pandemilkbread

[pandemilkbread]

i should really update devil 007 & eyes like sinking ships,, but anyways, if anyone here has an anitwitter account please follow me (´；ω；`) i just made a new account and my feed is pretty much empty,,, i post updates and shitposts there too (sometimes icons)!! my username is @pandemilks,, i follow back!!

[pandemilkbread]

abashed ✩

eyes like sinking ships on waters

ᴛᴏᴅᴏʀᴏᴋɪ sʜᴏᴜᴛᴏ ✩ masterlist

sᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: It was something that crept up so slowly it left Todoroki unaware, but he thought that was the best kind of love; one so natural you don't even notice.

[ᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴀ ᴛᴏ ᴢ’s ᴏғ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʀᴇʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴsʜɪᴘ ᴡɪᴛʜ sʜᴏᴜᴛᴏ ᴏᴠᴇʀ ᴛʜᴇ ʏᴇᴀʀs]

warnings: suggestive themes of smut, though only detailed at the last parts. read at your own discretion. not really smutty tho...

author’s note: i promised to upload this earlier, whoops, i apologize. hehe

ⓐ — ᴀʙᴀsʜᴇᴅ

ᴀʙᴀsʜᴇᴅ:

/əˈbaSHt/

adjective

embarrassed, disconcerted, or ashamed.

Warmth.

Warmth was the ray of light shining through the gray-like curtains at the peak of dawn, the heat amassed within the heavy blankets that covered skin, the hotness of pillows from where your touch lingered and left, with all the toss and turning in between; the very definition of warmth described the comfortable heat radiating from the arm wrapped around your stomach like a safeguard—

Cold.

Cold was the sweat dribbling down your forehead in sheer panic, the chilly breeze that encased your body as you quickly ripped the blankets off, the freezing temperature of the tiled floor immediately upon falling on your bare bottom soon after, cold and empty was your mind, connecting the images of what transpired the previous day— or night rather.

All you picked up were bits and pieces: bright lights, booming music, the smell of strong alcohol, a pop of a balloon… ‘Ah, yes.’ You thought, hesitantly. ‘The birthday party.’ Who knew an adult as yourself, who had the alcohol tolerance of a Viking from the late eighth century, could flat out collapse from drinking too much.

And God you wanted to throw up.

Besides wanting to spill out your guts onto the crystal clear floor—you cringed at the thought of whoever was supposed to clean the mess after, if you chose to do so anyway—there was a direr issue to address; which was… knowing where the hell you were, and who you were with.

You slightly inched yourself onto your knees and peered back at the comfortable blue sheets where he laid, fast asleep. Surprisingly, your fumbling did not wake the sleeping man. You assumed as much as you were knocked out from the liquor, he was in a similar state as well.

Sighing, you pulled yourself up only to be met with a painful ache on your upper thighs, forcing you to stumble on your backside. You hissed. ‘What in the world?’ Squinting at the dark splotches on your skin that darted from your lower thighs up until your upper stomach, a small part of you believed there were more sprinkled on your chest and neck. It forced one notion down your thick skull.

First, you were naked. The bareness of your skin provided neither protection from the cold breeze coming from the air conditioner, nor the heat radiating from your cheeks in embarrassment. The pain from earlier, and the bruises that enveloped your skin were two of the many testimonies of your late night endeavor.

You groaned. In truth, you weren’t the type of person to be hooking up with a stranger, no— scratch that, you were never the type of person to be having sex at all, and with a stranger nonetheless. Frankly, the only time you were close to doing the deed was with your boyfriend of a year and a half, whom you broke up with months ago, and it did not end well.

Let’s just say, he had a ‘technical difficulty’ with putting on a simple condom; leaving the touch starved you, furious as he suggested to do it otherwise without it. And the night was cut short. ‘A great night forever encased into my memories.’ You mused.

Back to the crisis at hand, your eyes shifted to the human unconscious on the bed, the sound of small breaths reached your ears. You prompted yourself onto your knees then leaned your upper body on the bed, a small blush dusted your cheeks as you glanced at the man.  

‘Great.’ You breathed. Over 126 million people in Japan and you slept with the one person you’d rather not see again.

Your fingers gently swiped the strands of red hair covering his closed eyes. Breathtaking. Even while asleep he managed to send your heart into a frenzy, and brought shivers down your spine, and reignited the little speck of hope you had left, one you thought had blown out years ago, only to reemerge stronger than ever.

Oh, god, you hated hope.

You propped your chin on the palm of your hand. Sighing, you continued to play around with his hair. A part of you hoped the beautiful stranger, not-so unfamiliar anymore, woke from his slumber— a sort of wakeup call and signal for you to get going. Another, cruel part, wanted him to stay asleep, a somewhat impossible wish; and you wished, you really wished, this was a dream.

If it was one, please, please, please, you wanted to crawl back under the covers, just for a few minutes.

You pinched yourself.

Once, then twice, then thrice.

Maybe seventh times a charm?

You massaged your temples. If it were a dream, you would have awaken by now. Then, you were not in a dream, and this was real. And if it was real… you can afford to be a little selfish. So you sat up from your spot and leaned forward, brushing your lips against the top of his forehead.

“Good morning,” you whispered.

Loud enough to satisfy your wants, but as quiet as the passing breeze, rendering it nonexistent.

You could always shuffle back into the sheets, you know you wanted to; bask in the warmth of the bed, so soft and cozy; pretend reality did not exist, yes, in another life this apartment was your home; and the notion of walking in shame was all fiction, you were abashed.

You sighed, sounding more like a mix of a hiss and a groan.

It was time to go. There was no use dwelling on the what-ifs and the what-could-have-beens. Simply, you are an adult. Yet, the years of being humbled at college, forcibly awoken by the harsh realities of adulthood, and the gruesome jobs at the hospital— could not diminish your fairytale dreams and hopes, by now reverted back into one intense form.

Your high school crush on the one and only, Todoroki Shouto.

Something that had shrunk to the size of a pea, had somewhat grown into a bowling ball, all in the span of ten minutes and by all means, it would continue to grow bigger. You were sure of it. The plausible solution?

Running out while you still had your mind, heart, and spirit intact. Oh, yes. The very same went for your embarrassment and shame: behold, the little youngling had initiated her very first hook-up for all the world to see! ‘Technically anyone awake by seven’ you presumed by looking at the light from outside.

Grabbing your discarded clothes, you walked to a room, closer to a closet than an actual bathroom, and put them on. Now that you were fully dressed, the whole idea of sleeping with your high school crush was unbelievable.

A prank? You rolled your eyes. No one would go that far to prank someone as unimportant as you.

…Would they, though?

Your mind wandered back to the mix of silver and red asleep in the bedroom. Was he the type of person to sleep around with anyone he wanted?

He can, though. You thought. Then again. He did not seem like the type to do so.

You ruffled your hair in front of the mirror, sliding your fingers through your hair in an attempt to smooth out the tangles.

Is it possible? Perhaps you never slept with him in the first place? Maybe, your lower pain was the symptoms of a forthcoming period, or maybe the bruises on your skin were the scars of an epic battle fight sequence in the bar, or maybe the person sleeping on the bed was never Todoroki Shouto and you were delusional.

Putting it that way, the lame excuses sounded more ridiculous than reasonable.

The door opened with a click, and you winced at the sound, your fingers quickly twisted the knob to prevent any more unnecessary noise. Stepping out of the bathroom, you glanced at the person laying on the bed. For someone considered one of the nation’s top heroes, Todoroki slept pretty peacefully while a stranger used his room to her volition.

