakugou hates outings and people and outings in places filled with people, he finds himself having a moderately good time.

Because the food is delicious if lacking a little heat, the alcohol is mixed perfectly and the music is fantastic, filtering through old rock classics with some alt stuff mixed in.

And then there’s Kirishima- tending the bar with ease, laughing along with his co-workers, and sending Bakugou wide, happy smiles that sets his entire face on fire.

“This place is awesome,” Camie whoops, banging another shot glass on the table before knocking it back with ease. Todoroki joins her, his impassive face not so much as twitching at the taste of strong tequila before he bites into a lime. Inasa is already beer drunk, cheeks dusky as he hums along to the music.

“Insufferable,” Bakugou mumbles around his 4th-ish beer. He likes to keep up his grumpy act till his last shred of dignity melts away cause of the alcohol, and he’s probably pretty hit already because he lets Camie pull him into her side with her arm around his shoulder, his nose suddenly privy to the scent of her mellow perfume.

“I love you guys,” Camie beams, picking up her beer and waving it in front of her. Todoroki and Inasa clink their drinks against it, and Bakugou silently waves his own bottle around before downing it.

“You guys good on- oh my god, are you Camie? THE Camie?”

It’s Pinky at their table and her eyes are so comically wide that Bakugou can’t help his snort of laughter. He feels Camie straighten up, but her arm around him stays, holding him close.

“Define THE Camie,” she says with a smile in her voice.

“The beauty blogger that I’ve only been following for the last 3 years, holy shit I love your videos.” And then suddenly, her eyes narrow on Bakugou before she snaps her fingers. “NO WONDER YOU LOOK FAMILIAR! You’re the angry blonde in all her videos!”

“Haan? You wanna go pinky?” Bakugou growls, moving to stand up. Camie keeps him firmly by her side, her laughter shaking them both.

“That’s us!” Camie says. Bakugou finally fights his way out of her grip and throws her a withering look, or his drunken attempt at one anyway. She winks, and he fake gags. “I don’t get recognized in public all that often LOL, this is fun.”

“Did you just say LOL in a verbal fucking conversation?”

“What do you mean you don’t get recognized; you literally have like 3.2million subscribers.”

Camie ignores Bakugou and shrugs at Pinky. “I guess my primary demographic aint here fam. Speaking of which,” she thrusts her hand out, “what’s your name?”

“Ashido Mina,” she says, taking her hand firmly. Camie introduces her to the others, and Bakugou looks back at the bar, disappointed to see that he can’t find Kirishima.

“Can I top you guys off?” Kirishima says, suddenly right next to their table, effectively startling the shit outta Bakugou.

Camie chirps an affirmative, Todoroki asks for a water and checks to see if Inasa’s breathing as the big olf continues to sleep, curled up in the corner of the booth.

“And you Bakubro?”

“Don’t call me that,” Bakugou frowns before adding, “I should probably stop, I’m already kinda tipsy.”

“Lightweight,” Camie teases.

Bakugou gives her the stink eye. “Woman, the one time I tried keeping up with you, I ended up in the hospital with alcohol poisoning and you didn’t have so much as a hangover, so fuck off.”

“Seriously?” Kirishima says, eyes wide.

“That’s amazing,” Ashido murmurs, her smile crooked and dangerous.

Bakugou. Hates. Everything.

“He had no lasting liver damage, we’re all fine,” Camie reassures before diving into a conversation with Mina about beauty hacks and good mascara brands and global warming.

Kirishima leans close to Bakugou, bathing him in that warm sandalwood scent. “How about I get you some water and one last beer? A Hefeweizen?”

Bakugou turns to look at him, and his breath hitches in his throat when he notices how close they are, when he sees just how red Kirishima’s eyes are, how the heat seems to radiate off his skin. He exhales in a rush and looks away, answering with a jerky nod.

Kirishima gives his shoulder a friendly squeeze – he’s so warm, his hand is fucking huge – before walking to the bar and picking their stuff up.

When pinky finally meanders away from their table to serve other customers, Camie leans her head on Bakugou’s shoulder and says, “We’ll leave soon, ok?”

Bakugou nods again, leaning some of his weight back into her. Todoroki catches his eye and flashes him a warm, tipsy smile, and if he returns it with one of his own, well, he’s drunk out of his skull and has approximately no fucks to give.

Long after putting Bakugou and his posse in a cab, before which they insisted on paying pretty much the entire tab since they ate and drank a LOT, Kirishima and the rest are cleaning up when Ashido whips him with her cleaning rag.

Kirishima looks at her with betrayed eyes, “Wha-“

“Ei, you better text him again.”

“About what?” Kirishima says glumly. “I did what I said I would do, and I promised to leave him alone after that.”

“Boy please,” Ashido scoffs, roughly wiping down one of the tables, “ya’ll made such gooey eyes at each other all night, plus I’m pretty sure he paid the entire tab just so you could keep up whatever façade you guys have going on to cover up the fact that you have INSANE chemistry with one another.”

“Yeah, the tension was palpable bro,” Sero chimes in, throwing an arm around his waist. “I think you should text him too. He seemed really amusing, and his whole group was a riot.”

Kirishima rolls his eyes at the pun but smiles at them, feeling a new burst of energy in his limbs.

“You guys are absolutely right! Worst case, he blocks me. At least I won’t have any regrets.”

“Yeah boy, get it with that optimism.”

Bakugou wakes up to a slight headache, a mouth that tastes like ash, and a profound sadness that settles atop his sternum, weighing him down and pressing him into his mattress.

He sees the glass of water on his bedside table with ibuprofen placed neatly next to it and downs them both without so much as a second thought. As his brain slowly comes back online, he takes a moment to finally navigate his messy feelings and comes to a crushing realization-

Kirishima doesn’t have to text him anymore.

The redhead had said that he’d leave him alone after making it up to him, and yes, it was Bakugou’s standoffish nature that got them into that situation in the first place. And yes, Bakugou had paid the tab mostly because it was too high a bill to be footed by the bar and Bakugou made bank, but also because a small, minuscule part of him hoped that the gesture would make Kirishima insist on another outing or something to ‘make it up to him'.

The blonde doesn’t even bother to acknowledge the fact that he forgave Kirishima almost two days into texting him.

He almost avoids his phone out of fear alone and makes it through a whole cup of coffee and 3 chapters into a novel recommended by Deku before finally picking up his phone to check for emails and notifications.

He expects none from Kirishima.

So, of course, there are 3 from the redhead.

Bakugou’s heart leaps to his throat and he can’t seem to unlock his phone quite fast enough.

fuck he’s cute hi Bakugou, thank you for coming last night!!!

fuck he’s cute it was actually really cool 2 finally meet you. U didn’t have to pay the tab tho :’D

fuck he’s cute bt since u did, I still owe u. can we figure it out later??? Also, what did you think of the place???

Bakugou dumbass

Bakugou you’ve got a swanky place, I’ll give you that. Food was fucking good too. could be spicier.

Bakugou you got cam completely hooked

Bakugou and yeah, you better make it up to me later. Asshole.

Kirishima replies a few hours later, just as Bakugou finishes up a yoga routine that stretches out his back in the best way possible.

fuck he’s cute :D :D :D :D :D

fuck he’s cute can’t wait

fuck he’s cute <image attached>

fuck he’s cute ruby says hi

It’s a selfie this time, not a picture of just the kitty. Bakugou can appreciate how cute the mutt is, but for once, he has no attention to spare her. Not when Kirishima’s eyes are crinkling around the edges from how hard he smiles up at the camera, not when he’s wearing a tank top with relaxed arm holes, showing off bulging muscles and hints of ink, and not when just the mere thought of him makes Bakugou’s stomach flop around uncontrollably.

He barely manages to reply coherently.

Bakugou the only bright spot in this shitty world

He presses his phone to his forehead and quietly contemplates just how gay he is. Camie pets his head on the way to the kitchen.

It takes Bakugou some time to get used to waking up to Good Morning texts and a stream of random thoughts from Kirishima all day. The flutter in his stomach disappears a few weeks into talking to the redhead, instead replaced by a bone-deep warmth that always manages to make him feel a little better.

dumbass kirishima GOOOOOOOD MORNING :D

dumbass Kirishima someone threw up on my fave shoes last night

Bakugou HAHAHAHAHAHAHAH

Bakugou suffer

dumbass Kirishima y u so mean to me ☹ ☹

Bakugou cause its fuckin hilarious

dumbass Kirishima ☹

Bakugou ugh

Bakugou <image attached> [it’s a picture of Bakugou’s balcony, and all his plants look vibrant green as the sun hits them just right]

dumbass Kirishima :D :D :D

dumbass Kirishima legit felt my serotonin just spike

dumbass Kirishima thxxxxxx

Bakugou whatever

Bakuguo dumbass

---

Bakugou if I plan a murder can I count on your stupid muscles to help me move the body

dumbass Kirishima D:

dumbass Kirishima at least take me out to dinner b4 involving me in your crimes

dumbass Kirishima what a lack of manners

Bakugou stfu

dumbass Kirishima :”D :”D

dumbass Kirishima youre joking right?

dumbass Kirishima right??

dumbass Kirishima RIGHT?????

dumbass Kirishima BAKUGOU THIS IS A BAD TIME TO LEAVE ME HANGING BRO DO NOT DO THIS

Bakugou don’t call me bro

dumbass Kirishima THAT IS NOT THE POINT RIGHT NOW

Bakugou lol I didn’t do shit dumbass don’t worry

Bakugou or did I?

dumbass Kirishima BAKUGOU NO

---

dumbass Kirishima <image attached> [it’s a gym selfie; Kirishima is crouching in front of the mirror shirtless, hair pulled into a bun atop his head. He’s glistening with sweat, and he’s got a more serious look on his face. He’s not actively flexing any muscle, but the pose makes his thighs, calves and biceps bulge. One hand holds the phone, the other is resting on his bent knee]

dumbass Kirishima working on deez gainz

Bakugou what time do you usually workout

dumbass Kirishima depends on my schedule actually

dumbass Kirishima I prefer the morning, but when I take the late night shift I usually go be4 work the next day

Bakugou hmmm

Bakugou let me know

Bakugou maybe we can go together

dumbass Kirishima :D :D :D :D :D :D :D :D :D :D :D :D

Bakugou ugh I changed my mind

dumbass Kirishima :D :D :D :D

dumbass Kirishima no takebacksies

Bakugou fucking fantastic

dumbass Kirishima :D :D :D

---

“So, let me get this straight- you guys gym together at least once a week, you talk every day, your stomach flutters at the mere thought of him and Cam swears he’s making googly eyes at you all the time, and you still haven’t asked each other out yet?”

Bakugou flips his phone off, “Fuck off Deku, don’t be a little shit.”

Midoriya’s face morphs into an amused smile on the other end of their facetime call, “Are you being bashful Kacchan? That’s adorable.”

