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“It’s Beauty and the Beast, but You aren't the monster..” (Fem!Reader X Kirishima)🥀 Chapter 3 “The Beast”

Had to put up a chap on Valentines Day for the big red man himself, right?

Summery: Eijiro Kirishima, Pro-Hero Red Riot, has taken to a new patrol area that recently encountered a rash of random crimes. Villain unknown, he makes it his personal responsibility to ensure this new sector of Esuha City feels safe as the police force conducts their investigation while aided by FatGum’s Agency. After a bomb goes off in one of the Apartment buildings close to the station, he decides to help with the victim’s interview in the hopes of boosting their morale…

Instead, he meets you–who is far from ready to receive any such kind tidings. Burdened with curiosity and his steadfast beliefs, the Sturdy Hero feels swept into your world and finds himself sympathizing with the possibility that–

You might not be the monster everyone says you are.

WARNINGS: SFW, bodily injury, mental trauma, angst, BLOOD

The prince rallied his forces in the West, and prepared for their battle in the Steppes. The carrier eagles spread across the continent, seeking all who were friend to their king that were willing to take up arms against the enemy.

It pained the prince, knowing he would endanger his people once again--but to that end, he would stand with them on the battlefield and face such danger head on like his soldiers.

His red hair--

You flinch in your typing.

Red hair?

You shake your head--surely you had written him with black hair?

Despite having been in the process of writing this rough draft for almost a year, you dash back through a hoard of document files to find the character references.

Sure enough, black hair.

Anger boils in your chest, and you slide the laptop away from you on the hotel's (single) counter top. Not even your secret world could be free from the toils of the real one; you had found that blasted red-headed man almost every time your eyes had shut. Now, it was happening while your eyes were open.

The glimmer of hope you had felt at the cross walk should have been smothered, but somehow it came back every morning. It reminded you of a time when you had wanted to talk to people--when you had wanted people to talk to you.

He just wants information. You remind yourself, picking up your stiff bones to find the hotel's tiny-ass refrigerator. All that stuff he said was just manipulation. And I don't want to talk to anyone. And I don't want anyone to talk to me.

After another go of trying to convince yourself, you switch your focus to something else.

Your apartment's reconstruction was due to be completed within five days. Due to the structure being sound enough (and the fact the construction in bustling cities like Musutafu were required to work rather quickly due to subsequent villain and hero battles) the revival of your home was fast approaching. Thank god.

Unfortunately, being an author didn't allow for fancy insurance perks. You had already received a check for the damage to your items, but it was far less than the accrued worth of your home furnishings. Once again, you would be forced to pay and save and pay and so on--until it was back the way it was. Or at least similar.

The hotel's mini-fridge mostly contained leftovers. Which, that had been your intention but.. Looking at all of it...

It just felt ew.

Dinner out it is then.

🥀

There's something to be said about the food service industry in Japan, perhaps even Esuha City specifically.

If you want your food quickly without a chat and to be left alone at your table, you could find it.

You had ruminated on the idea of leaving before, to put as much distance between you and the Hero Commission as possible. A cottage in the United Kingdom, or a cabin in America; maybe Maine or Michigan.

But.. This was home. Your apartment, the rainy season, the red and golden leaves, the corner-store ice-cream, the sticky summer sweets in the next town over--The Hero Commission may have taken the hope out of you, but damn them if they think they can have your mochi too.

"Oh my gosh..!"

Suddenly the café on your right comes alive. There's a couple, one now standing next to their chair and their partner on one knee--a ring clutched in shaking hands. The crowd 'ooh's and 'awww's.

"Will you marry me?"

"Of course!"

And they hug, and the café erupts into applause. And you stare, from the sidewalk, somewhere between melancholic and exasperated. You really didn't need this today.

"Now ain't that a beautiful sight." A voice says, too close to your right side. You flinch and glance--he's wearing a thick jacket and a fur-lined beanie. His features are so unremarkable, you don't even mentally take stock of them.

"...Uh huh." You drone, than try to speed off so you can pass the café. No offense to the newly engaged couple, but you were trying far too hard to keep up your solitary lifestyle to deal with reminders like that.

🥀

Ugh, finally!

Relief at last, as you waltz into one of your favorite restaurants. There are booths at the front, but closer to the kitchen there are one-person nooks. A tablet, attached to the wall, takes your order and starts up a bill. A drink arrives via a window in said nook only minutes later, and your feet sway in delight.

Or was it... complacency?

NO. You inwardly chastise, taking a loud sip no one could pester you for. This is how it aught to be. This is great. No one to taunt me, no one to treat me terribly or make me feel ugly. I can eat as fast and as sloppy as I want. No one's controlling me, no one's--

It's by chance, pure chance, that you look over your shoulder when you hear the door open and the jingle of their entrance alarm. A movement in your peripheral that catches your attention, draws a quick glance, that usually you didn't bother with. Who cares who just walked in?