What if I was a villain, hm? You grumbled. One slit to the throat and you’d be a goner.

The exact moment you thought about assassinating (not that you would actually do it, you were a hospital resident for heaven’s sake!) the peppermint boy stirred in his spot, forcing you to freeze. The blankets shifted downwards to reveal the bare skin of his chest, littered with splotches of dark blue, and you gaped.

His neckline gleamed with love bites, his collar taking the brunt of all the kisses, and the chest area had a trail of kisses all the way down to his lower stomach, where the blanket laid comfortably— ‘did I do that?’ you breathed.

This close, you were this close to pulling all your hair out in frustration. Last night must have been the best night of your life and you couldn’t remember a thing! The whole thing was unfair!

You shook your head. No time to dwell, time to go! And go you must before the object of all your teenage fantasies woke up. Eyes scanned the room for the last item of your possessions, the shoes you wore.

You scoured under the gray sofa to the side of the bed, then softly shifted the blanket on the floor, it was not in the bathroom where you changed, the carpet showed no sign of the footwear, and you remembered really wearing shoes to the party. ‘So, where is it?’

After searching for what seemed like twenty minutes, you plopped down on your knees in front of the bed. ‘Maybe Todoroki knows where it is?’ A stupid suggestion, why would a sleeping man know the location of your shoes? He was not psychic; and if you did not know the place, how on Earth would he know?

But that did not stop you from asking either.

“Good morning, dear. Happen to know where my shoes are?” You joked.

It was barely a whisper, a joke for your ears only; a gag really to soothe yourself during moments of distress. He was not supposed to reply, you weren’t expecting a reaction either, so you slumped. If you could handle three back to back shifts at the hospital without a break, you can handle walking out of this damned apartment without shoes.

By the shine of the bright light outside, and knowing it was a Sunday morning, there should not be a lot people to gawk at your unruly appearance. If you were lucky enough to hail a taxi in three minutes, all before the early joggers on the street gushed about your lack of footwear, you would be safe from the impending embarrassment.

Maybe, you could take a pair of slippers from the apartment? The hero will never know, and if he did, what kind of rich hero would search far and wide for a woman who stole his flip-flops? It was just some slippers! ‘All right, do it!’ You dared.

Just as you were about to stand up, a warm arm reached for your neck— the base of his palm wrapped around the back of your head, compelling your chest to rest on top of the bed. Mismatched eyes of gray and turquoise stared back at you—your stomach jumped, and you gulped, God was it that hot in here?— rather groggily, the corner of his lips smirked.

“Have you tried the shoe rack outside?” Todoroki murmured.

One blink, two blinks, three blinks. You hissed in realization. ‘Of course! Who brings their shoes inside?’ You had to be the dumbest drunk to have ever lived, you weren’t drunk right now per se, but, the alcohol must have done something to your brain. It was strong enough to make you forget simple Japanese customs, you wanted to smack your skull.

Eyes peeping at the man, you diverted your gaze sheepishly, the intense stare he had made you bashful, slightly making your insides churn and almost making you a spluttering mess. You glanced back at Todoroki, and tilted your head.

“W-Were you awake this whole time? I-I thought I saw you move…” You admitted.

He loosened his grip on your neck and rested his palm on your shoulder. “You were not exactly quiet,” he then traced tiny circles on your collar. “Falling off the bed…must have hurt, are you all right?”

Your face swiftly turned three shades darker. ‘He was awake!’ The moment you woke up in shock and slammed your bare ass on the floor, he was awake! ‘Naturally! He’s a god damned hero!’ Obviously, who wouldn’t stir awake from the loud smacking sound, and your cry of pain?

You squinted at the smirk on the corner of his lips. ‘He’s teasing you!’ He was awake this whole time… then, he must have felt your lips on his forehead, and heard the ‘good morning’, and the fumbling for your shoes, and the swipe of your fingers, and you playing with his hair, and everything else!

How was it possible to be this abashed? Your cheeks felt as if they were on fire, oh fuck, it had to do with his stupid little smirk, his stupid intense gaze, his stupid hold on you as if you meant something to him like—like you meant the world to him.

Oh, how your stomach kneaded at the thought.

“I’m… fine.” You snatched his hand and placed it on the bed.

By the way he looked at you, you reasoned out he was waiting for something. Gratitude for the night before sounds way too conceited, he did not seem like a narcissist. An apology for taking too much of his time and space sounded too sad, your heart ached and hearing him jab it with regrets would hurt.

What else was there to remember? God, did you puke into his suit, or clothes, did he want you to pay for his dry cleaning? You cringed, goodbye self-esteem.

“…I’ve never done this thing before, you know?” You spoke. “Ah, I don’t really know what happens the morning after…” Blushing, you pinched your fingers, a nervous habit. “I’ve… I mean… I watch those shows and… I know someone has to walk out after and seeing this isn’t my room, I have to walk out. Yes. Me.”

His face contorted, confused. “Why do you have to walk out?”

The whole purpose of walking out was to signify the end of a session, like you would tell him that. Basically, the room was unfamiliar territory, therefore, not your apartment. Who else would walk out if not you?

“This,” you gestured the room, “is your apartment. Not mine. Why would you walk out of your own apartment?”

“Yes, I know.” Todoroki said, matter-of-factly. “But, why?”

“What do you mean ‘but, why?�� Why? Me… and you… we aren’t even a thing! We just happened to—“ You pointed. “You! This is all your fault! If you just pretended to sleep and continue doing it, we wouldn’t have this awkward exchange in the first place!”

“You asked where your shoes were.”

“I didn’t actually think you were going to reply!”

He pulled himself into a sitting position and stretched his arms. You heard the sound of a crack followed by a soft groan, and his feet perched on the ground, right in front of where you stood. The sleepy man placed his chin on his closed fist, while his elbow laid on the top of his now crossed legs.

Todoroki sighed. “You did not answer the question. Why do you want to leave?”

There were a hundred reasons to leave. He was a top hero, a celebrity in the eyes of his followers, an untouchable God by his multitude of fangirls. You believed it was impossible to stay with someone like him, your ego would not allow it.

A part of you was scared. If you stayed, the chances of talking about what happened increases. Staying meant realizing you really slept with him, and in a way reconfirmed your feelings that you might actually stand a chance. Maybe your feelings were worth it, maybe he would give you a chance, and maybe your impossible love was never impossible at all, maybe—

“It’s— It’s… not proper…” You conceded. “You’re… you! And I’m me! I barely even know you and in all honesty… I don’t really remember what happened last night. I’m sorry, it’s better if we pretend this never happened.”

He paused for a while before answering. “Why? Do you hate it that much? Do you want to talk about it?”

You clenched your hands. It was infuriating how easily his words planted fantasies into your head. The way he phrased the sentence drove an idea down your throat. ‘Did he want you to stay?’

“The thing is… I don’t remember. Do you?” You replied.

“Of course…” He took a quick glance at your face, almost looking for something, before staring back at the curtains. “Are you married?”

‘Married? Married!’ You gaped. You could not begin to comprehend why he asked such a question. Did he think you were running away because you had someone waiting at home for you? Or did he ask because he tied the knot with someone else? God… did you sleep with a married man?

You don’t recall him being married. “No! I don’t have a ring on my finger…”

“Do you have a boyfriend?” He added.