“I’m hanging up.”

“NOOOOO,” Midoriya bemoans dramatically. “I can’t believe I’m missing all this.”

“Yeah, well, who the fuck told you to teach kids English halfway across the world dumbass?”

“I miss you too Kacchan,” Midoriya beams, making a heart with his hands.

“I truly loathe you.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night.” Midoriya puts a few papers away before sighing. “So?”

“So what?”

“So, are you going to make a move? How do you plan on doing it?”

“I don’t,” Bakugou ruffles his hair and ducks his head to hide his rapidly warming cheeks, “I’m not asking him out Deku, fuck that.”

“Why not?” the asshole whines, eyes wide and innocent. “You deserve happiness Kacchan. Plus, he seems like a really nice guy.” Midoriya leans forward and adds in a whisper, “I’ve heard he has a fantastic butt.”

Bakugou rolls his eyes and flips him off again, “Fuck off, you can’t say that without actually meeting him.”

“I’ll be back before then. You guys better be dating already when I get there.”

“Stop telling me what to do, shitty Deku!”

“Never Kacchan, that’s what you do for the people you love.”

“Ugh, how are you so gross when you’re so far away, I hate you.”

Midoriya’s laugh sounds tinny over the phone speaker, lacking its usual body and warmth. Bakugou huffs again before picking his novel back up to read.

“Hi Zuku,” Camie calls out from over Bakugou’s shoulder. “You need to come back soon and help me with Kitkat, he refuses to make the first move!”

“Butt out of my fucking love life, you freaks!”

“Can’t butt out of something that doesn’t exist Kats,” Camie deadpans.

Bakugou feels extremely justified in flinging a stress ball right at her. The kitchen fills up with raucous laughter, from his phone and from the person standing in front of him, and Bakugou thinks that adding a deeper, warmer laugh to the mix, coming from a specific redhead might not be the worst thing in the world.

Kiri bakugouuuuuuuuuuuuuuu

Bakugou what?

Kiri just wanted to say hi <3

Bakugou wth

Kiri we still on fr the gym tomorrow?

Bakugou obviously you dumbass

Bakugou I need you to spot me

Bakugou im beating my personal best tomorrow or im going to die trying

Kiri so manly :O :O :O

Kiri I’ve got you bruh

Bakugou don’t call me that

Bakugou and I know you do

Kiri <3 <3

---

Bakugou <link>

Bakugou that playlist you were asking about

Kiri u da bomb katsuki

Bakugou katsuki huh?

Bakugou getting cocky I see

Kiri I mean, weve known each other for like 4 months now???

Kiri ur one of my closest pals

Kiri I don’t have to, I just thought ud like it more than bro

Bakugou I do like it more than bro

Bakugou eijirou

Bakugou I guess ur not terrible

Eijirou ????

Eijirou did you just?? pay me????? A compliment??

Eijirou who r u and wat have you done to katsuki?

Bakugou fuck you

Bakugou just fuck you

Eijirou <3 <3 <3

Bakugou wakes up one morning, approximately 5 months after meeting Kirishima for the first time, with a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach.

His work goes smoothly. The coffee tastes potent and fresh, his body feels fine, his plants are thriving, Camie is busy with her own deadlines and therefore not bugging him, even the sun is mellow and warm; the perfect weather.

The pit in his stomach worsens with every hour.

It doesn’t help that all of his messages to Kirishima have gone unanswered; he hasn’t even been online all day. In the months that they’ve communicated, he’s never gone a day without texting the man, and now it’s like he fell off the face of the Earth.

When it gets closer to 6 in the evening, Bakugou decides to call if Kirishima doesn’t get in touch himself. Because the pit in his stomach is making him nauseous, and he needs to know if the redhead is ok if only for the sake of his own damn health.

He gets a call from an unknown number at 5:20 in the evening. The pit in his stomach becomes a yawning chasm as he picks up the call.

“Hello?”

“Bakugou, it’s Ashido, from the bar.”

Bakugou pulls in a deep breath. “Where is Kirishima?”

“Um, there was an incident last night, at Riot.” She sighs deeply before continuing, “Kiri got jumped in the alley outside by a bunch of really drunk homophobic assholes that saw him turn down some guy’s number. He actually fought them off for the most part, but he’s sustained a broken nose and some fractured ribs. We’re at the hospital right now.”

Bakugou sinks to the ground, his stomach plummeting with him. “Are you fucking serious right now? Fuck-“

“I’ll text you the hospital details, ok? I’m sorry we didn’t call sooner, between talking to his moms and the hospital folks, it slipped my mind.”

“I’ll be there,” Bakugou says, standing up on shaky feet and stumbling back to his room. “Just don’t leave him alone.”

“Never in a million years.”

They hang up and Bakugou changes, hails a cab, and gets to the hospital in a complete daze.

His affection for the redhead, brimming and spilling from every crevice, makes itself evident when he lays eyes on him in the hospital bed and feels a surge of protectiveness. He wants to kill the people that did this, he wants to gather Kirishima in his arms and hold him tight, he wants to crawl into bed with him and talk about stupid shit and see him smile again.

“He’s pretty high on pain meds right now,” Ashido says from somewhere behind him, pointing to his IV lines, “so he’s been saying really funny stuff. The doctors did a full evaluation and said he should recover completely in 5ish weeks.”

Bakugou nods and swallows thickly. Ashido squeezes his arm before leaving the hospital room, shutting the door behind her softly.

Kirishima hasn’t seen him yet, so Bakugou approaches his bed carefully before placing a hand on the guardrail. The noise pulls Kirishima’s attention towards him, and Bakugou’s gut tightens when those large, warm eyes go completely soft at the sight of him.

“Kassaki~” Kirishima slurs, his smile large and dopey.

“You absolute dumbass,” Bakugou chokes out, his hand moving from the rail to grip Kirishima’s tightly. Kirishima’s fingers twine with his own with practised ease and his smile turns gooey.

“Hi Kats, you look beautiful today.”

Bakugou half-laughs, half-sobs and rubs his eyes fiercely. Kirishima’s face is a bit bruised, and there’s a huge bandage on his nose, but he doesn’t look nearly as bad as Bakugou had first feared. The pit in his stomach finally calms, slowly loosening until he can breathe normally again.

“Shut up Eiji,” Bakugou grumbles, sitting down on the chair beside the bed. He leaves his hand in Kirishima’s.

“Ok,” Kirishima agrees easily. It takes 10 seconds for him to break the silence again.

“Hey Kats?”

“What?”

“Are we dating?”

Bakugou startles at that, eyes snapping over to Kirishima’s. He doesn’t look accusatory or hurt or weirded out or anything- merely curious.

“No, we’re not.”

“Oh.” Kirishima frowns, “Why not?”

Bakugou huffs out a small laugh, “Because we’re both idiots.”

“Oh,” the redhead says, then nods. “That kinda tracks.”

“HEY!”

Kirishima’s smile becomes dopey again, eyes crinkling in the most endearing way.

“I really like you Kats. You’re so smart and funny and you always smell like fabric softener, and you’re just like. Really pretty.”

Bakugou feels his face heat up completely, his grip on Kirishima’s hand tightening.

“Just rest, you dumbass,” Bakugou says weakly, his entire body too hot for comfort. He watches Kirishima’s smile become something warm and loving in a way that hits his heart, and he doesn’t let go of the redhead’s hand, right up until the end of visiting hours.

When he exits the hospital alongside Ashido, he feels the last of his energy drain.

“I cant believe we didn’t get to him sooner,” Ashido mumbles, rubbing at her eyes fiercely. “The bar was noisy, and he just wanted to dump out some trash. Hanta noticed he was gone a while before we went out back and found him punching the last dude.”

Bakugou purses his lips. Truth be told, he cant believe Kirishima had gotten so badly hurt so close to his own bar, and he’s pissed as fuck that the idiot brigade had even let it happen, but the sincerity in Ashido’s voice tugs at his chest painfully.

“I’m sure he’ll forgive you.” Bakugou laughs humorlessly. “He’ll probably say there’s nothing to forgive in the first place.”

Ashido’s laugh is hollow, “That’s our Eijirou.” She looks at Bakugou again. “You coming tomorrow?”

He flashes her his best sneer. “You best believe I’m going to come by every single fucking day till he’s discharged.”

Ashido’s smile becomes a little more genuine, a little more well-rounded.

“I’m really glad he has you.” Her voice goes all soft and gross as she continues, “You mean a LOT to him, in case you didn’t already know.”

“Fuck off,” Bakugou mumbles, before waving her off and walking away.

Because he does know.

He also knows he’s falling madly in love with him, and that he’s completely and utterly screwed.

And he finds that he really doesn’t mind all that much. Some people, he rationalizes, are worth the horrible butterflies and the too hot too cold feelings down the back of his spine.

Some people, he realizes, are worth loving with everything you’ve got.

It takes Kirishima five weeks of house arrest to recover completely. Bakugou spends every weekday and a few of the weekends with him, staying over more often than not. He fusses over the redhead, forces him to take his medication on time, and cooks him everything under the sun.

“You’re spoiling me,” the redhead whines when Bakugou serves him what smells like the best mapo tofu he’s ever going to have.

The blonde grins triumphantly, “You’re damn right I am.”

They bicker and banter constantly, but they also curl up and marathon old bond movies at night. Kirishima goes over the bar’s paperwork while Bakugou works off his couch, and they take turns making the coffee. Ruby falls in love with Bakugou and curls up on his chest every chance she gets, and Bakugou laughs at Kirishima’s look of betrayal. The redhead’s couch is ridiculously comfortable, and he leaves his memory foam pillow with the blonde.

“You refuse to take my bed,” he grumbles, “so you damn well better accept my stupid pillow.”

Bakugou’s neck thanks the redhead profusely.

It’s new and weird, living with someone for the first time. Kirishima’s posse are in and out through the day, and Camie comes by just as often, bringing a change of clothes and gossip with her. Todoroki drops in with some high-quality tequila sometimes and Inasa brings his infectious energy, and through all of this, Kirishima remains in high spirits, even if he goes a little stir crazy sometimes.

It’s new and it’s weird, going from casual touches to more loving ones, more comforting ones. It becomes commonplace for Bakugou to rest his head between Kirishima’s shoulder blades on the days that he has a bad time at work. It’s normal for Kirishima to place his head on Bakugou’s lap while they watch shark documentaries. It’s easy for them to bump knees and press their calves together while enjoying their morning coffee.

It’s new and it’s weird and it’s amazing.

Because Bakugou finds himself falling in love with the little things. The way Kirishima sticks his tongue out when he’s smashing the PS5 controller during an especially intense game of Mario party, the way he makes the coffee with a sleepy smile on his face, the way he hums off-key to a song that’s stuck in his head, the way he can understand Bakugou- can differentiate between his frustrated fuck, his bashful fuck, his angry fuck, his sleepy fuck.

