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EARMARKS — k. bakugo

𝐁𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐅. A museum date with your boyfriend takes you past two historical sculptures that were feuding a long time ago when rigid kings swore and slaves shriveled up in the hot sun. However, history does not tell the most of the truth.

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒. warrior!bakugo x goddess!reader

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒. the reader is referred to as a female, made-up religion, modern to past au, rivals to lovers au, enemies to lovers, a little bit of an greek mythology au, reincarnation au, character deaths, blood, death, romance, I swear this isn't as grim as it sounds, okay maybe a little, angst, forbidden lovers au ???? happy ending ????, tragedy

A withdrawn gaze meets yours as you stare into the eyes of a woman in front of you. However, despite being gray and quiet, they do not remain completely expressionless. Across her forehead, her eyebrows are hauled and wrinkles the skin, and her stone lips are softly parted, revealing one of her canines in a nasty scowl.

You think she sorta looks a bit like you, maybe just a bit more fierce and courageous.

By pulling on an arrow's twine with her forefinger, she pulls her arm back. You glanced to your left. It was directed towards the other sculpture.

Despite his armor-covered body, the sculpture's biceps and legs are exposed. While his face is preserved, it is possible to see the outline of his jaw and a strand of sharp-tipped hair peak that protrudes from the clear top of his helmet. One hand holds a spear in a throwing position and the other a shield plugged with three arrows, sheltering himself against the woman's many arrows.

There is more slight breathing in the eyes of the man beside you who was reading the passage on the podium.

"Do you think they liked each other?" You asked; though you knew the answer. It was pretty evident that they were opponents since the woman's stone eyes were markedly filled with hatred and disgust. You just wanted to start a conversation.

You see him eye you before he rolls them and taps the platform. "It says they lived more than two thousand years ago."

In pointing to the woman, he said, "She had the maiden name of Bena and was known as the Goddess of Chance. She led a nation called the Sunsword, and he," he said, pointing to the man, "He was known as Fimes. Fimes was just a mere mortal who enviously coveted her power.

Their long bloody battles focused primarily on land and power, and both were respected chiefs during that time despite the societal stigma regarding women in high places."

"She was a goddess?" You questioned, "as in, mysticism could've existed?"

Bakugo says with a shrug, "There's nothing really to suggest that it's true; most likely it's not. For one, this may just be something people back then believed, and two, they might've actually lived but the story was embellished to make it sound more dramatic and pleasing."

Recently, you realized what a nerd Katsuki can be when it comes to history, so you purposed the idea of taking a tour of the newly opened museum as your third date.

Whether you knew them or not, you enjoyed hearing him rant about historical facts.

Anyways, an reflective sheen from the surface of a nearby object snags away your attention; "hmm, hey, let's take a look at that."

During your tug, your arm is slipped around his, allowing the two adversaries a minute alone before a second couple encroaches on their space in awe of their spectacle.

The battered earth, rich with the blood of fallen soldiers, is the only witness to this affair.

The fragments of a cracked helmet and two halves of a bow burrow themselves into the welcoming soil. Grunts and gasps fill the voiceless battlefield.

A strained Immortal straddles over an equally weakened mortal waist, holding his arms overhead as his red gaze stares up at her, his pupils bulging with dangerous determination.

The woman is the first to speak.

"You mortals at each given moment want but seldom give," you say, "behold where your gluttony has attained you."

A rasp forms in his voice, reeking of dehydration. "Is it demeaning to want you?" he asks.

"The situation is the utmost bothersome," you assert, "you exist unmarried, in search of a spouse, and yet turn hence the most quaint and liberal distaff in your homeland who throw themselves at you. I cannot compare to those folk, but yet you desire me. It is clear that you only desire my ability."

"It's not about superiority as you think. You're the most quite quaint and forgiving mistress I've ever discerned. I will never find fulfillment by spending time with anyone else,"

"Chance is my own divine duty; I must be—"

"—Therefore, why do you refuse to let me have a chance with you? Are you willing to relinquish thousands of lives just to prevent it?"

He leaves you astounded for a moment, yet, not for too long, but before you could open your mouth, he immediately demands, "what do I lack for you to fill your heart with?". The question nearly exhausts you.

"What?"

"You mentioned that we rarely give. What do I need to share with you to earn your favor?"

Seeing your gape, he looks back with eyes that display uncharacteristic nervousness. His right eye has swelled and started to leak into a pale purple and his cheek, where your arrow had scarcely chafed him by a few inches, is bleeding profusely. You, however, breathe unblemished. Within an hour, you had scars that run down your arm, but they quickly healed, leaving no evidence of their existence, no matter how insignificant they were. It all reminds you of your curse and his gift.

"You lack perpetuity, Katsuki."

The name of his family has never entered your lips, let alone his first name, but after realizing the grim actualization, you accidentally utter it.

"You'll perish one day and I'll be left behind. I can't love you."

Bakugo uses your vulnerability to slowly flee your grasp, and he props himself up with his forearms, "but you do. I see it in your eyes."

With a nod, tears starting to veil your vision, you say, "yes, I do. You're quite a brute and yet I recognize a generous side of your courage toward the people you honor..."

At that moment, your words begin to flutter away as he draws you into a kiss, a kiss that fills your mouth with the tang of caramelized blood.

You cannot feel his hand on your back anymore since you are too far back; it is instead deposited on the ground scrambling to find something. You're combed again, but this time you're punctured deep within with a sharp object, and instead of comfort you're flooded with pain.

He engulfs your cries in a kiss as he drives the edge deeper into your spine. In an attempt to quiet you, he kisses your forehead and whispers sweet words, but they have no power on you as you feel yours slowly evaporating from your body.

"It'll stop hurting soon, I promise." He hums over your cries, "I cannot make myself immortal nor can I assume you can, but I will make sure we're together in the hereafter."

Over time, your whimpers melt away into white noise and your eyes lose their style and zeal. The only person who remains in this field is he who will cradle your corpse in his arms before ultimately pointing the dagger at himself after making sure to hold the edge in your spine for a minute so that your body couldn't mend itself.

Your eyes attract back to the woman.

She really does look a bit like you.