Unless it's the same person that tried to talk to you earlier, in his fur-lined beanie. Well, except, now as you pay a little more attention--it's not a fur-lined beanie. It's a fur-lined face. A mutation quirk.

Is it coincidence? Paranoia gnaws into your bones, and you know the truth. Coincidence or not, one way or another, he followed you here.

The jingle comes again, and you watch four more people cross the thresh-hold and join the aforementioned...wolf man? They're all dressed warm, but you're pretty sure the thick jackets and low hats don't just hide their features out of convenience.

Your food arrives through the window in front of you, and you mentally groan. Not only were you being followed by probable villains looking for an easy score, but you wouldn't be able to eat your meal. Or get a refund.

You take one last forlorn draw of breath, taking in the steam and aroma of your would-have-been meal, before reaching to the tablet and paying for it. There's actually a little bit of guilt in your heart, knowing they'll be cleaning an untouched dish from your table. Sorry. I'm so sorry. It's really good, I'm just.. You know, about to get mugged. Gotta call the police. Maybe I'll get take out from here later.

Silently you rise from your seat and walk out. If all went well, you'd just go to another place. If it was a mugging, as you suspected, there was a convenience store near the hotel that you could stop in after writing--another--police report. Wow! Two for two this year.

And, heading further into the well lit streets of Musutafu's most populated ward, all seems well. They didn't follow you out, nor have you seen them over your shoulder for the last three cross walks. Great. Left my meal for nothing.

Maybe you needed to go to a therapist after all. Maybe, you could use a fake name or--was anonymous clients a thing?

You'd accused Red Riot of working with the commission to torture you, and now you had accused warmly dressed people for wanting to just, mug you? You didn't even look like you had money. Sure, it could be more nefarious than that, but with heroes everywhere in the city? What happened to your sense of truth?

They took it away. You reply within, causing your foot steps to slow and your shoulders to hang.

Maybe you had been wrong, but it was better to be careful, right?

You reach for you phone with the intention to check the time. There were still a few places open late but--

Where's my phone?!

Frantically you search for it a second time. Then a third. Had you left it at home? Dropped it? Left it at the restaurant? You turn on a heel and start heading back. The new lap top had already been quite damaging to your funds, you couldn't afford a new phone; muggers be damned.

🥀

"What are you doing out here?"

"Huh?" Kirishima looks up to see one of the sidekicks from FatGum's agency. "Oh! Hey," He says, but stops. He can't quite remember this guy's name. There were so many nowadays, scouted for and hired in an attempt to help counter the swell in recent villain activity.

"Hey," The un-named sidekick offers a polite smile. "Kinda late isn't it?"

"Oh, yeah. Most of my patrols are during the day but, it was brought to my attention that a lot of the packages were probably delivered at night. Just thought it was a good idea."

"So you're on, like, extra patrol? Without your hero costume?"

"Yeah," Kirishma, not Red Riot, scratches the back of his neck in some form of embarrassment. This guy liked asking questions. "Just trying it out, not looking conspicuous or anything."

"Oh. Okay." Sidekick-guy looks around a moment, extending their conversation into something kind of awkward before opening his mouth again. "Well, I'm heading home, so. Good luck!"

"Er, yeah, thanks. You too..?"

And they're gone.

Weird. Kirishima shakes it off, then continues his stroll. Guess he's just tired though. I should probably go back to the Agency and pick up the roster, it's rude not to know people's names when you work with them...

He comes to a corner and stops, looking up at the hotel--your hotel--for the fifth time that night. Not that he was obsessed or anything, it was just.. On the route. His call with Tsu had been enlightening--though, he wanted to disagree with her on some things; especially the 'giver her time' part. He wanted to fix his mistakes now.

His heart aches when he remembers the first night at their dorms in U.A., so long ago, when he'd unintentionally upset Tsu when he and the others went forward with their plan to save Bakugou. Though it was successful, he was ashamed that he never thought about how Tsu would feel when they directly ignored her advice.

Gah, and it still hurt to think about it!

And thus, he chooses to follow her advice to the letter this go round, and continues on his path to the next street over.

🥀

You know what it sounds like: when someone is following you.

And you, poor you, had made a very bad decision. What had you said earlier---'muggers be damned'?

Yeah, that wasn't serving you too well right now.

The streets' population had thinned on your return trip to the restaurant. Somehow, everything looked darker and more desolate--to the point you wondered if you had perhaps made a literal wrong turn--

Before your eyes you watch a street sign change. The letters, in white, wiggle and shift until it makes a new word--a street you swore you passed several blocks back.