And how he accepts it all without so much as a hitch in his step.

Bakugou watches himself fall in love, slowly, and then all at once.

“How is it that he lived with you for almost 5 weeks and you STILL didn’t ask him out? Or kiss him stupid? Or something?”

Sero has a finger pinching the bridge of his nose, the other flexing loosely in front of his chest as he tries to fathom the stupidity of two people that could not be more into each other if they tried.

“I, I uh-“ Kirishima hangs his head, “I have no excuse.” He sighs deeply. “I was scared he’d give me a pity answer cause I was injured and everything.”

Ashido looks over her shoulder with incredulous eyes. “Are you kidding me?”

“What?”

“Eiji, I know you love us so like, if any of us were hurt like this you’d take care of us till we were better too. But do you think someone like BAKUGOU would practically move into someone’s house to make sure they were ok if he wasn’t nuts about them? Really?”

Kirishima’s face flushes, and he waves her away. “I don’t want to read into it. He’s just a really, really, really good guy. And what we have is good, it’s great! We’re bros. Pals. Friends. It’s all good.”

Ashido continues to stare at him for another moment before throwing her hands up and yelling, “BOYS!” She stomps into the kitchen to help Satou with prep for the day.

They continue to stock up the bar, Kirishima assigned to prepping limes and the ice machine, when the door opens and someone steps in.

“Sorry, we’re not op- Bakugou?”

And there stands the blonde with the biggest bouquet of flowers – chrysanthemums and sunflowers – that Kirishima has ever seen. The redhead distantly hears the sound of a door close behind him, and suddenly they’re alone, the tension positively stifling.

“Bakugo-“

“Go on a date with me.”

Kirishima sucks in a startled breath, his heart hammering in his chest.

“Go on a date. With me,” Bakugou repeats, his neck and ears tinging the loveliest shade of red. “The romantic kind. Where we dress up and get food and drinks and fight over the bill and walk each other to the door and get super awkward before we kiss. All that shit.”

Kirishima isn’t sure how it happens- one moment he’s on this side of the bar, the next, he’s jumping across and gathering Bakugou into a tight embrace, mindful of his newly healed ribs but still unwilling to release the blonde until Bakugou returns his hug, burying his face into Kirishima’s chest.

“Is that a yes?” Bakugou mumbles when they finally pull away, his hands fisted in Kirishima’s shirt.

“In every possible language out there,” Kirishima answers, ducking down to softly kiss Bakugou on the cheek. He laughs as the blonde cusses and shoves him away and laughs even harder when Bakugou’s own smile covers his entire face, bright and open and oh so breathtaking.

That smile is Kirishima’s and Kirishima’s alone.

Eiji hiiiiiiiiiiii

Bakugou I swear to god Ei

Bakugou if you’re late for our first date I will find you

Eiji and give me a kiss? :*

Bakugou I don’t kiss people that don’t have good time management

Bakugou so fuck off

Eiji still so mean to me ☹

Eiji I want that kiss tho

Eiji so ill be ready

Eiji promise

Bakugou good

Eiji <3

Bakugou <3

Eiji :D :D :D :D :D :D

Eiji YOU LIKE ME ENOUGH TO SEND EMOJIS HU H <3333

Bakugou it will never happen again

Bakugou so fuck right off

Eiji :”D

Bakugou im outside

Eiji be right there

Eiji <3

#bnha #kiribaku #bakushima #kirishima eijirou #bakugou katsuki #flustered #boku no hero #mha #they're idiots your honor #giving out the wrong number au???#if that's a thing??????#this one's a monster y'all

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theagenttagteam · 4 years

Text

Mycroft x reader part 2

Pairing: slight Sherlock x Reader (briefly and becomes platonic), Mycroft x reader

Warnings: swearing, mentions of death and violence, maybe some fluff

You pull up outside of a lovely mansion. Some Victorian features standing out to you as you approach. You pull up a little way behind Mycroft's car still admiring the architectural beauty of the home. As Mycroft exits his car you see Jhon, Mary and Sherlock all stood outside the building by the steps waiting for both you and Mycroft to arrive. “Brother I see you were successful in getting the woman,” Sherlock shouts as your placing your helmet on the back of your bike still shocked at the beauty of the place. though you weren't surprised he has such a beautiful home he does pretty much run Britain.

You can hear Sherlock and Mycroft bickering about something but you are too interested in what stands behind the beautiful oak doors. You carefully make your way up the stairs towards the doors pushing them open carefully to inspect the home and wonders that stand beyond the threshold. As the doors open you are meet with a grand staircase leading to more floors the start of the bannister carved with lions, the wood smooth and polished, the floors are a beautiful dark oak and the large rug makes it seem as though the queen comes here for her stays away. The hallway well more of a room leads off into four other rooms each with there own elaborate carved door the doorframe just as beautiful with the spirals and climbing ivy carved into them. Small plants and paintings bring more life to the surrounding area as well as the large window at the top of the stairs. Mycroft's umbrella stand just off to your right as well as a small coat stand. The life off luxury as far as you can see.

A maid skitters past you an that's when you realise it has gone quite that you can no longer hear Sherlock and Mycroft bickering nor can you hear mary laughing at there childish behaviour. You turn to see all of them looking at you with a sense of curiosity but also a look of mild amusement. “ I always did enjoy beautiful architecture. It has almost got me killed a few times.” Your comment still looking at the group.

Mycroft steps towards you hand extended coat and umbrella now has gone, “Shall we discuss business then dear?” It wasn't a question more of a command you had no choice in the matter and it would be to much hassle to kick up a fuss now, so you take his hand and let him lead you through the second door on your left. As you all come into the spacious office you admire the books that line both sides of the office the mahogany desk just in front of the large bay window. It's not an extravagant room but the simplicity is enough to bring it together to make a comfy environment. Mycroft leads you to the desk pulling out the chair for you before rounding it to the other side. “ I won’t waste your time with small talk and bring us straight to business instead. We both know your not one to have small talks .” The way he talks shows he knows exactly who you are, he knows how you want things to go and it's unnerving to have someone read you like a book. “Well, Mr Holmes as you know I’m not one to usually stick around for any type of chat or talk whatever you may wish to call it. But it would be a bother to kick up a fuss now so you have my attention.” You give him a small smile your eyes not giving away the slight twist in your stomach, or the fact that you are afraid of not being in control of what happens. “ Well, let’s get to it shall we then Miss L/n.”

You talk for at least an hour about different details and how things will work. He tells you that you will be staying here at his home for most of it, but on the days that you are working with Sherlock, you will be staying at Baker street with him. You proceed to argue with Sherlock for half an hour when he proceeds to put restrictions on the number of knives you can carry around with you arguing that he is a child with a gun and you are a wolf with its claws. It is finally settled when you too have a test to see who can balance a knife for the longest on the tip of their finger without dropping it. Sherlock loses miserably when he drops it and cuts his finger in the process with you laughing and then proceeding to look after it by cleaning and stitching the wound the others surprised at the kindness and skill that you have. “ You really are an idiot and also why did you try to catch the knife. Were you trying to get it to cut off your finger?” You question well trying not to laugh at his attempts to impress you with his terrible knife skills.

Hey guys sorry it’s been so long but I’m back for longer this time and imma sort the master list out and get the blog in shape again xx

-LadyZoMBiie

@livly1391 @thecmchannel @astridstark13

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kallypsowrites · 5 years

Text

The Angel’s Shadow Chapter 1

A/N: Alright, so I’m going out on a limb and posting the first chapter of an original novel of mine called the Angel’s Shadow. It takes place over 1,000 years after the Revelation began and demons and angels have both become common place to humans. The first chapter focuses on Trisha, a girl with strange arms who has never left her house on the hill.

Read if you like my writing. The full first chapter is under the cut. And Imma go hide now.

Chapter 1

Words whispered behind closed doors felt heavier than others. Trisha Blackwood decided as much as she stood outside her father’s office, listening to the nervous voices within. Each word fell into the pit of her stomach like stones down a well, and her heart beat marked their fall.

Plunk.

Her parents’ conversation was not meant for her, and she knew it with every inch of her body. She hovered in the hallway, one foot on the stairs, one hand gripping tight to the bannister. She wanted retreat to the safety of her room, but her curious ears tied her to their secret words and the door that muffled them.

“I don’t know what else to do,” her mother said. “The villagers hate us. Mr. Weiss will look for any excuse to run us out of town. And Trisha--“

“Trisha will be fine. They won’t hurt her.”

“They might try. If they saw her arms, they might try.”

Trisha studied her hand where it rested on the bannister. She could almost see her reflection in her strange, hard skin. Were her arms to blame for the family’s troubles? Or was it her whole self?

“We can’t send her away, Rachel,” her father said.

Trisha’s head jerked up. Away. What did he mean, away?

“She would be well cared for and safer,” her mother replied. “They aren’t so suspicious on the mainland. Estella is a dear friend of mine. She would take care of Trisha like her own daughter.”

“You haven’t heard from her in three years.”

“She is still my friend. She’ll answer me.”

Trisha did not quite know how to absorb the words. They confused her more than they scared her. For the past ten years of her life, Trisha’s world began and ended with the house on the hill. It began in her room, tucked away in the Northwest corner of the manor where she woke every morning tangled in her plush blue quilt. It ended with the stream that ran between the woods and the rest of the village.

Never go past the stream, her parents told her often. Yet now they were talking about sending her away?

What would it be like to finally leave?

“I sent the letter weeks ago. It’s too late to talk me out of it,” her mother said. “There’s nothing left for Trisha here. For any of us. We can barely keep the house anymore or pay Agatha what she’s worth. Maybe we’re doomed, but Trisha is young. She has a chance.”

Her father did not reply, and somehow his tense silence was heavier than all the words combined. Then:

“Fine. If she responds... I’ll think about it.”

Trisha’s parents shifted behind the door and the creak of wood sent Trisha skittering up the steps, toward the safety of her room.

When her mother came up later to bid her goodnight, her eyes had gone red from crying. Trisha had one million questions, but she bit her tongue against them.

Words from behind closed doors were heaviest because the eavesdropper had to keep them to themselves.

That night, Trisha dreamed of the sea and of a ship carrying her away from her little village and off to far-off places she had only read about in stories. The great water stretched out endlessly before her, glittering beneath the sun, like millions of sapphires swirling together. And when she dipped her hand in the waves, her fingers were normal and smooth.

But when she woke, the sea was out of reach, and it was her arms that glittered in the sunlight streaming through her window.

The trouble for the Blackwood family started with Trisha’s arms. While Trisha had always been pale, her flesh shifted from milk to diamond at her elbows. The surface of her skin became hard and bumpy, like a precious gem, though she still had perfect movement in her wrists and fingers. Sometimes, when she got angry, her fingers sharpened into points like the claws of a stray cat.