Oh, you breathed. Was that the reason why? Was he asking all these things because he felt inclined to know whether the woman he slept with had someone waiting for her at home? He was minimizing the potential of a possible scandal. You sunk at the thought. “Ah, I did… But that was months ago.”

Do all hook ups have these morning questionnaire sessions? Or was this a top hero only session, to reduce the possibility of a hot and spicy front page article on the tabloid? Oh, maybe he felt guilty. You glimpsed at the man, his eyes closed in ponder.

You were never one to snitch, and something like this was a secret that would never leave your lips, until, well… you were six feet down under. You deflated yet again, presuming after his barrage of questions, he would send you out the front door.  

“If it is not because you are married, not because you are taken, not because I did something wrong…” He began. “Then… stay.” His arms wrapped around your waist, while he leaned his forehead on your stomach.

Faint, you were going to faint. You heard it right, didn’t you? He said ‘stay’, not ‘leave and never come back,’ not ‘forget this, go,’ not ‘get away,’ he told you to stay. You died and went to heaven, didn’t you? Was it possible for someone like him to want you? Even if it was just for a moment, you wanted to succumb to the feeling of being loved.

Your face heated up, and your hands unconsciously reached for his head, dragging your fingers slowly between the locks of his hair. “…Are you this touchy with all the girls you sleep with?”

Right off the bat you tested the waters, almost grimacing at the implications. Why you formulated such a simple sentence into something with a double meaning, you never knew.

“No. Just you.”

Great. The issues with double ended questions. What did ‘just you’ mean? Did he sleep with a lot of women, and you were the only one he cuddled with so far? Did it mean something else? You had to pry further, not that it mattered whether he slept with other people.

“So… do you sleep with people this often or…?”

He scowled. “What makes you think I take anyone I see to bed?” Todoroki swiftly twisted you around, facing your back, and pulled your body to his lap. “…Only you.” He mumbled.

Ah, you instantly felt relieved. Though, the reassurance only managed to disorient you even further. What happened at the bar? What conversations happened during the hours of the party? What did you say to make him interested? Was he really interested? Maybe, by the way he was holding you right now, his body language proved he was.

Your stomach stirred at the close contact, pulse racing as he settled one hand on your thigh while the other swaddled your waist. “…Do you really not remember?”

You wanted to recall as well. “I don’t… sorry.”

He sighed in defeat. “All right.”

His breaths caressed the back of your neck, sending goosebumps all over your body. You shook your head and forced yourself to breathe, breathe in, and out, in and out, in and— were you being cuddled by the Todoroki Shouto on his fucking bed, why me? Out of all the women in this world, Japan rather, why would he be wrapping his warm arms around you— breathe out!

Everything was so confusing, so perplexing, so—a prank! ‘Ha ha ha, good job everyone!’ You mused. ‘Time to reveal yourselves, you assholes!’ Your list of ‘bastards who pissed you off for a living’ had hundreds of guys. The idiot from work, the bartender near your apartment, your next door neighbor who played rock music at 3 in the morning, stupid Monoma who fucked around at the hospital.

You sighed. One more time, one more phrase of reassurance. Just one more. And you’ll stop asking.

“Hey, hey… Todoroki?” You nudged him with your head, gently. You heard a soft ‘hm’ and continued. "Are you really Todoroki?”

He paused. “…Shouto.”

“I know who you are,” You hummed, a smile flickering your features. “I mean, is it really you? You’re like this… cool hero. A celebrity, really. And I’m just… sitting on your lap, in your room, in your apartment, wherever this place is.”

His grip tightened on your waist. “Who else would I be?”

“Monoma trying to fuck around and fuck up my feelings.”

“Ah, trust me, princess. I would not let that happen.” His so soft voice, sent shivers down your spine. “…Do you really not remember?”

Knock out! He called you ‘princess’, princess, princessprincessprincess. Such an endearing word for a stranger, oh but you love it so. You took a double take, the word was very familiar. Very familiar. It was difficult to pin point a certain time or place, but…

You pinched his ear. “Why do you keep asking? Was it that good that you can’t stop talking about…?”

“We talked about this right before I took you to bed and you—“

“You know what,” You spluttered. “Never mind! Don’t tell me. I’ll figure it out on my own.”

The tips of your own ears tinged red, you could feel the heat. Learning more of what happened last night made you squirm, …it will flow back eventually. You hoped.  Learning about it from the man himself made you embarrassed, super embarrassed. Knowing he was the type to be nonchalant about everything, he might describe the whole night without any reservations.

Feeling braver, you wiggled yourself into a position that had your legs wrapped around his waist and your head rested on the crook of his neck. Cloud nine, you sighed. This is what cloud nine feels like.

You closed your eyes and listened to the beats of his heart, the rhythm pulling you quicker and quicker into the sensation of sleep. As long as the man himself told you to stay, you shall indeed stay, God, you wanted to stay.

Eyes moving under your lids, one memory emerged— and boy did it send your heart tumbling. You yelped in reaction, eyelids immediately snapping open.

“Hm?” Todoroki asked, certainly with a teasing tone. A fraction of smirk was displayed on his lips. He had sort of an inkling of what happened.

“Nothing, nothing.” You deflected, snuggling your head back into the crook of his shoulder, a way to hide your forthcoming blush.

Warmth was his breath on your neck, trailing kisses down your collarbone, as his teeth lightly nipped the base of your throat. Your head blanked at the pleasure, the heat, the excitement— and only he, calling your name pulled you out of your drunken stupor, though the words he muttered afterwards sent you into a crying mess.

“…I love you.”

[pandemilkbread]

eyes like sinking ships on waters

ᴛᴏᴅᴏʀᴏᴋɪ sʜᴏᴜᴛᴏ ✩ masterlist

sᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: It was something that crept up so slowly it left Todoroki unaware, but he thought that was the best kind of love; one so natural you don't even notice.

[ᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴀ ᴛᴏ ᴢ’s ᴏғ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʀᴇʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴsʜɪᴘ ᴡɪᴛʜ sʜᴏᴜᴛᴏ ᴏᴠᴇʀ ᴛʜᴇ ʏᴇᴀʀs]

 ⓐ — ᴀʙᴀsʜᴇᴅ (🇸‌🇱‌🇮‌🇬‌🇭‌🇹‌ 🇸‌🇲‌🇺‌🇹‌)

author’s note: here we go again. welcome back to my channel and today we are going to discuss how hard it is for me to focus on a plotline. 

so here i am, making a series of interconnected oneshots for you to enjoy :> thank you! 

[pandemilkbread]

paubaya sequel

me: time to update the angst oneshot!!

me: how long should i make it

me: long enough.

me: 7k

me: oh my god

[pandemilkbread]

nine days // bakugo katsuki

author’s note: here is the sequel to paubaya! it can be read as a stand alone fic, but it’ll feel better once you read the first one. 

please enjoy ♡ please leave a like or comment if you enjoyed it,, it’ll mean alot aaaaa. also, beware. this is pretty long! 

ʙᴀᴋᴜɢᴏ ᴋᴀᴛsᴜᴋɪ

nine days. (angst!fic) part 1

sᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: It took eight, just eight days to fall in love with you; and as dense as Bakugo was, it’ll take him a lifetime (or two) to admit it.

i.

The idea of love has always been a difficult subject to comprehend. 

And to a young boy at the tender age of four, whose typical acts of love revolved on beating the crap out of anyone who dared to mess with him (or his friends, though he’d rather not call them that), the subject was more troublesome to speak out loud. 

Which was quite contrary to the Bakugo household persona that radiated pure noise throughout the whole course of the day, a feat their neighbor would love to refute if they were able to.