Someone was manipulating your environment. Or, your brain's interpretation of it.

No phone, no real weapon aside from a hotel key card and a dense wallet, (note that you did in fact own a very nice self-defense kit in your apartment but uh--it blew up recently) and the defensive side of your quirk--which was fucking unpredictable at best.

Hence why pro-hero work wasn't really an option.

You stop then, but there's a distinctive sound of shoes shuffling on concrete nearby. This clearly felt like being hunted down, and honestly if not for the peril it was causing you--this would make for some good writing material. You know, if you live through it.

"Okay, I know what's going on." You say, hands up. "Look, I don't know what you want, but I don't have a whole lot. I can give you my credit card if you want it, but I'm just warning you--not a lot on there."

A few seconds of silence pass by at your confrontation. Oh, what, am I being mugged by ghosts? But, the agitation grows despite your mental humor.

Their response comes in the form of visually appearing ahead of you, wiggling and writhing at first like the letters on the sign. After they had solidified, they approaching like predators; low to the ground with hungry eyes beneath heavy warm attire.

Your stance widens.

I don't think they're here for my wallet...

Suddenly, more of them begin to pop and shift into existence--much closer to you than the first few. The way reality seems to flex around them was really unnerving; but it gave you a better idea of what was going on. Whosever quirk was influencing you had a range, and that was good to know. Additionally, though, the original five you remember from the restaurant had at some point turned into about ten, which meant some of them might be illusionary.

And your quirk doesn't work on illusions.

"Okay.. Okay, I see, money's not your thing.." You take a step back, eyes darting between all of the assailants. "You guys know if I scream, a pro-hero--"

"Go ahead~" Someone says, but obviously not one of the entities in front of you. It's a feminine sultry voice with something else, something animalistic. Snake-like. "No one's going to hear you, dear. Not while my eyess are on you."

Shit, shit shit shit--you take another step back, pulling out that hotel room key. Better than nothing. You had some decent self-defense training, they won't take you down without a fight even if your quirk doesn't activate.

"Finally got you talking.." You grumble, holding the (damn near pathetic) hotel key up like a knife. "What are you stalking me for? What do you want?"

"Let me guesss, you're expecting ssome kind of reveal?" The voice, hidden beyond your probably-fake environment, answers. "Ssorry ssweetheart, thiss is just bussinesss."

You threw as many 's's in there as you could, didn't you? You ask inwardly, but your lips remain tightly shut. Angering your opponent probably wasn't a good idea--if what she said was true, it sounded like an arrangement. A mercenary oriented one.

You know. Murder.

"Oh," You utter, grieving a little for not having a witty comeback.

Luckily, or unluckily, your awkward conversation comes to an end by way of a classic knuckle punch, thrown in your direction by one of the more burly looking assailants. You manage a dodge, twisting and moving back enough to see claws as their hands reposition from a fist.

Mutant quirk, animalistic in nature--probably enhanced strength, speed, durability. If I can think fast enough--

A blow hits, right in the side at your lower back. You pivot forward, conveniently back into the arms of your first attacker. There, he lands another blow to your upper chest that leaves you gasping, but your conscious enough to move your body out and away. Well sort of--the rest were encircling you. Surely not all of them were real, but you had no way of telling them apart.

Had you really been out of the game so long, you couldn't hold your own anymore?

Of course.. going to the gym and practicing fighting moves hadn't really been on your agenda since leaving the court rooms.

You cough, righting yourself as they stare at you with smiles and gleaming eyes--like dogs, pouncing on small animals for fun.

"Nice scar," One says, leaning in. "Pity, you really did have.. a kinda pretty face."

You glower at him over your hotel key.

"Almost felt bad leaving the package.."

"Who wants me dead?" You ask, looking--well winded, but more confident than they probably wanted you to look.

"Why does it matter? You're dying today, girly. Who cares?" Another responds, similar in tone. Related, you note--for once you find him amongst the crowd, he is also similar in stature.

"Dying wish then." You retort, with a little shrug.

There's an uneasy, tense, exchange of stares then. A sixth sense, you realize, as they see through your façade and attempt to validate it with their comrades. Like you had something up your sleeve.

And, indeed, you did.

"Save it for your next life," is their answer, followed by another thrown fist aimed at your cheek bones. Veins and tendons bulge as the wallop is tensed, then thrust forward, and it gives you only a few seconds to use your quirk--

But it's enough.

🥀

Eijiro, still walking his rounds around the sector, still dropping glances at your hotel as he walks past, now stands in front of a vintage console store. He heaves a great sigh while watching pixelated characters hop, kick, and dance across the display screens--characters he knew well. One day, they would be selling his old video games, labelled as 'vintage classics'.

The thought depressed him. But hey, time has to move somehow.