Her arms had looked like that for as long as Trisha could remember, though her parents insisted she was not born that way. She did not mind their look. She liked the way they sparkled in the sunlight in the early morning. But their nature meant that she could not venture into the village or let the townsfolk see her. And she certainly could not touch the sea just beyond. Only gaze out at it from a distance.

Her parents described the townsfolk in their corner of England as “superstitious of all things beyond this world”. Trisha did not know where her arms came from, but she had an idea from the scattered words she heard behind closed doors.

Abnormal.

Cursed.

Touched by demons.

With such a small world, Trisha had never seen a demon, nor did she wish to do so. She had read enough books and seen enough pictures to know the destruction they could cause. In the ancient days, the onset of the Revelation laid whole cities in England to waste and the sea carved away great chunks of coastline. And behind every great disaster since the Revelation, a demon stood with a grin full of crooked, sharp teeth.

If a demon touched Trisha, she would surely remember.

Trisha flexed her fingers a few times, watching the sunlight dance across her knuckles. Then rolled from beneath the covers and hurried to dress. It was Friday, the busiest time at port, and she wanted to watch the ships come in. She tied a cloak over her gown to keep out the autumn breeze and slipped out into the hall.

The manor was quiet, but then again, it always was. They had far more rooms than they needed with their small family—remnants of a time when the Blackwoods had more family and guests. Most of the rooms felt like that. Remnants. The empty bedrooms. The great ballroom where her grandparents apparently once hosted gatherings of nobles. The maid’s quarters which they could not afford to fill. They were shells that longed to be filled, but they had to settle for Trisha.

At least, not every room was that way. Agatha, the only maid remaining, spent most of her mornings in the kitchen. Trisha found her there on her way out, pulling a batch of sweet biscuits out of the oven. Trisha tried to snatch one as she passed and Agatha rapped her spoon on the back of her knuckles.

“No. They’re too hot, child.”

“Not for me,” Trisha protested. “You know my hands won’t burn.”

“Aye, but your tongue will. Unless your tongue started glittering overnight,” Agatha said.

“It did,” Trisha said, lifting her chin.

“Uh huh.” Agatha arched her brow and tapped Trisha’s lips with her spoon. “Open up then and show me.”

Trisha pressed her lips together in defiance and Agatha laughed, shaking her head.

“All right then. Take a biscuit. But wait for it to cool.”

Trisha beamed, snatching a biscuit from the tray and rushing out the door into the cool autumn morning.

The Blackwood manor sat on a rather high hill, overlooking the village and the sea which lay beyond. It stood three stories tall, mostly dark grey stone that jutted out in places making it perfect for climbing. To reach their house, any visitors had to cross the shallow stream and hike up a winding path through the woods. And visitors rarely deigned to make the trip, so Trisha was free to play on the hill. In the summer, wildflowers sprouted in colorful patches, and Trisha picked them often on her morning walk. Even more grew on the hillside beyond the creek—yellow, pink, and blue. But those flowers were forbidden.

Never go past the stream.

Off to the right stood an old watchtower, made of old stone and covered with moss on the east side where the early morning cast its light. Hail fall damaged the wooden roof three years previously, leaving holes big enough for skinny cats and fat rats. It was useless to Trisha’s parents. But to her, it was everything: her sanctuary, her stash of important things, and her view into the world she could never touch.

In the tower sanctuary, she kept a typical child’s stash: a doll with fine silk clothing that her father brought her from the mainland (she did not remember which country). A rubber ball which she could bounce off the walls and chase when it accidentally tumbled out the window. Bundles of wild flowers, half dead, half dying, which she had plucked from the forests. Five of her favorite books with torn bindings from so much use.

But most important of all: a tiny music box that she found by the creek. Some children must have dropped it while playing. She planned on handing it over to her mother until she heard it’s pretty tune. She did not know the name of the song. Only that it made her feel peaceful when she sat in her tower, turning the crank round and round. It was a small, soft melody. It fit her world nicely. A small world for a small girl.

When she reached the top of the tower, she snatched up the music box and gave the crank a few twists. Then, as the song played, she settled herself on a crate in front of the window and peered out at the horizon. Past the tree line, she could make out the roofs of the village at the base of the hill and the steeple of the old church. And beyond that? A sliver of sparkling blue sea, dotted with the sails of ships coming into port. She smiled, tearing off a chunk of her biscuit. It was cool enough to eat without burning her tongue but warm enough to chase away the chill of the early morning.

She sometimes spent hours in the tower, watching ships drift from the horizon to the port until their sails disappear below the tree line. That tantalizing strip of sea made her long for the open waters of her dreams and a ship of her own. But she had never even seen a ship up close. Instead, she was left with her imagination and the stories of adventurers in her books.

She tried to be content with that. She tried not to dream of stepping beyond the stream because she knew her parents were right. Most would fear her arms. Cut them off or throw her out of the village to let a real demon prey upon her.

“Big worlds are not always good,” Agatha told her once. “Big worlds mean big people who use their size against you.”

Agatha’s words sounded wise. A girl with cursed arms was lucky enough to have any place in the world at all.

Yet she could not help wish that one day she would grow big enough to not fear the monsters on the other side.

An hour passed and Trisha stayed at her perch, alternating between flipping through a book of French fairytales and peering out at the sea. But once when she looked up, she caught a flash of movement on the path. Two young men were approaching the house.

They dressed like noblemen from across the sea with all of their clothes stitched with the finest materials, and they shared the same warm brown skin and dark hair. The eldest carried himself much older than suited his young face, his chin held high and proud, and his gaze hard as the cane in his hand. He kept his hair slicked and pulled neatly back with a violet tie.

The younger could not be more than a few years Trisha’s senior, and his shoulders did not quite fill his fine suit. He had shorter hair than his brother but he kept it wild, letting the curls fall in his eyes. He walked with his shoulders slumped forward, his hands stuffed in his pockets and his eyes fixed to the ground, as if he were looking for something he had lost. But when he raised his head and caught sight of Trisha in the window, he smiled, giving her a little wave.

Trisha should have stayed in her tower. She should have stayed hidden and kept her arms out of sight. Yet they hadn’t had visitors in so long. Certainly not visitors like these. So she found herself hurrying down the steps, her book of fairy tales still tucked under her arm. The young men had nearly reached the porch when she rushed out to meet them, tucking her arms instinctively behind her back as she skidded to a stop just off the path.

“Are you from across the sea?”

The elder boy paused at the foot of the porch. Trisha shivered as his gaze fixed on her. She was not used to being studied so intently nor was she used to strangers. Maybe coming downstairs hadn’t been a smart idea. “We’re from Lisbon.”

“Portugal?” Trisha shifted from foot to foot. “I’ve always wanted to go. The books say that it’s beautiful in the summer. Especially the ocean.”

“The books don’t lie.” The eldest stepped toward her. He turned his cane in his hand. “Your name is Trisha Blackwood, yes?”

Trisha nodded once. She pressed her arms more firmly against the small of her back. They seemed to tingle when he drew near. She had never felt such a sensation before, and she did not know what to make of it.

“I’m Stefano De Galantes.” He glanced down at the younger boy. “This is Leon. My brother.”

Leon offered her a small smile. He had kinder eyes than his brother. Warm brown, just like his skin and hair. “It’s nice to meet you, Lady Blackwood.”

Trisha giggled. “Lady? No one has ever called me a lady.”

“Because your parents hide you from anyone who would, I expect,” Stefano said. “You don’t have to hide from us. We know about your arms.”

“You... what?” Trisha felt a lump in her throat.

“Your arms. Your parents told us.” Stefano stepped toward her, holding out his hand. “May I see them?” When Trisha did not move, his hard expression softened. “It’s all right. I’m not a danger to you today.”

“What about tomorrow?” Trisha asked.

Stefano’s dark eyes glittered with amusement. She was sure she saw purple flecked through the brown of his irises. What a strange mix of colors. “You’re a clever one, aren’t you?”

“My mother says so,” Trisha said. Then, slowly, she unwound her arms behind her back.

The cracked diamond surface of her skin glittered in the light as she held them up for Stefano’s inspection. The younger brother, Leon, craned his neck to get a look at her arms, his eyes wide. Stefano touched her palm for only a moment before he jerked his hand back.

“What is it?” she asked. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

“No,” Stefano said. His voice was even. He was a good liar, unlike her parents.

“I can hurt people if I’m not careful.” Trisha passed one hand over the back of the other. Her knuckles cracked sharpened into points over her fingers. “Sometimes this happens on its own.”

Stefano’s jaw went taut. Perhaps the claws had frightened him. She should have known better than to show them to strangers. The younger brother had taken a step back at the sight.

“I’m not surprised,” Stefano said at last.

“You’ve seen arms like mine before then?” Trisha looked up at him, wide eyed. She had never imagined there was anyone else like her.

“In a sense, yes,” Stefano said. His eyes fixated on her hands. Now, Trisha was sure she saw violet in his irises, overwhelming the brown. His hand twitched like he meant to reach out again. The nerves of Trisha’s arms buzzed.

“Trisha?”

Trisha looked up to see her mother standing in the doorway, clutching the frame with one hand and a fire poker in the other.

Stefano dropped his hand, straightening and turning to face Trisha’s mother. “Lady Blackwood. My name is Stefano De Galantes.”

“And I’m Leon De Galantes.” Leon gave a bow.

Her mother’s grip relaxed on the fire poker and the door handle all at once. “You both have Estella’s look.” She glanced at Leon. “You especially. I should have known at once. Thank you for coming.” She stepped out onto the porch. “Where is Estella? Could she not come?”

“I’m afraid not,” Stefano said. “She passed a few years ago. Our father followed shortly after.”

Lady Blackwood’s shoulders deflated. “She’s dead.”

Leon looked down at the ground, scuffing his boot against the gravel. Stefano tapped his younger brother’s ankle with his cane as he passed and he straightened quickly into a more dignified position.

“Yes,” Stefano said. “I’m head of the family now.”

“You’re awfully young for that, aren’t you?” Lady Blackwood murmured.

“I’m old enough,” Stefano said. “I received your letter about your daughter. I know you and our mother were once close. I thought I’d better come in her place.”

Trisha’s mother bit her lip and nodded. “I appreciate the courtesy, my lord. Please come in. We should talk away from younger ears.”

Stefano nodded and followed her into the house. Leon lingered outside with Trisha. His shoulders seemed to relax when Stefano disappeared, an almost visible weight lifted off his shoulders. The lightness in his eyes surprised Trisha when he smiled at her. “What were you reading?”

“Oh.” Trisha remembered the book tucked under her arm and showed it to him. “A book of French fairytales.”

“I love fairytales.” Leon crossed to her, carefully taking the book from her. “Yes, I think I’ve read this one. We have many books in our library.” He flipped through. “You read French?”

“Yes. I can’t go very far from this house, you see. So I have lots of time to learn things. Like French and history and literature.” She pulled at one of her odd fingers. “Do you read a lot too?”