(how a detached and sound proof home such as theirs could release that much clamor, they hardly knew.)

However as loud as the Bakugos were, it’s a no-brainer to realize how quiet they became in regard to their own feelings. The eccentric family breathed the words “show don’t tell” like a mantra; the essence of touch being the utmost way of showing affection—something Bakugo Katsuki never truly understood until one Saturday afternoon. 

Bakugo loved his quirk. His favorite part? Not one single part, but a bunch load of favorites. 

Blasting shit into smithereens. 

Screams of wow! and cool! from his followers. 

(”the imaginary people in his head, who continually shower him with praise.” not that he’d admit it.)

The sizzle of sweat on his fingers. 

…And exactly everything else that buffed up his currently fragile ego.

The worst part? 

The smell of burnt cloth that followed his usual fits of excitement. 

The lukewarm water plummeting from the ceiling sprinklers.

…Most especially the whack that vibrated through his skull when his mother found out his only son almost managed to burn down the whole kitchen. 

He took it personally, very personally. What happened? An accident!  The All Might segment thrilled him to the point of attempting a somersault, one that he succeeded in doing! Was it his fault a measly floor couldn’t handle his greatness? Yet, how does his crappy mom reward him for this feat— a full throttle to the head. 

“Katsuki,” his father muttered, rousing him from his thoughts. The scent of antiseptic lingered in the air, forcing him to scrunch his nose in disgust. Was he so weak to need a dab of a stupid medical solution to—

“You could have gotten hurt. Don’t be stubborn.” He sighed. “Your mom was very worried.”

Bakugo grunted. ‘A pissy way of showing it!’ He’d retaliate, but the downcast glint in his father’s eyes stopped him. He was clearly worried for his son’s wellbeing. 

“...Could’ve said so.” He sputtered out. (unwillingly, of course.)

“Sometimes you have to look past words to truly understand how someone is feeling, Katsuki.” A small grin perched on Masaru’s face. “People love differently. You just need to spot how.”

ii.

“I like you! Can we please start seeing each other?”

“Hah? Who the fuck are you?”

One tear, two tears, three tears. With that, the girl ran, and down the middle school staircase she went. 

Bakugo hardly understood why he was invited to the rooftop in the first place. No. He knew a confession would take place, that was obvious. All thanks to his fellow female classmates who couldn’t stop gossiping about it. One more ‘oh God! she’s going to confess to Bakugo-san later!’ and he’d burst, literally.

No. He couldn’t grasp the whole idea of confessing your love to a stranger. Bakugo knew nothing of the teary-eyed student, except she was a crybaby. Besides, it irritated him to the point of seething. Why confess your love only to run out halfway when things go sour? 

It wasted his time. Time he could have spent training, studying, doing something important. 

Don’t misunderstand. Bakugo was not a cruel person, he never was. Just one with below par conversational skills. He wanted to know the reasons, not disregard her feelings. He wanted to understand the why’s and what’s of the equation; the basis of what directed her feelings onto him. 

But, he would never accept her proposition, even if she managed to spur out a million reasons. Bakugo never saw himself in a position to love someone, it was too troublesome. Hell, he never understood the whole idea of love itself. 

He scoffed. If he had found himself fancying a person, it would be one akin to himself. 

Someone strong. 

Someone who spoke their mind. 

Someone who could handle him. 

Someone who—

Whack! A shoe smacked him out of his dazed stupor. Apparently, the friends of so-called stranger who shuffled off the rooftop in a crying heap told what transpired. The whole girl squad fashioned themselves into a line meant to reprimand his actions. 

“You could have softened the blow, you know!” One of them hissed. “In a way that wouldn’t hurt her feelings!”

“Yeah. You’re pretty selfish, Bakugo-san. You could have at least tried to hang out before deciding!” Another chided.

The act ignited his anger, leaving him an irked mess. 

Soften the blow? What did they expect him to do? Listen to the confession wholeheartedly, seemingly interested in actually dating the other party? Hell no. Why would he do so? It would only make the rejection hurt more. No matter how you put it a rejection is still a rejection; and a rejection will hurt. 

Selfish? He had done the girl a huge favor. More or less she would finally move on and treat the event as a lesson; focus on someone who had the time for affection. 

Was it his fault for not feeling the same way? Fuck no. He owed them nothing. 

“Don’t wanna. Too much of a hassle.” Bakugo sneered. 

And, oh boy were women scary. Nothing was more terrifying than a group of women who managed to suppress Hell’s fury and rage into their whole being. Hypocrites. Speaking of softening blows when one hit from any single one of them could break bones. 

God. He hated their quirks. 

(scratch that. he hated the sound of his mother’s cackling the most. ‘now what did i tell you about pissing off girls!’ she scolded.)

iii. 

Bakugo was a lot of things: perceptive, intelligent, strong— Hell he could list down a thousand adjectives if he wanted to. But, he was never the observant one. 

Sheer power? He was fucking amazing. 

Keen leadership? Bakugo is your guy!

Socializing skills? …Working on it. But, God yeah!

As perceptive as he was, his ego took a bit of a hit the moment he crashed into her. And as much as he would like to boast it was her fault in the first place, with the stacks of books that perched on her forearms, he knew better than to daze off in the middle of a crowded hallway. 

The books shook in momentum, and in return one hand steadied the massive collection. The blonde Pikachu outwardly reached out preventing the crash, a feat Kaminari would evidently use as a bragging tool later on. 

“Ah, sorry about that! Spiky over here’s in a daze after the math quiz,” Kaminari snickered. 

“Says the cheater who got caught on question one.” Bakugo retorted with an eyeroll to match. 

The other person in question huffed out a breathy laugh, the books shook once again in reaction, forcing her to side step to balance them out. “That’s fine. Sorry for blocking the way too.” The stranger reassured. 

By then, Bakugo’s stomach growled. God was he hungry. He casually followed the flow of people toward the lunch area. A few steps later his blonde companion tapped him on the shoulder, almost frantically. 

“I-I’mma help carry the books to—” Kaminari whipped his head back and forth at him and the other person walking the opposite direction. “So... yeah! Go without me!”   

Bakugo grunted. A non-verbal consent which easily meant “go, I don’t care”, or more likely “bye. i’m fucking hungry”. He couldn’t understand why Kaminari would go that far for someone he barely knew, especially when their whole body was covered by the stacks of books. Suspicious if you asked him. 

The boy was simply unpredictable and troublesome. Nah. He had no time to think about the electrical cord, he wanted to eat. Once he arrived at the dining hall, the other three constituents of his group sat on their usual hangout place. Thankfully (he won’t admit it) the eccentric red head ordered his regular lunch for him, allowing Bakugo to immediately slide into the table. 

“Bahkuwgo! Whersh Kahmiyari?” Pinky blurted, her mouth filled with food. 

His eyebrows furrowed. Where was Pikachu? “Shithead’s busy.” 

Bakugo returned to the matter at hand, his aching stomach, and began chewing. Obviously, the angry porcupine had no time to gossip about the who, what, where, and when’s, hello? Stomach first. His ears on the other hand had no shut-off button, prompting him to listen in the conversation rather irately. 

“I told him to study! Three nights ago! And what happens? He decides to write down the whole syllabus into his hands!” 

Sero sighed. “Mina. He’s helpless and will never learn—”

“Didn’t you copy off him too?” Kirishima chortled. “I saw you look over his answers!”