...Despite his positive outlook, his mind wanders back to Bakugou--and more importantly, that look he'd given him. The once-in-a-blue-moon glimpse into his friend's actual feelings.

Maybe he was just making things up--maybe he just wanted Bakugou to regret not hanging out, or being a human being for once and establishing relationships with people outside of work--but he was almost sure it had been real.

"Heh.. I can hear it now." He mutters, catching his reflection in the glass that separated him from the television screens. He puffs out his chest, and digs in his eyebrows. "We're heroes, Kirishima. We have to make sacrifices. You can't be the best if you're worried about dumb shit like--" He stutters for a second, almost losing character. "Like--relationships and parties and..."

He falters, the impression sliding from his shoulders and causing them to slump.

"And living." He says with a finality. A final nail in the coffin, as he watches a character get taken out on the screen followed by big "K.O." written in orange font.

Kirishima had learned long ago that he didn't want to be the best. He denied it at every turn, at every query someone threw at him--even if it was himself in the mirror. You wanna be the best don't you? Work harder!

And, well, he did work hard. Just, not as hard as Bakugou.

Despite the green monster of jealously that might swell in his gut while watching his friend's name rise on the leaderboard, there were always days like these that humbled him. And plenty of others, when he was actually protecting a civilian or stopping a truck from crushing a bunch of school kids; it was in the doing. It didn't matter where his name was on the leader board.

In fact, there's a deep sympathy that he feels for Bakugou in that moment.

"I wish I could reach out to you man." He says, before going back to his walk. This time, he would be heading back to the agency. "I hope--"

He stops, shoe skidding over sidewalk as a scream splits the air.

🥀

Using your quirk had a tendency to make you feel blind when you otherwise weren't using it.

It's refreshing, despite how much it.. sucks.

Living several minutes, sometimes hours, within seconds of the moving world--between spaces and moments and memories and matter--it's indescribably big.

And it is, perhaps, because of that feeling; that you change.

You remember the doctor when you were young, who tried to explain it to you in words you understood. But, you technically never remembered the words--all you could see was a younger version of them, stealing from a convenience store. Over and over and over again.

In some way, under high stress, your quirk would shift. Usually it was directed as an emitter type; but based on whom you were gazing upon, Judgement would make a decision--and in the face of danger, morph into a transformation quirk. Supposedly, the malevolence of your opponent directly affected the size and duration of this shape-change. This was only negated in a safe environment.

Fortunately for you, these guys were seasoned mercenaries, and murder was pretty high up there on the malevolence scale. So you were big. Just as big, you might say, as the hatred that festered at the sound of their dying victims screams, gurgles, and gasps.

When you come back from the visions, you're thrashing. You're wholly unaware of your features, but your claws digging into the earth below hint at something truly gruesome.

Better than a damn hotel key!

"What the hell--"

"Mizuchi, you didn't say anything about this shit!"

"Ugh, that'ss what you get for taking your time!"

They come at you anyway, brandishing weapons this time in the form of pipes and broken bottles; whatever the street could provide. The first thwack of a pipe to your enlarged form has your back twisting, and you find horns adorning your crown as they knock the assailant backwards.

Nice.

Following him would be another, but you grasp the ability to fight like an animal pretty quickly. There was a maw for biting as well--but despite knowing their horrid truths, there's always something that keeps you pulled back. Some lurking old version of yourself that still wanted to tame the beast.

Yet, even with that sentiment, accidents happen.

One of them screams, as one of your horns protrudes through a shoulder; painting the sidewalk in red. It causes the inner you to lurch, but your physical form only growls in response. By trying to shake him off, you throw him instead. Oops.

You try to step away, but your backed into a corner. One that technically shouldn't exist, but it takes a second before the illusion ripples and fades out to reveal you had instead been fighting in an alley way.

Maybe that will stop them. Maybe, they'll take the hint and move on to someone else--

You would have hoped, if not for the shards of glass that slice through the flesh of your shoulder. Inwardly you might of screamed, but you outwardly roared--clutching at the wound with one arm while lashing out with the other. You nail a good hit, claws bared, and they scream too.

"What the--hey!"

A familiar voice..?

You try to look in their direction, but another bottle cuts into your left temple. You whirl back on them, but the troupe was already leaving. There's an animalistic urge to run after them, and you even step forward--but with your foot (paw?) landing on even more glass, you halt in place. Instead, your frustration leaves your lungs in a loud roar.

Finding your breath, you hear the sound of scraping metal from behind.

"Listen man, we can do this the easy way or the hard way.."

Red Riot? Again?

You go to turn and look at him, but you stop midway. No, I can't. I can't look at him.

"Just come quietly, and we won't have to make this a bigger mess than it already is.."

Oh, shit--he's talking to me.