“Yes.” Leon smiled fondly. “I’d spend all my time with books if I could.” He rubbed a hand behind his neck. “But Stefano insists I learn the family business.”

“What is the family business?”

Leon studied his shoes. “Shipping.”

“Shipping what?”

“Lots of things. We own ports and trains that go all over Europe.”

“So you own ships?” Trisha’s eyes lit up.

“Oh yes, many,” Leon said. “One of our ships brought us here to your little harbor.”

“I’ve always wanted a ship of my own,” Trisha said. “I wanted to sail every corner of the seas like a great adventurer in the stories.” She bounced up and down on the balls of her feet. “Tell me, is the open sea as beautiful as the pictures?”

“You’ve never been out to sea?” Leon asked. “It’s just down the hill.”

“I’m not allowed to go past the stream. Because of these.” Trisha held her arms up to the sunlight. Leon flinched slightly when her hand passed too close to him and she frowned. “See... you’re afraid of them too.”

“It’s... not that,” Leon murmured. “They’re beautiful. It’s just... it’s too bad they keep you from sailing.”

Trisha nodded once, pretending that she did not notice his lie. “But... that might change soon. I heard my parents talking of sending me away to keep me safe. If they do... I’ll cross the sea then.”

“I suppose you will,” Leon said. “You’d like our ship. It’s beautiful. Much better than a picture.”

Trisha was sure she would like any ship, even a broken down one. She wanted to ask more questions, but the door creaked open and Stefano stepped out. Leon’s shoulders seemed to hunch again as Stefano jerked his head toward the doorway.

“Leon. Come here. Now.”

Leon nodded once. He gave Trisha one more soft smile, handing back her book. “Maybe you can show me more of your collection sometime.”

Trisha returned his smile. “And I can see your ship.”

Leon nodded once, then turned and scurried up the porch steps, sliding past his elder brother. Stefano cast Trisha one heavy look before shutting the door.

More closed doors, Trisha thought. They must be discussing many weighted secrets in there. Secrets not meant for her. And Trisha did not wish to bear the burden of their whispered words today. So she picked up her book again and sat at the foot of her tower.

Words in books were meant to be shared. She far preferred to lose herself in printed pages than in the voices just beyond her reach.

A short time later, the De Galantes brothers left. They had some business in the town and needed time to consider her mother’s proposal. Would they take her across the sea or would she stay here in her little world?

It was an exciting and terrifying thought. If Trisha was honest, she was more terrified about what would happen if they said no. She had the promise of a ship and the open sea in front of her, closer than they had ever been. But what if they left without returning and she lost her chance?

She could not stand to go back indoors yet. With a few more hours of daylight before her, she wandered down the path toward the creek. She always wandered the woods in the late afternoon because she liked the way the fading light caught the trees. Trees at dusk made the most beautiful silhouettes, and the evening sunlight made the surface of the water glitter and shine to match Trisha’s arms.

She let her worries about the secret “proposition” between her mother and the noble brothers drift away as she walked along the stream, dipping her toes into the cool water every so often. Occasionally, she allowed herself glances across the stream into the forbidden territory of the village. The grass on the other side looked much the same as the grass beneath her feet. No greener, really. But it wasn’t the grass she wanted. It was the sea. It was the ship.

She found herself in a staring contest with the barrier, though it had no eyes to look back. One couldn’t win a staring contest with the ground. A little voice whispered in the back of her mind.

“The heroes in the stories are bold. If they weren’t... they would never leave home.”

That little whisper pushed her forward.

And she stepped. She stepped across the stream. Then she stepped again. And again. Her feet carried her down the hill toward the village.

It will be fine, she told herself. My sleeves are long. If I hide my hands in the pockets of my cloak, no one will see.

I’ll be fine. I must be bold.

I want to see the ship.

***

Trisha wondered if this was how heroes felt the first time they struck out on an adventure. It always seemed the first few steps to freedom would be exciting. For her, they were filled with nausea and paranoia. She kept her hands tucked in her pockets and hidden beneath her cloak as she hurried down the hill toward the village she had only ever seen from a distance. The very sight of people on the main road made her panic, and she was quick to duck behind the nearest house, letting out a shuddering breath.

This is bad. This was a bad idea. I shouldn’t have done this.

She swallowed down a wave of panic, looking down to make sure her arms were not visible. They weren’t. No one would know if she just kept them like this.

She swished her cloak around a bit, checking to make sure there were no gaps. Then she took a deep breath and continued on her way, taking quick, nervous steps down the alley.

She kept to the back ways, trying to avoid people as much as possible. But even when she passed others, they did not seem to notice her. They were too busy with their own affairs for that. Slowly but surely, she grew more confident in her pace, and her shoulders relaxed. She really was here. Past the stream. Out in the village.

And the sea was close at hand.

She hurried on until she last she broke out of an alley and stumbled into a fence. It was that fence that kept her from tumbling right over into the water. Suddenly, she was looking out at the sea. She could smell the salt, hear the waves rolling in the wind. How blue it was. How... beautiful.

And when she looked to her right, she spied the port and the ship which she had come to visit.

The vessel was much bigger than she had expected, and it dwarfed the other ships in the harbor. The wood was a dark reddish-brown, and it shone so brightly that Trisha thought it must be a new coat of paint. The mast stretched high into the sky and Trisha imagined that when the white sails would look magnificent when unfurled. The ship was called ‘The Lion’s Breath’, and its name was written in gold letters along the side. Trisha leaned against the ropes, wanting to reach out and touch it. But she could not risk anyone seeing her arms.

“What are you doing here?”

The cool voice made Trisha jumped, and she looked up to see Stefano De Galantes standing by the gangplank of the ship, his gloved hand gripping the railing. She could not tell if he was angry to see her or if that was just his normal expression.

“I... wanted to see the ship,” she mumbled.

“Someone could have seen you,” Stefano pointed out. “That’s a lot to risk just to see a ship.”

She shifted from foot to foot. “But I’ve... never seen one before. I thought if I didn’t come now... I would lose my chance.”

He studied her for a long time before he replied. “And? Does it meet your expectations?”

She risked a nervous smile. “Yes, my lord. It’s a magnificent ship. Better than any picture in a book.”

He did not smile back at her, but there was a gleam of amusement in his eyes. “Was it worth the risky trip?”

“I think so. No one has noticed me yet.” Trisha took a small step toward him. “Will you take me with you, Lord De Galantes? Have you decided?”

“I haven’t,” Stefano said. “But...it might be better for you to remain here.”

Trisha’s heart clenched. “You’re wrong. If I stay, I’ll only make more trouble for my parents. And... and I’ll be stuck at the top of the hill forever.”

“Well, you’re not at the top of the hill now,” Stefano pointed out.

Trisha bit the inside of her cheek. That was true. It was an invigorating feeling, finally crossing the stream. But she did not want to stop at this short journey.

“I told you. I haven’t decided,” Stefano said. “For now, return home. You’ve seen your ship. Let that be enough for today.”

Trisha did not move for a moment. Then his gaze hardened, and a tingling went through her arms again, like a warning.

“Go.”

Trisha took a step back. Then she turned and hurried away from the docks, urged forward by his single word. His face was young, but there was a weight to his voice that made him seem older, and that single word had felt like an order.

I don’t think he likes me, she thought, and that was enough to crush what little hope she had of going out to sea. She had been foolish to hope for that.

But she had seen the ship. She tried to be content with that as she picked her way carefully through the back roads of the town, using the hill in the distance as her guide. She passed a few people but most did not pay her any mind. Until she ducked onto the road behind the blacksmith and almost ran headlong into a boy with red hair.

She stumbled back, muttering a quick apology as she checked to make sure her arms were not visible. They weren’t, but still he looked at her with wide green eyes.

“It’s you,” he said, which was not what she expected him to say.

“It’s... me?”

“You’re the girl who lives up the hill,” the red-headed boy said. “The one with the pretty arms.”

Pretty. That wasn’t the word she expected to hear from him. She shoved her hands deeper into her pockets, shaking her head. “No...I’m sorry. You must be mistaken.”

“I’m not. I saw you once before, just past the stream. You were picking flowers.” He glanced around as if worried someone would hear. “You should go home, quickly. They’re looking for you.”

“Who?” Trisha asked.

“Ralph Weiss and his friends. One of them saw you in town and they went on a... hunt.”

A hunt? How could they hunt Trisha when she wasn’t an animal?

“Why?” she asked.

“Because of your arms,” Reid said. “They think you’re a demon. Listen, one of them has a knife. I’m not messing around. Go up the hill. Quickly. I’ll try to lead them away.”

Trisha’s heart beat against her rib cage like a frightened bird. A knife. One of them had a knife. She turned to go but stopped in her tracks when she heard the voices.

“No really, I saw her,” a boy claimed. “Saw her running on all fours through the trees like some kind of animal. She had claws. Bright purple eyes too.”

“Yeah right.”

“I know what I saw! The Blackwood’s have a demon for a daughter.”

Trisha took a step back, looking around frantically for a retreat. But it was too late. The group had rounded the corner. One of them, a boy with pale blonde hair, had already spied her. He cackled, pointing her direction.

“Is that your demon girl? Cause she’s standing on two feet.”

“Yeah, and her eyes are blue, not purple,” another said.

A boy with too many freckles, the one who claimed to have seen her, stamped her foot against the ground. “That’s her; she’s just not in her true form. Demons never start out looking like demons you know.”

“Leave her alone, Ralph,” the red-headed boy said. “She’s not a demon at all.”

“Oh. O’Banner. Didn’t see you there,” Ralph said. “Well, good work finding her. I knew that big brain might come in handy.” He looked Trisha up and down. “Well? Show us those arms.”

Trisha shook her head, taking a step back. Her hands clenched into fists in her pockets, but she could not bring herself to speak. She saw the knife at his hip. The same knife the red-headed boy warned her about.

The boy with too many freckles stomped over to her, grabbing for her arm. “I’ll show you. Her arms are strange. Just look.”

“Don’t touch me.” Trisha smacked his hand a way, stepping back. The sunlight rippled over her skin and the boys gasped.

“Hellfire. She does have weird arms.”

“I told you.” The boy with too many freckles seized her wrist, jerking her arm up into the air. They were all older than her by a few years and thus much taller. “Didn’t I tell you? Demon hands.”

“I’m not a demon.” Trisha struggled in his grip, a worm on a hook. But the other boys were already swarming her with wide eyes and greedy smiles. “I’m not.”

“Let her go,” the red-headed boy, O’Banner, tried to come to her aid, but two of the other boys seized his skinny arms, pulling him back. Trisha turned, wanting to help him, but the boy with the pale blonde hair and the knife grabbed her other wrist, holding it up to the light.

“Well, you’re not human, that’s for sure. What are these made of?”