The black haired boy feigned shock. “Are you assuming I cheated? I thought we were friends!” Seconds of thought later, his eyes widened in real shock. “If you saw me looking... it means you looked too!”

“Bro. I wouldn’t cheat. It’s against my honor—” 

“Oh my God! All three of you are idiots.” Mina gushed. 

“Says the girl who left the whole back page em-empty.” Sero snickered, his palm jabbing his chest to dislodge the food stuck in his throat. 

Kirishima gasped. “There’s a back page? The—”

“Hey! How do you know? You’re seated at the third row! So you’ve really been chea—”

The thwack of a lunch tray interrupted the conversation, an achievement only possible by the fourth idiot of the group. The lightning bolt returned from the alleged errand in a sputtering mess; like he would be when overloaded by his quirk, almost but not quite. 

“Denki! What took you so long? I bet Aizawa-sensei decided to talk some sense into you!” Mina teased, tilting her head in confusion when the blonde suddenly dazed off. 

Bakugo smacked the Kaminari on the forehead, rather lightly. “...Idiot’s broken.”

“No... I met an angel...” The chargebolt mumbled. 

“Here we go again.” Sero shook his head in response. “Who is it this time?”  

“Shush! She’s here!” He hissed. “Bakugo bumped into her earlier. She had these big books—”

“Bro! That’s no way to talk to a girl—” 

“No! Not that! Real books! So, they were heavy and... Yeah. I helped her carry them to Recovery Girl— and yeah!” 

“You’re not making any sense.” Sero advised. 

“Shut up! She might hear us!” Kaminari gawked. “...She’s so pretty...”

Four sets of eyes travelled towards the person the Pikachu was ogling at, a silent agreement among all five of them to be as unsuspecting as possible. Evidently, she was a simple normal high school girl whose smile seemed to radiate glee likely from her co-classmates who sat with her. 

Bakugo surveyed her face, and then onto her gestures and actions. A Goddess? Huh. The girl seemed pretty normal to him, no one special. Kaminari unmistakably gushed over another woman, like he usually did for no reason at all. 

“Where’s she from?” Bakugo asked, rather boredly.

“Ah, yeah! I don’t know.” The lover-boy continued ogling. “...She’s not from the Hero department for sure.”

“No shit, Sherlock.” 

iv. 

Bakugo hated many things; failing tests (he’s too smart to fail), winning without actual merit, God he despises losing even more, Deku (he doesn’t actually, too prideful to oppose it though), nagging— He hates Aizawa’s nagging the most. 

It must have something to do with the nonchalant tone, more like dead and spiritless if you asked him, the all knowing attitude, the deep timbre of ‘Bakugo. Fix that up. If I find out you’ve been bleeding all over the floor. Good luck.’, the threatening staring contest thereafter, and the resolution: him walking furiously to the nurses’ office. 

He groaned. It was a tiny scratch. Maybe a bruise, or two. The gash on his temple stung, not just physically. The reason why he was cut in the first place was all because of shitty Pikachu blabbing about his fucking angel. If he said “You’re just jeaaaalous” one more time, he would explode. 

Bakugo warned him. Multiple times. Kirishima could vouch it. But, no. Bolty decided to repeat the phrase manifold of times, leading him to screech a “shut the fuck up!”, causing Pinky to scream, in succession scared Shitty Hair forcing him to activate his quirk—

Fuck that. In short, it was all thanks to the living and breathing phone charger. 

Bakugo gripped the clinic door and slammed it open. The quicker he found Recovery Girl the quicker he returned to class and beat the shit out of Pikachu. Yeah. He’d do that, but instead he found her. 

For fucks sake. The indirect reason why he was in this state. 

He marched toward the desk, dragging his feet in a somewhat stomping manner. The way she blankly stared irritated him more. Was she just going to stare? Bakugo rolled his eyes. Did she think he was pathetic to come in for a slight scratch?

He had no choice. Not his fucking choice. 

“What the fuck are you looking at?” 

Finally. The girl roused from her state of daze and stood up. Now all he needed to do was ask— nah, he’d wait for the head nurse himself. 

The other person in the room darted her eyes to him and a clock on the wall almost quizzically, as if she was contemplating what to do. With that, she spun around and faced him. 

“She’s not here. Bear with it for a sec, let me get something to help.” She mumbled. 

Oh? The girl wasn’t a bystander after all. She reached for a small kit inside a cabinet in the wall. Her hands then beckoned to a chair and it was his cue to sit down. 

This gave him ample time to observe the woman who’s been driving him nuts. Through the oddball Kaminari of course. 

First of all, she was no goddess. Looked more like an enraged chipmunk on Christmas morning. Her cheeks puffed up in concentration, dabbing antiseptic on his temple. How Kaminari fell for her, he had no idea. Not surprising though, he’d fall for the whole female populace if he had the time for it. 

Second, why the fuck would he be jealous! What was there to be jealous about? Pikachu should be the envious one. The girl he fawned for happened to be the same woman in charge of cleaning his wounds. No. Not wounds. Scratches. Stupid scratches. Her eyes glazed in utter focus at the task of hand, this beat Kaminari’s “watching habits” any day. 

Hell, he was a tad excited. Using this incident as a tool to finally make the idiot shut up. The imminent power he’d have over the crappy blonde. He would bring it up on every occasion possible, well— not every one. Bakugo did have mercy for the goofball. So, maybe five times a week. Almost enough to make up for all the weeks of his bantering. 

Third, he thought, wouldn’t it be better if he introduced you to Kaminari instead? Yeah, he barely knew you. Even so, it was worth a shot. Maybe referring you to the Pikachu would be better in the long run. Maybe, the experience could humble him. Bakugo shook his head. No. Even if he managed to coerce you into meeting Bolty, there was no guarantee you’d actually like him. 

Then there was the impending heartbreak and sobbing and whining and complaining. Nevermind. He’d go through so much shit for a tiny bit of satisfaction. Scratch that. 

Anyway, what was so great about you? You weren’t from the hero course. Obviously. Bakugo knew most of the students from that department. Although he couldn’t remember names, faces seemed to pop up in his mind. You didn’t have an awesome quirk. Hell, if you did, he recalled no one who looked like you from the sports festival. Business department? He assumed people like them don’t intern for the clinic. General department then? 

Bakugo growled. Why was he trying to understand you? You were nothing to him. A simple stranger who crossed paths with first time, and highly for the last time once the whole ordeal was over. God. He’ll kill Kaminari for this. 

At that instant, Bakugo felt repetitive pressure on head. It took him a few seconds to realize she patted him. Like a kid!? Fuck no. His ego couldn’t take her treating him as a child. A small vein popped on his forehead and when he was about to berate her for her actions, apparently she spoke first. 

“Good boy, you can leave now.” With. A. Matching. Grin.

Fuck no. This was worse. You didn’t treat him as a child, he was a pet to you! A pet? Why a pet!? He wanted to wipe that dumb smile off your face. You were exactly more annoying than Pikachu ever was! 

Her cheeks flooded pink from the small laugh she released.  Bakugo’s eyes hovered over to yours and one though popped up: cute. 

What. The. Actual. Fuck. 

Imaginary steam evaporated from the top of his head. Cute? Cute! Gross. The woman in front of him wasn’t cute. She was fucking annoying. He bet his mind spelled u.g.l.y wrong. The scratch on his head fucked up his intellect. 

Bakugo immediately stood up, pointing an accusing finger at her. “What’dya call me, ugly!?”

v. 