“Demon crystal?” the freckled boy suggested.

“No such thing as demon crystal.”

“How do you know?”

Trisha gritted her teeth, jerking in their grip again. “I said let go.”

“Shut up, Demon Girl,” the boy with too many freckles said. “I bet if we take her to Old Mick, he’ll tell us what kind of demon she is.” He yanked her hard toward the main road, and Trisha dug her heels into the ground. No. No one else could see her.

“Old Mick will take all the credit for catching a demon then,” said one boy holding O’Banner. “We caught her. We should take her to the town square. Mr. Weiss will give us fat stacks of money for catching a demon.” He looked to the blonde boy. “Right, Ralph? Your father will pay us good?”

“If I ask him,” the boy replied. His blue eyes glittered with malice.

“Please stop. I’m a girl. I’m a normal girl,” Trisha insisted.

A metallic scraping sound echoed through the alley and Trisha’s stomach twisted. Ralph had drawn his knife.

“We’ll take her to my father in a minute. I want to see what her arms are made of.”

Trisha hissed and threw herself backward. Her arms finally wrenched free of their grasps but she knocked hard against the ground. She hadn’t even caught her breath when Ralph fell on top of her, pinning one of her wrists to the ground. He tapped one of her fingers with his blade.

“What are you doing?” the freckled boy asked.

“Her hands look hard. I wonder if I can cut off a finger,” Ralph said.

“You’re insane!” O’Banner protested. “She’s just a kid.”

“She’s a demon, O’Banner. I’m trying to protect us.”

Trisha realized then, with startling clarity, that appealing to them with words was pointless. They didn’t look at her as a girl. They looked at her the same way they might a rat or a bug. They could carve off all of her fingers and her toes too, and they wouldn’t see it as wrong.

She couldn’t reason with them.

She drove her fist forward without thinking, meaning to punch him. As if on instinct, her knuckles sharpened. The flesh of his neck gave easily, followed by the spray of warm blood across her face. Pain jolted through her hand, white hot like lightning, and she cried out.

The boys screamed too and stumbled back, but Ralph couldn’t make a sound with a sliced throat.

He toppled off of her, collapsing to the ground. The others scrambled off, abandoning him before Trisha had even fully sat up. She looked down at the pale boy, straight into his wide blue eyes. His mouth trembled as he tried to draw in gasping breaths. Instead, he could only choke as the air slipped out the hole in his neck.

Trisha could not tear her eyes away from him. She watched every painful gurgle until the light faded from his blue eyes. Then he went utterly still.

Another pulse of agony raced up Trisha’s arm, and she gritted her teeth against a cry. She looked down at her left hand, expecting to see a wound. Instead, she saw a black spot spread across her knuckles beneath the blood. Black like charcoal.

“You killed him.”

Trisha looked over her shoulder to see that only O’Banner remained, wide eyed and pale.

“I was just trying to...” Trisha trailed off. It didn’t matter what she was trying to do.

The boy blinked hard, looking from the body back to her. “You need to go. Now.”

This time she did not protest or hesitate. She tucked her hands beneath her cloak and ran as fast as she could back toward the hill. And all the way there, the black mark on her hand throbbed.

Trisha stumbled up the hill, racing to get home before dark. She held her left arm tight to her chest, trying not to move her blemished hand. Panic clawed at the inside of her chest, but her expression did not move. She floated within her own body as it moved on instinct, trying to get to safety.

Agatha stood on the porch, beating out the front hall rug when Trisha fell to her knees in front of the house. Her legs trembled too much to hold her weight.

“Miss?” Agatha dropped to her side. “Merciful heavens, you’re bleeding!”

Trisha shook her head, staring straight ahead at the pearly white buttons of Agatha’s dress. “It’s not mine, Miss Agatha. Don’t worry.” Trisha almost didn’t recognize the flatness of her own voice.

Agatha let out a foul stream of curses and leapt to her feet. The door creaked and her footsteps tapped rapidly away, leaving Trisha alone again on the porch. She did not dare to move, or look at her blood stained left hand. She wanted to become stone and never move again, not even for the wind. They could not hurt her if she was stone. Stone did not feel pain.

The footsteps returned, this time with company. Suddenly, Trisha’s mother and father knelt beside her, shaking her, checking for injury. They asked so many questions and Trisha couldn’t process any of them.

“Trisha, look at me.” Her mother cupped her face in her hands and forced her head up. “Tell me what happened.”

“I crossed the stream. I’m sorry. I know I shouldn’t have,” Trisha muttered. The numbness of her expression cracked, and she felt tears slipping down her cheeks. “I wanted to see a ship. And... one boy wanted to cut my arms open. So I...”

“Goddamn it,” her father hissed and Trisha flinched. Her father rarely raised his voice.

Her mother pulled her tight to her chest, stroking Trisha’s dark hair. “Don’t say anymore, dear.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I didn’t mean to. I didn’t think there would be so much blood. I don’t think you’ll be able to wash this dress, Agatha.” Trisha’s chest shuddered. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s just a dress, child,” Agatha murmured from somewhere to Trisha’s left. She couldn’t see her through the film of gathering tears.

“They’ll be coming soon,” her father said. “In less than an hour, there will be a mob at our doorstep, looking for her. Damn it all. We were so close to getting her out of this wretched place.”

“They won’t get anywhere near her,” her mother vowed. She pulled back from Trisha, looking her in the eye again. “Trisha dear, I want you to go to the tower.”

“The tower?” Trisha asked.

“Yes. You love to hide up there, don’t you? I want you to hide again. Think of it like a game.” Her mother pushed back her hair with a soft smile. Why did her parents’ smiles always seem like lies? “You mustn’t let anyone find you. You must stay quiet and still until everyone else leaves. Do you understand?”

Trisha nodded once. “I think so.”

“Be sure.” Her mother squeezed her shoulders. “Promise me you won’t be found.”

“You should hide with me,” Trisha croaked out.

Her mother shook her head. “You know I don’t like the tower. It’s so dirty up there.” Tears gathered in her mother’s eyes. “I’ll hide somewhere else. Don’t worry. Just promise me.”

Trisha swallowed a lump in her throat. “I promise.”

“Good girl.” Her mother stood, drawing Trisha up with her. “Go. The game starts now.”

Trisha nodded, blinking away tears. She fled to the tower as fast as her feet would carry her. The sun was nearly down and she could barely see her feet as she ran up the crumbling steps. When she reached the top room, she tucked herself between her box of treasures and a fallen wooden plank from the damaged ceiling.

Quiet and still, she waited.

The village came less than an hour later. Or at least a large portion of the village. It had to be a great number of people, because there were so many voices outside, chanting in one livid chorus. The light of their torches flashed through the narrow window of the tower and painted deep shadows on the walls. Trisha shrunk from the light, not wanting it to touch her. She must stay hidden.

“Give us the monster!” one man called. “The demon killed a child. Bring her out.”

“She is not here,” her father called back. “She fled an hour ago.”

“Lies. Bring her out. She does not deserve your protection.”

Trisha swallowed hard. Her parents had never been good liars. Even the townspeople knew as much.

The villagers’ cries for justice rose around the tower, mixing until they became incoherent. Trisha could not make any individual words. Just the emotions. Rage. Fear. Hate. She felt them pressing in around her like the shadows from their torches. She clapped her hands over her ears to smother them.

She couldn’t smother her sense of smell though. Smoke stung her nose, and the firelight seemed to spread. Fire. Had they set fire to the house? A sudden terror gripped Trisha for her parents. She forgot, for a moment, her mother’s command to be silent and still. She crawled across the ground on all fours and chanced a look through the narrow window.

She had never seen so many people before, clustered all in a mass, each with their own torch in their hands. One torch had lit the west side of the house on fire. But her parents had not moved. They stood strong before the door. Agatha stood behind them, clutching a huge steak knife that she usually used to prepare dinner. It wouldn’t be enough. The villagers had weapons too.

The firelight passed over her face and Trisha ducked down beneath the window again. Too late. A clear woman’s voice rose over the crowd.

“I saw something move in the tower. She’s there.”

“NO,” her mother screamed.

The tower seemed to shudder. The villagers pressed around its base. Her parents must have barricaded the door, because Trisha heard it shudder but not give. Still, she was sure their pounding alone would knock over the tower.

Her parent’s screams mixed with the horrible din and she tried to focus on them. On the familiar sound of their voices. But soon, the cries of the mob swallowed them up. She couldn’t hear them anymore. The door shuddered. Splintered.

Then the screams changed.

It was a subtle difference at first. From blood-thirst to fear. Then panic. Then utter terror. A woman shrieked in agony.

“Oh God. Oh God, Demon.”

Now, the shift in the mob was clear. The door had stopped shuddering, and the screams seemed to scatter. And amidst the cries and the crackling of fire, Trisha heard the most awful sounds.

Crunch

Snap

Pop

Like tree branches cracking in a great storm, but softer.

Crunch

Snap

Pop

Trisha did not dare rise again to see what was happening. She stayed at her place below the window, watching firelight dance across the wall. Then, suddenly, a face appeared before her.

The face melted out of the stone first, as if breaking through a waterfall, and a body followed shortly after. In the shadows cast by the fire, Trisha thought it must be an awful ghoul come to kill her. Then he spoke.

“Shh, it’s all right.”

Trisha focused on his face now. Leon De Galantes. Had he... walked straight through the wall?

“I won’t hurt you.” The boy moved forward carefully, kneeling in front of her. He had a soft smile. A real smile. “I’m here to help.”

“The mob,” Trisha choked out.

“Not a problem,” Leon said. “We just have to wait a few minutes. Then they’ll all be gone.” He looked around her tower, noticing her box of treasures. “This is your hideaway isn’t it?” He slid over to her box, looking through her little treasures. He pulled out her music box and turned the crank. A familiar, pretty tune filled the tower. It surprised Trisha she could hear it at all. The mob had gotten strangely quieter. “I’ve heard this before. It’s a waltz they often play at balls.” He looked up at her. “You’ll get to hear a whole orchestra play it someday.”

He had a kind expression, and yet...

“You came through the wall,” Trisha murmured. “Are you a demon?”

“Yes,” Leon said. He answered so simply. Yes. No lies. No shame either. Just a yes. “Well, I’m possessed by a demon. I’m still human but...I’m sort of both. So are you.”

Trisha blinked hard. “I’m not. I’m just...”

“You are.” Leon sat down in front of her. “It’s all right. We’ll look after you now. In Lisbon, you’ll be safe. No one will think to hurt you under our roof.”

“What about my parents?” Trisha asked.

“They won’t be able to look after you anymore, Trish.” He rested a hand on her arm, just above where abnormal flesh met smooth skin. “But we will. We’ll take you across the sea. You’ll get to see many things now. You won’t have to stay hidden away.”

“I’ve never left this hill.” Trisha swallowed hard. “And when I did... everything went wrong.”

“Now is a good time to try again.” Leon grasped her shoulders and eased her to her feet. Then he pressed her music box into her hand. “Come on. It’s over now. Don’t be afraid.”

Trisha was afraid and her thoughts spun out of control. She was a demon. Possessed. The villagers had been right to want to kill her. Yet this boy, a demon like her, was kind.

Demons weren’t supposed to be kind.

Leon guided her down the stairs until they reached the splintered remains of the door. The mob had left a gap big enough for Trisha to step through.

She stepped into a sea of bodies.

The villagers lay strewn about the grass, all around the field where Trisha used to play. Their bodies twisted at odd angles, their necks lolling to the side and their eyes and mouths wide, frozen with their last screams. She didn’t see any blood, except from three of the bodies. Agatha, lying near the door, speared through the chest by a pitchfork.

And her parents, on the porch, in a pool of red.

The mob had killed them, but someone else had killed the mob. Someone...

Trisha’s arms buzzed, and she looked up.

A single man remained standing in the sea of the dead, barely visible in the light of the fading flames. No blood stained his clothes or face, and he held no weapon. Yet Trisha knew, with absolute certainty, that he had caused the shift in the mob’s screams.

He had killed them—every one of them—in minutes.

A gentle breeze rustled the man’s long hair, filling the dead quiet for a moment. He let out a long breath, like her father used to after a hard day at work. Then Stefano De Galantes adjusted the cuffs of his jacket and turned to face them with eyes glowing violet in the dark.

“Ready to go?”

Trisha crossed the stream for the first time that day, and it had been a terrible mistake. Now she crossed the stream a second time, following the brothers back toward the port.

But the village had twisted into something out of a nightmare. The villagers who had not come with the mob were screaming, and the smell of smoke filled the air. Trisha heard an earth-shattering shriek from nearby.

“Rogue demons,” Leon said. “They must’ve come when they felt your signature.”

“Undoubtedly,” Stefano agreed.

“Should we do something?”

“No.” Stefano did not slow his pace. “Let them have their rampage.”

Trisha stumbled to keep up with Leon. The cold wind bit at her skin even through her cloak. At least, her hand did not burn so much anymore, but the black spot remained.

The docks came into sight, and Trisha did not have time to admire the beauty of the ships before that horrible shriek pierced the night again, this time much closer. She turned, wide eyed, to see the thing Leon had called a “rogue demon”.

Unlike the De Galantes brothers, it looked nothing close to human. Its mortal body had long ago fallen away, leaving behind a true monster. It stood as tall as a house with bubbling, blackened skin and a bulbous body too large for its skinny legs. It had six of them, bony, with the elbows popping out at odd angles. A wonder that it could even hold itself up, but it could easily crush a building with its weight. Or a ship.

It crashed its way toward the docks but Stefano held up two fingers, his violet eyes flashing. The creature stopped with a pained roar.

“We need that ship,” Stefano said in a cool voice. “Do your work elsewhere.”

The demon shuddered at the wake of his words and turned, sliding off in the other direction, crushing shops as it went.

“See,” Leon whispered to her. “You have nothing to worry about, Trisha.”

Trisha wasn’t sure of that, but she did not have the voice to argue. They stepped onto the docks when she heard another cry, this one much more human.

“Demons!”

She whipped around and saw him. The redheaded boy. The one who told her to run. He was sprinting toward them, an axe in his hand. She thought he meant to kill her, but instead he let out a cry.

“Demons. Let her go.”

Trisha blinked. Did this boy mean to save her? Did he not realize what she was even after he saw her kill someone?

Stefano stepped forward, flicking his wrist. The boy flew back, smacking into the wall of the nearest building. Trisha let out a cry before she could stop herself. Her scream seemed to stop Stefano.

“Leave him,” Leon said. “We need to go.”

Stefano glared after the boy for a moment, his jaw tense. Then he nodded. “Yes, let’s go.”

Trisha looked over her shoulder as Leon guided her onto the ship. The redheaded boy slumped on the ground, unconscious from Stefano’s blow. Her would-be “savior”.

He must have thought her a princess from the stories, kidnapped by demons. He did not realize she was one herself.

#my writing #amwriting #originals #wingless #the angel's shadow

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lexiseigneur · 5 years

Text

Chapter seventeen : Dr. Brevil

Ao3

“Two bags every two days…” said Gus on the phone the next morning.

Quinlan waited by the bar with his arms crossed. As he glanced above his shoulder, Lexi was explaining to Raul in excruciating details how the devices worked. The poor man could not peel his eyes off the disembodied brains inside the transparent machines. A low voice responded through the small speaker in Gus’ hand.

“That’s insane, man. Like…that’s literally the craziest shit you’ve asked so far.”

“Do you know what I’m looking at right now, Paquito?”

There was nothing that the Sun Hunter was looking at in particular.

“No…what?”

“A stack of Julio’s fresh tortillas.”

The man on the other end of the line did not answer.

“And I’m not talking about that wheat blend bullshit that runs out there…no. This is made from real masa harina. The smell, man…”

Gus breathed in deeply and smiled.

“It’s like my mom’s kitchen.”

The voice grunted.

“What do you even need that for?” it asked.

“Since when do you ask questions, pendejo? Well shit, I guess Imma start to dig in if you don’t want them.”

“I didn’t say I didn’t want the fucking tortillas!”

“You gonna deliver then?”

“Yeah…but I want fifteen with each delivery.”

“Done. Can you get the first shipment tomorrow?”

“OK. You’re fucking insane, you know that?”

“Well, I’m not the one stealing blood for tortillas. Be there at 12:30, I’ll tell you where to go at 12:00.”

“OK.”

Gus hung up then immediately picked up the phone again.

“Julio? Where you at? Get the masa harina and prepare thirty tortillas. Put fifteen aside.”

They chatted about lunch preparation for another moment then he put the phone down again.

“The guy works at a donation center. So I guess you won’t starve anymore.”

“We are most grateful, Mister Elizalde,” said Quinlan and he meant it.

“I think I need some time to read through that again,” said Raul sheepishly.

“Will that human be of any help to you?” asked Quinlan without turning around.

“Eventually. He doesn’t need to fully understand the mechanisms. Just assemble them without constant supervision.”

“You have time until we gather the components. Do not worry. We will build the first one together…and very slowly,” she said.

Quinlan grinned. She had not shown him that type of patience. Lexi expected his immediate understanding of anything she explained.

“At noon we meet with the Librarian. Until then I’m gonna continue calling some favors in.” Augustin typed another phone number and Quinlan quickly lost interest. He could not help in any way. Still full of energy from the blood meal, he was restless.

“Would you enjoy some training while they are busy?”

Behind him, Lexi chuckled.

“Bring it on.”

“I will fetch our weapons. Maybe you should inform them while I do so.”

Quinlan walked upstairs and into the bedroom, they had been given. It had once belonged to Creem who had fortunately been in the process of moving his belongings. Most were in boxes. On the bed laid his sword and on the nightstand, her machete. He took his weapon but his hand hovered over hers. It was short and light which suited her frame perfectly when she was human. The fact was: Lexi was no longer human. She could afford more reach, especially as they faced the Master. Quinlan deposited his sword back on the bed to put on his leather gloves. He slid hers into his back pocket. Inside his metal trunk rested the thin silver sword that had once belonged to Abraham Setrakian. He took it and nodded to himself. It was exactly like her. Light, agile and beautiful. When he returned to the communal space, the table, couch, and TV had been pushed against the walls. Raul had been joined by Amir and both stood by the window and whispered excitedly. Gus was nowhere to be seen.

“Where is Augustin?”

“When I told him that we might train a little he decided to take calls from downstairs.”

“Well, it might become distracting. Why are those two still here?”

“Amir is on guard duty but I’m guessing that they wanted to watch.” Her grin did not reach her eyes.

“We can ask them to leave if that displeases you.”

With that thought, he arrived at her position in the middle of the vast space.

“Amir has to stay anyways and this is their home. Besides, they will see us move sooner or later.”

Her eyes landed on the wolf-headed cane.

“Where is my machete?”

“I thought you might want to try something deadlier. Your gloves are in my back pocket.”

Lexi put them on. He tossed the object up, caught the black length and turned the silver handle toward her. She took it gingerly then freed the blade and put the sheath on the table.

“It’s gorgeous.”

“Just like you.”

“Now, now, my Quinlan…flattery will not help you.”

Her smile was mischievous and she pointed the weapon in his direction. Under her pale lips, her two front teeth were just as sharp as his but her left canine still crooked. He imitated her fighting stance.

“I did not expect it would, beloved.”

Time slowed around them without the pressure of imminent danger. It was a pleasure to run. Metal flashed and clanged together. Her little body whirled and silver darted toward his flank.

“You are very fast,”- he avoided the blade -“but you lack technique.”

Quinlan hit her wrist with the bone hilt and her sword fell. She tried to catch it but he was prepared and snatched it before her. Lexi retreated with a growl. They faced each other again but this time, she had no weapon and he had two.

“Then share it.”

The Dhampir cocked his head, intrigued by the idea. She had done that once, but with a small amount of information. Even then, that it had been disagreeable.

“You might find it rather unpleasant.”

“My transformation was far from a walk in the park. I cannot imagine worse.”

“Come closer.”

He put the weapons on the floor then removed his gloves. With his bare hands, he cupped her face. She kissed the fleshy base of his thumb then looked up.

“Do it.”

Quinlan focused on what made him a warrior. All the techniques he had learned as a gladiator, as a centurion, then later as a free man. For the moment, he only selected those related to sword and hand to hand combat. He did not wish to crush her with the knowledge of modern weaponry as well. It would be too much. Then he pressed his lips against her brow and tipped all that experience into the Bond. Lexi yelped. Her fingers closed on his arms like vices. It hurt but he could bear it. This was taking longer than any such exchange had before. Her knees buckled as if all that knowledge had a physical weight. Quinlan caught her by the waist and hugged until it was over.

“You warned me. I should have listened,” she said as the shock waned.

“Do you regret it?” He pushed hair out of her face.

“Not at all. But I should have prepared myself better.”

As she communicated that thought, she pulled away with a faint grin. Her resilience made him proud. Lexi glanced at the swords and her muscles tensed. Quickly, he put his gloves back on. Her smile turned vicious. Reading her intention, he reached for the weapons before she could.

This was his first mistake. She had disappeared and he stood with two useless blades. Powerful kicks in the back of each knee sent him to the floor and he rolled away before she could hit him again. He had dropped his bone-hilted sword which she picked up. With a steady arm, she lifted the blade and slashed the air gracefully. Lexi stared in awe at her wrist, flicking it with ease despite the weight of the weapon. She chuckled softly.

“No need to hold back anymore, Quinlan.”