Anyone who thought Bakugo was the type of person to run away from a fight would be met with the indignant monster himself, threatening the offender with fury akin to the devil.  

It’ll take a million years before Bakugo willingly scampered off the battlefield without dealing a punch (or two). 

However it would take longer for him to admit he was running away from you. No. He wasn’t ‘running’ per se, he was observing the situation. The whole clinic event left him irked and in a sense, intrigued. 

Now that he thought about it, anyone who met his “angry” side were prone to either a. running; b. crying; c. anger; and d. all of the above; and in rare cases: e. laughing. He assumed anyone who laughed at him after his usual feats of anger were the real creepy ones— or idiots reincarnate. 

The moment he knew of her existence, he found himself noticing her more and more. He remembered specs of her daily routine from mere perception, something he hated he did, yet couldn’t stop. 

She hated tomatoes, he gathered from a passing conversation on the way to the lunch room. 

She hated snakes even more. Something to do with a childhood fear that forced her to go to the hospital. 

She loved reading, he presumed with all the books she had on the top of the desk in the library. 

As much as it irritated him to realize she took up a part of his thoughts (a big part, really), it pisses him off further when she spotted him looking at her as well. That led her to offer him a smile, sometimes a nose scrunch, other days furrowed eyebrows in confusion, but most of the time you never noticed the blonde hero student glancing at your direction. 

Well, that’s fine with him. More time to speculate the shitty woman who managed to take up his time. 

She took the courage to approach him one day. Bakugo knew she headed to his table in the library. So what does he do the moment her eyes met his in an attempt to introduce herself? Run. He fucking runs. 

An accomplishment that only happened when the world split into two. 

Yet, here were are on Day Four: Bakugo Ignores Gen. Girl to Restore His Self-Esteem. Part one of the “he was caught looking multiple times and almost confronted” franchise. This happened for quite a while, pretty easy actually. Both of your schedules never met, the only times he caught a whip of your existence were in the library (your humble abode) and the clinic (your humble abode part two). 

Obviously, he avoided both places like the plague. 

His plan worked for a while. 

(for the first five days, honestly.)

Bakugo’s broke his streak one lunch afternoon. He caught her eye the exact moment she looked at his, inciting a silent battle of leering. She grinned set out to stir his anger and he glared right back. The fight lasted for minutes neither parties admitting defeat, earning the attention of his fellow lunchmates. 

“Bakugo? Could you teach me this later?” Mina pleaded. “If I fail one more quiz I’d be dumber than Denki!” 

“Hey! I studied this time. I bet I might get a higher score than Midoriya this time!” Kaminari disagreed, flicking the girl’s forehead. 

“Finish eating already. We might be late again...” Sero sighed. “God. Aizawa-sensei gives me the chills...”

The red head of the group noticed Bakugo’s full tray and focused glare first. Kirishima lightly tapped the blonde, earning a grunt in response. Kirishima’s eyes then followed his line of sight to see the girl Kaminari has been talking about nonstop, and stop he did weeks ago. 

“Ah. You know her, Bakugo?” Kirishima whispered. “You might... with that staring contest going on between you.”

“No. I don’t.” Bakugo scowled, in concentration. 

Sero, who was in close proximity, heard the short discussion and pulled the other blonde by the ear. “Yo, Denki. Isn’t that Goddess #18?” 

“Ah!” Denki immediately covered his ears. “Stop! Can’t handle it! Don’t even mention her anymore— Bakugo ruined the whole experience! Remember Goddess #20? Yes. I’mma stick with her.”

“Woah... Bakugo that’s one intense stare you have. Don’t tell me... you’re dating her!” Mina gushed. “Denki you never stood a chance!” She laughed. 

“Who would like that— ugly!” Bakugo chided. 

“No wonder you hated it. You were reaaaally jealous, huh?” The Pikachu sang. “It’s fine with me. You have my permission.” 

Bakugo fumed. “I don’t need your permission to do anything!” 

Kirishima blinked. “Oh, you were serious, bro? You do like her?” 

“You’re all fucking annoying! Shut the fuck up!” 

Sero grinned, a wide cheshire smile. “You know what this means? Time to meet the princess who stunned the angry dragon.” He stood up. 

Mina understood the signal and followed suit. “Watch Bakugo for us, Kiri! We’re going to— Denki. You’re coming too.” She pulled the latter by the arm, dragging him unwillingly. 

“I don’t wanna!” Kaminari cried. 

“Hurry up. She could have pretty friends—”

“Ah? Let’s go.” The blonde picked up his weight and dashed. 

The remaining two students sat in silence. Bakugo groaned in frustration. He’s going to kill all four of them. Maybe a slower death for Spiky Hair since he called their attention in the first place. Bakugo smacked his head on the table. 

For fucks sake. Out of all the times they had to notice, why now? God. He hated his friends. 

Kirishima patted his back, gently. He did not want to enrage the irritated Bakugo even further. “There’s no harm in meeting someone new, right? Think of it as a — fun experience.”

Fun, alright. Bakugo was going to have fun beating his friends up. 

(says the angry pomeranian who heeded, and plomped down on the seat next to the stranger— not so unfamiliar anymore, almost happily. well, in his own way.)

vi. 

You and Bakugo were polar opposites; the duo that clashed every second possible. 

Believe it or not, the slightest of jabs ignited an argument so intense that calling the fire department would be justifiable. 

(alright. this may sound over dramatic. but, hey. it came from kaminari himself. dramatics beget drama.)

One argument in particular stood out among the rest. It started little, truly. A small squabble, really. 

Bakugo preferred sweets, she hated them. 

He liked mathematics, she detested the subject.

He thrived with attention, she favored staying in the sidelines. 

He loved the winter, she wished for summer. 

And one phrase led to another, one plain phrase led to an even more painful prick, and in conclusion—

“You’re quirkless. Stop complaining.”

happened. 

Bakugo never meant for the remark to hurt your feelings. It was a smooth attempt to disguise his embarrassment; you begged to hold his hand. Utterances of ‘we’re friends!’ and ‘don’t be shy!’ irked him. How the fuck was it possible to stay calm when the simplest brush of your hand against his, sent him into a frenzy?

Safety. He rebutted. It was for your safety. As much as he’d like to hold your hand with his—

(he’d die before admitting it, though.)

that quirk of his, stopped him. Sweat triggered his quirk. The very instance of the substance forming in his hands could cause an explosion. He doubted you’d be thankful spending Christmas in a hospital, your parents resorting to call a lawsuit. 

Was warmth a suitable reason to lose an arm? Hell no. Bakugo knew you hated winter, and all sorts of cold weather. Yet, he’s not stupid enough to risk your safety for something so... immaterial. 

Her words of ‘you’re selfish, Bakugo!’ prickled his skin. It was an innocent jab, he knew it was a joke. Still, if you haven’t understood the way his quirk worked. He thought it would be better for you to learn the hard way. 

And bingo. Bakugo said it. 

“You’re quirkless. Stop complaining.” 

Little did he know those words impacted his companion harsher than he initially thought. 

A small forced laugh came from your lips, compelling you to step sideward. An attempt to move yourself farther from him. “We should hurry up. I don’t think they’d like cold pizza.” 

Bakugo nodded, unconsciously watching your every move. He understood the topic of your quirklessness was taboo. A sort of innermost disappointment, and the focus of childhood bullying. He should have phrased it in a better way... a small part of him thought maybe, you wouldn’t get hurt, a way to attest your friendship. 

He grunted. His mom would kill him if she found out it was his fault. And knowing the woman’s personality, he preferred not being chewed out in front of his schoolmates. With a sigh, Bakugo unshuffled his muffler and wrapped it around his female buddy. 

“Next time, wear something thicker. I won’t always be here to save your ass.”

Her eyes blinked in succession. Her eyebrows furrowed after. Roughly, comprehending his actions. 

She beamed. “Oh? Is little Bakugo apologizing?” Her fingers twisted the pizza box, forcing it onto his hands. “Then carry this ‘oh holy’ one. I might forgive you then.”

“Fine. Crappy woman.” Bakugo grumbled, tugging her forward by pulling his muffler. “Hurry. I’m hungry.”

By 5:30 P.M., the pizza deliverers (Bakugo and her, the idiots who lost at rock, paper, scissors) arrived at the Bakugo household with the food. The appearance of the two prompted cheers and yells from Mina, Kaminari, and Sero who huddled on the couch. 

“What took you so long? Imagine listening to Denki sing the karaoke for hours!” Mina whined. 

Sero jested. “Next time, we forget inviting him. This early Christmas celebration can carry itself without his presence.”

“Get the fucking pizza yourself then! Stupid crowds hogging the whole pizza place...” Bakugo threw the box at the group, instantaneously, marching towards Kirishima.  

“Bakugo! B-Becareful!” Kaminari worried. “If it’s destroyed... you... get a new one!”

Heh. Like the expensive meal couldn’t handle a bit of force. Bakugo stomped towards the redhead and took a soda from the table nearest to him. 

Kirishima rose his eyebrows. “So. Had fun?” He elicited an all-knowing grin. “I think you did.”

“Shut up!” Bakugo hissed, eyes wandering to the bundle of people on the couch. 

“You know, you’re too obvious.” He laughed. “Well, except for one of us. That one has no idea.”

“I don’t fucking know what you’re talking about.”

“You don’t? Or you’re pretending not to?”

“Ugly’s a friend!” 

Kirishima hummed. “Alright, bro. I won’t pressure you into talking about it.”

A loud pop interrupted their conversation. Kaminari opened a fizzed up can of cola, the drink sprouted into Mina’s face. “I’m going to kill—”

“But, If you want something to happen though. You have to learn to speak up, Bakugo.”

vii.

“Come on, Bakugo! Just this once, please!” Mina begged. “It’ll be great for everyone! Don’t you feel sorry for Denki... He’s been cramming for days!”

“That’s what the gets for playing the whole weekend.”

“Please! I promise we’ll make it up to you!” 

“No. Too much of a hassle.”

“C’mon... Princess, help?” The pink haired student gestured to the other girl in the group. 

You sighed. “Mina, he doesn’t want to do it.”

“See, ugly agrees!”

“...Oh, wait. On the other hand, Bakugo’s too busy to teach. Mina, try asking Midoriya to help.” Her eyes met his in a stare off. “He’s got the time, especially when he’s so busy himself.”

She knew using his rival’s name as a bargaining chip kindled his anger. It was his fault for calling her such an offensive nickname in the first place. 

“Might let Pikachu teach you math too. You’re dumber at it than he is.”

“Oh? I should let him. He’s better at teaching than you are!”

Mina glanced back and forth between the two parties. A silent ‘oh boy, this will not end well.’ featured on her face. Pinky shook her head, and placed a hand on Bakugo’s shoulder. 

“It’s fine! Stop arguing, really.” Mina murmured. 

“No. She started it.”

“Don’t be a child, Bakugo! …Oh, you scared?” Ugly taunted. “I might beat your score in math.”

“Hah? You, the flunk? Fine. I’ll teach the shitty subject.” Bakugo grinned. “Any score lower than mine means you owe me one.”

And she gulped, anxiously. 

This became the humble beginnings of how Bakugo became the professor of the study group, ultimately leading to her doom. He was excited. Oh, what shit he’d make her do in retaliation. 

He agreed on the following terms: library after classes, subjects will be appointed beforehand, anyone skipping must be told in advance... and fifty other rules so on and so forth. 

And on the third week of the so-called cramming agenda, four of his classmates decided not to attend, leaving him and ugly as the remaining participants. The whole point of the activity was to teach the idiots, if they don’t show up why was he here?

Bakugo scanned through the math test he gave his companion. First, she was no idiot. There were hardly any errors, if there was, he presumed it was her faulty writing and adding. Solutions were well done, the logic was there. The problem? Yes. The idiot forgot her calculator. 

He clicked his tongue. The assumption was apparent, the whole back page had scribbles of numbers, divides, and all the shit. Why the hell did she not have a calculator? Forgetful one she was. 

And second, why the fuck was she dozing off? Sure, mathematics was a boring subject. Sure, he was a boring teacher. Sure, he was teaching them to pass the subject. They should all be grateful for his fucking effort. 

The hues of the sunset danced on her skin, the reds and oranges bounced on her hair radiating a wave of light. Her head perched on her crossed arms on the table, the head leaning slightly right. He saw the dark pigments below her eyes. 

Must have been studying hard, huh? Bakugo knew the girl was on a scholarship. It’s been discussed millions of times. He realized the pressure must have gotten to her, especially being one of the only quirkless students in the school. Seemingly, all she had to offer was her bright intellect. 

(not all. she was way better than most of the students in the whole department! bakugo punched anyone who thought otherwise.)

“...Do you like someone?” She muttered. 

What? In a split second, he focused his eyes on the girl in front of him. She stayed in the same sleepy position as earlier, convincing him she might have been talking in her sleep. Shaking his head, he returned back to the papers in his hands. 

Minutes later a sudden tap on the table prompted him to look at his companion. Her eyes gazed at him with such intensity, his stomach jumped. Somersaults, loops, rollercoasters. God. This only happened after a punch to the gut in battle. The woman was supposed to be asleep! What the fuck was she doing awake. 

Oh. So, she did ask the question. Was he supposed to answer? Silence is an answer. Knowing the girl, any answer he’d give sired more questions. God. He wanted to leave. What was the shittiest answer he could give her. Yeah.

“...Shut up, extra.” 

Perfect. Now back to the question at hand. What kind of fucked up person willingly confesses ‘You. Stupid. I like you.’ without proof the other party felt the same? It was simply a formula to fail. 

Hold. 

The. 

Fuck. 

Up. 

Did he really think he liked her? No. Brain thought wrong. Brain really thought fucking wrong. Just because he hated it when she focused on people who weren’t him doesn’t mean he likes her. Just because he’d break someone’s face for talking shit about her doesn’t mean he cares like that. Just because every retort she said in retribution turned him on doesn’t mean he wanted to kiss her. 

Fuck. He wanted to kiss her. 

Kiss her badly. 

He wanted to grab her by the collar and just kiss her. 

God. He hated it. 

The girl abruptly reached for his collar, pulling him towards her. “Who is it?” She whispered. 

Oh fuck. The cogs in his brain twisted and turned. Did he say it out loud? Did he fucking say that out loud? What the fuck was he doing? Who is it? What the fuck were you talking about? 

Who is it? Who was who? He hated cryptic messages. His eyes searched for meaning on your features. A person? Who?

Ah. You asked who he liked. 

Great. What was he supposed to say? It’s you, ugly! Wake up! He’d burn in hell before speaking up. 

One name popped up. Miruko’s agency. Rumi. The woman he was interning for. Like crap she’d find out about it. 

“Rumi, her name’s Rumi.”

viii.