The two Dhampir pounced and the blades sparked against one another. Quinlan had more reach but she was nimble and could jump away as if gravity had no grasp on her. Her musical giggles echoed as well as his booming bark of a laugh. His only clear advantage was his still superior strength so he would settle for a draw. Both swords skittered on the cement floor. Quinlan held her in his powerful arms. Lexi scowled and wriggled.

“Draw?” he asked. This was his second mistake.

His beloved smirked and her jaw dropped wide open. The short stinger shot out of her throat and punched him under the chin. He almost let go from astonishment and pain. That little vixen. Before she could strike him again, he projected his own stinger which clasped around the smaller counterpart. Now, neither could punch, kick or bite.

“Draw.” She relented.

Quinlan loosened his hold and their stingers returned to their throats. She remained pressed against him. He kissed her temple and rubbed her back. The Dhampir looked up at the two men. Amir had just lowered his cellphone and was now pocketing it.

“I believe Amir has recorded our fight.”

She turned around and strutted toward Amir and Raul.

“What have you been doing with that phone, young man?” she asked.

Her voice was severe but Quinlan perceived her amusement. He hid a smile behind his long fingers. Raul appeared to be considering fleeing away from her while Amir only seemed mildly embarrassed.

“Well, the other guys couldn’t be here to watch so…”

Lexi extended an open palm. Without much hesitation, he put the device in her hand. Her white fingers poked at the screen and she looked at the incriminating video.

“Urg! Next time just put the phone down. This is really blurry,” she said then returned the phone to its owner.

“You ain’t gonna delete it?”

“No. But next time, do ask first.”

“Sure…sorry about that.”

“Is it wise to let him keep it?” asked Quinlan.

“The internet is down and I trust he will not try to show it to some random Strigoi.”

“Have you finished reading the plans?” she asked Raul.

“Huh…no…I was watching you guys.”

She rattled softly and crossed her arms on her chest.

“Imma do that right now.”

He ran to the table and the pile of printed pages. Amir cackled as he sat by the machine gun in front of the window. Across the room, Raul replied to his laughter by giving him the finger.

“You knew he would be too captivated to read,” said Quinlan.

Her muscles were tensing again.

“Maybe. But now, he will actually finish studying the schematics while I turn that draw into a win.”

She turned to him and jumped. Quinlan laughed as he prepared for her assault.

Quinlan kept as far as possible from the passenger window of the SUV. The noon sun shone painfully as Gus and the Dhampir drove to the meeting location at the docks. The Dhampir rubbed at his forearm where a bruise inflicted by Lexi healed slowly. Quinlan smirked as he remembered her flushed face and set jaw when he had won their second fight. Even now he could still feel the biting fire of her combative mood.

“So I heard you guys exchanged some punches?” said Gus and he glanced at Quinlan still rubbing his arm. The Dhampir immediately stopped his gesture.

“Merely some friendly sparring.”

Gus lifted a scarred eyebrow.

“You know when I saw her and I realized you were…together, I got pissed.”

The Dhampir turned to him but controlled his expression. Why would the Sun Hunter be upset by this?

“I mean…you convinced me to cut my girl loose and there you were with yours. That kinda stung you know.”

Quinlan remained quiet. Gus was not done speaking.

“But then you guys killed all those traitors and Amir showed me the video…”

Gus sighed and his lips stretched into a bitter smile.

“I guess I can see how it’s different.”

At this moment, Quinlan was relieved that Gus had no idea that Lexi had once been human. The man could not fathom the extent of his hypocrisy. No. Quinlan had tried to push her away and leave her in a safe place. Surely, it was not his fault Lexi had tracked him down after that? The Dhampir looked away from the Sun Hunter. Of course, it was his fault. The very moment he had leaned down to kiss her, he had sealed both their fates.

“Lexi would not let me push her away even if I tried,” he said to detract from the self-loathing that gripped his stomach.

Gus laughed and it appeared so incredibly sincere that it took the Dhampir by surprise.

“She’d kick your ass.”

“It is a distinct possibility, yes.”

The associates exchanged a look and both grinned.

Once they reached the waters, they sat in a rusty jon boat and navigated on the greenish waters. Faces stared from round windows of a narrowboat as they secured their embarkation to its side. A wiry old man with a mane of grey hair and a matching beard welcomed them by the boat’s steering counter. Joe, nicknamed the Librarian by his protégés and Gus, had once been the provost at New York University. For the past year he had located and hidden scientists, philosophers and any other intellectual that the Strigoi hunted down. Quinlan was aware of a dozen human hearts beating on the boat. Those were likely to be some of his most recent refugees.

“Hey, can you raise that canopy man?” asked Gus as he shook the Librarian’s hand.

“Sure.”

The grey-haired man peered around the river a last time before limiting his field of vision with the waxed tarp. Quinlan relaxed in the obscurity but elected to keep his hood and glasses on. The Librarian paid closer attention to him and his bushy brows knitted together.

“What have you brought to my ship, Gus?” he half whispered, half screamed.

“You trust me, don’t you?” said Gus.

From what Quinlan had gathered so far, the Sun Hunter had shared many services with that man and taken very little in return.

“Yeah but…”

“That’s Quinlan. He ain’t a Strigoi and he gets moody when people call him that.”

Quinlan glanced at his associate. The Sun Hunter’s wit was irritating at times. The Librarian rubbed his hands together and avoided looking at the Dhampir.

“Yeah…I’m still gonna move the boat to another location when you leave. Just in case.”

The Sun Hunter shrugged, unmoved by the Librarian’s doubts.

“Dude, you do that every single time anyway. So, do you have a guy that might help us?” asked Gus.

“I do.”

He grabbed a book from under the counter. On the cover, mount Helen exploded in an ashy cloud. Joe flipped it and presented them with the picture of a bald middle-aged man. He had black eyes over a bulbous nose.

“I got Dr. Brevil a new ID six months ago. If he is still alive, he goes by Frank Smith, plumber. Last time I heard from him, he was in Washington. The address is in the book.”

The Librarian handed the volume to Gus.

“We are most grateful…Mister Joe,” said Quinlan.

The old man’s heavily hooded eyes widened and he nodded.

“There you go,” said Gus and he handed two duffel bags to the man.

Inside them, tin cans clanked together.

“Thank you, Gus. But you know I’ve got to ask…why do you need a volcanologist?”

The Sun Hunter winked at the old man and shook a finger in his direction.

“Come on, man, we’ve been over this. It’s better if you don’t know any of this crap.”

The Librarian grunted and nervously, peered at the surrounding waters again.

“Sun is almost over. You guys better leave now. But Gus…”

He leaned forward and frowned.

“Keep Dr. Brevil safe. There are so very few of us left.”

“When we get him, he’ll be the safest he’s been in a year.”

Wearily, the Librarian rubbed his beard. He doubted those words and Quinlan could not blame him.

As they drove in the direction of Washington, the Dhampir flipped the pages of the book he had just been given. A sentence in the introduction caught his attention. It stated that in a single year, around sixty volcanoes erupted with varying degrees of intensity. Quinlan’s hopes that this variable might afford him time faded. At this very moment, he was glad that the Bond was stretched thin by distance because Lexi would not be able to perceive his selfishness.

Frank Brevil crouched on the floor with an ear glued to the wooden slats. In the corridors of the ground level, someone was systematically knocking on every door. This was never a good sign. Especially for a fugitive with fake identification papers. Two pairs of boots echoed at his own level and their owners hammered at the door nearest the elevator. Brevil jumped to his feet and dabbed his forehead with where fat beads of sweat had formed. There was still a chance that they were not here for him. He should stay and play innocent. The neighbor unlocked her flat and greeted the two strangers.

“You know that man? I’ve been told he lives in that building. He’s a plumber.”

Brevil’s heart dropped to his stomach. He wiped at his eyes that burned from the salty sweat.

“I don’t have to tell you anything. Get the fuck outta here before I call someone,” said the woman who lived just a few doors down the corner from Brevil.

“Come on, ma’am. My friend here prefers when people keep polite.”

The neighbor whimpered and profusely apologized. Frank was a very dead man. He tossed his backpack over his shoulder and exited the flat without closing the door. As discretely as he could manage, he tip-toed to the staircase a mere dozen paces away. One of the men shushed the neighbor. Brevil dirty snicker was suspended in mid-air. Footsteps advanced briskly down the corridor and were about to turn the corner. The scientist broke into a desperate run toward the staircase. They had heard him. He rushed down the steps as quickly as possible while his heart pumped frantically to save his life. He reached the lower level and was slammed against a wall. A tall hooded man with sunglasses was pressing a hand against his chest. Immediately, Brevil raised both his hands in submission, his head was trying to disappear between his bony shoulders.

“Dr. Brevil?” asked the man. His voice was deep and he did not sound American.

“No! I'm Frank Smith!” he replied as a last-ditch effort to save himself.

The bespectacled man leaned forward and his gloved hand closed around Frank’s neck to force him to fully expose his face. The doctor tensed but did not struggle. Dr. Brevil died inside when the man pulled a heavy book from his coat. That book, Frank would have recognized in a pile of a thousand volumes. For a single good reason: he had written it. On the back cover was a picture of his face when the few hairs crowning his bald head had still been black. When he still had some fat in his cheeks. The man held the picture next to Frank’s terrified face and the corners of his lips lifted slightly. Another man arrived, smaller, with olive skin and neck tattoos. Brevil’s first thought was that this one looked like he was part of a street gang.

“Why are you an ass to him? We fucking need his help,” he told his associate.

The tall man let go of Brevil’s neck.

“He tried to run away and I had to make sure it was him,” said the tall one without an ounce of remorse.

“Ok, let's move then. This place ain't safe for any of us.”

“What do you want from me?” asked Brevil but he already knew.

They wanted him dead. It had been the fate of all his colleagues after all. The men did not answer and dragged him outside the building and into an SUV parked there. Brevil did not attempt to escape. This was the end and he welcomed it. The yearlong run was finally over. So when the tall man sat next to him and removed his glasses and hood, Frank did not much care that he was a Strigoi. This was always how it was going to end.

"Dr. Brevil, this is Augustin Elizalde and you may address me as Quinlan," said the Strigoi.

The creatures did not usually speak and were not usually polite but it did not change anything. Monsters could be civilized as well.

"Give the man some food before he dies on us," said Augustin Elizalde as he drove away.

The Strigoi reached for a bag on the passenger seat and handed Frank bottled water and a wrapped sandwich. Real tomatoes stuck out from the white bread. Only the highest members of the Partnership had real fruits and vegetables. He had eaten scraps found there and there and rations for the past year and a half. Brevil stared at the food but did not dare take it.

The Strigoi raised a hairless brow at being kept waiting. Finally, he grabbed the scientist's hand and forced him to take the food. They drove for several hours during which Brevil savored every bite of that sandwich. He had to for this was obviously his last meal.

#mr. quinlan #quinlan #the strain #the strain fx #the strain fanfic #the strain fanfiction #quintus sertorius

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