12:00 P.M.

bakugo: i’m hungry

bakugo: bring ur snacks

12:50 P.M.

bakugo: u not gonna eat huh?

bakugo: suit urself brat

3:00 P.M. 

bakugo: think u gonna win the bet now aren’t ya

bakugo: keep ignoring me maggot

bakugo: fine

5:00 P.M. 

bakugo: spiky hair said to come 

bakugo: he has shitty fish crackers for food

bakugo: the fuck??????

bakugo: you ignore me and answer his calls?????

Bakugo was not an avid texter. Most of his messages consisted of ‘ok’, ‘nice’, ‘no’, curses, other single word messages, sometimes barely a reply at all. The sheer amount of effort he put into texting you proved otherwise. Yet...

Read. Read. Read. 

All of his messages sent to you were on read. What he fuck was going on? For five days, she’s been missing in action. He tried everything. 

Inviting the woman to lunch. Ignored.

Reminding her of the cram session. Bailed. 

Snacks! You loved snacks! Ignored again. 

Bakugo was this close to shoving you up against the wall and forcing the shit out of you. What did he do so wrong? Oh, was it the kiss thing? Did he say it out loud? Your face showed no clear answer at the time. Your deadpan expression irritated him. 

What if he wanted to kiss you? Was that shit so bad?

That had to be it. 

You weren’t ignoring Spiky hair, Pikachu, Duct Tape, and Pinky— then it had something to do with him. 

He grunted. Swiping the contacts on his phone, he hovered over the one named ‘Ugly’ and tapped it. Bakugo disabled the block function. 

If you weren’t talking to him, fine, he won’t fucking talk to you. 

(yes. he was that petty.)

Streams of notifications buzzed. All of them coming from you. 

Ugly: 6 P.M.

Ugly: Outside 3-A. 

Ugly: Don’t be late.

Ugly: stupid.

Fucking finally. The woman finally decided to text back. 

A meeting place? For what?

The exams were over. A celebration party then. No. Why was the location at 3A then? Oh. The bet. She wanted to compare answers for the shitty bet. 

Bakugo flicked his phone on. 6:25 P.M. 

Amazing. He was fucking late. 

The distance from the faculty room and the third year homerooms were near. It took him no time at all to stomp all the way to the designated meeting spot. Why you couldn’t have texted the shit down, he hadn’t understood. 

Bakugo sported a look of annoyance the moment he found you. Shitty woman. 

“You finally decide to text me back, shithead.” He cursed. 

The girl fashioned an amused expression. “Hm. You missed me?”

Of, course he did. How crappy of you to fill his thoughts of only you, annoy him ‘til worlds end, only for him to be forgotten and ignored. Like a thrown away puppy on the sidewalk. 

“Who would miss you, ugly.” He fumed. 

Yeah. That’s what you get for pretending he didn’t exist. You can’t leave him begging for your attention, that was something shitty fan girls did. And she stood there feigning ignorance of the whole ordeal. He bet she never even noticed he blocked her. 

She erupted in giggles, clutching her stomach as the stronghold. “I’m sorry. The exams were really difficult.”

You bet they were terrible. They had the same general education syllabus, except for major hero subjects and courses. The outright tears Pikachu shed after the math exam proved its difficulty. Bakugo bet she cried after the exam as well. 

Might figure out the task he would make her do. Something embarrassing? No. He wasn’t that cruel. A weird prank? What prank though—

“I missed you too, Katsuki.” She consoled. 

Of, course you did. Who wouldn’t miss him? The dweeb better be thankful he blessed the his friendship onto her. 

(though, he’d like a little bit more than that.)

Hah! Bakugo could force her to buy him a new muffler. The one he had disappeared (into her closet) and wanted a new one. 

Katsuki. 

Katsuki. Katsuki.

Fuck. She called him by his first name. And he only noticed it— now? Gears and cogs twirled within his consciousness. What did it mean? What did that mean? God. He hated it. Was that your way of showing your love? Did that love mean affection as relationship or love as friendship?

Fuck. He couldn’t tell. 

Yet, he knew one thing. 

He wanted to kiss you so bad. 

The snickers and giggles from the people outside the room stopped him though. His shithead friends managed to ruin it, yet again. 

Heh. Maybe next time. 

Love has always been a difficult subject to comprehend, and for Bakugo whose typical acts of love revolved around teasing, and riling you up, the subject was more troublesome to speak out loud. 

However, you were worth the trouble. 

Now, you just needed to spot how. 

[pandemilkbread]

I have read your "Paubaya" and, since you've mentioned it in your notes, now I'm kinda interested in Katsuki's POV, too 😆

woah!! i just saw this now for some reason and i’ve been working on the sequel to the oneshot. planning to post it soon aaaaaa i hope it’ll meet your expectations ☆

thank you so much!!

[pandemilkbread]

devil 007 (prologue)

devil 007 (Bakugo Katsuki x Reader)

summary:

(demon!au)

Turns out Bakugo Katsuki never wanted to eat your soul, rather he just needed someone to play video games with.

ᴀᴜᴛʜᴏʀ's ɴᴏᴛᴇ: ʜᴇʀᴇ's ᴛʜᴇ ��ʀᴏʟᴏɢᴜᴇ. ᴘʟᴇᴀsᴇ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ :>

                                                    ☆     ☆     ☆

𝑖. 𝑝𝑟𝑜𝑙𝑜𝑔𝑢𝑒

“That was a fucking accident.”

“An explosion that big is not an accident!”

You might be wondering how the hell were you hanging on the tallest building in the underworld holding on to a pipeline for your dear life. While your notorious partner-in-crime Bakugo just watched as you dangled ninety feet in the air. 

“I swear if I die I will shitting haunt you for all eternity! You’d be fed up with all my shit the moment my soul reaches your territory. Just imagine, me annoying you fore—“

“Jump.” He grumbled. 

No. Jump? Hell no. You’d rather die than jump into his arms. Bakugo was more likely to miss, and you’d fall (probably five storeys) before he dare tried to save you. 

You wanted to scream. How all this happened in the first place, you hardly remember. No, you did remember. 

It was all because of that stupid book. 

☆     ☆     ☆     ☆     ☆

It was a mishap, really. The wrong book got delivered to the wrong place at the wrong time, and exactly the wrong thing happened as a consequence. 

You were a college student who had just finished the semester, and frankly... a miserable one you were. Failing a quiz was one thing, but you had to mess up your finals so badly a retake wouldn’t suffice. You had to take up the subject all over again. 

Sighing, you lay flat on your back. The ceiling had this magical property to suck up all the negativity in your life. 

(it didn’t. but you’d like to think so.)

You had all the time in the world to repeat the subject. The problem? Cash. Having a scholarship at a prestigious university wasn’t easy. One measly failure could mean bye-bye free tuition fees and hello student loans that could last centuries + a liver.

Doomed you were, honey. You groaned. At least the treasury board approved the student allowances; which meant? The poor student (you) finally bought the heavy shitass syllabus for your major. The subject you failed. 

It could take weeks for the parcel to arrive. What did you expect? You only ordered it days ago. The sooner it gets here, you’d be studying your ass off until 5 A.M. for weeks. Hooray. 

A sudden ring of the doorbell awoke you from your senses. Huh, it did arrive earlier than you expected. You scooted towards the door and twisted it open. There lay a box wrapped in tape, a sticker with the words ‘fragile: handle with care’ shone in bright yellow. 

You picked it up and shook the item. It was lighter than you expected. How the heck did a 700 page book become as light as a diary? Did they send you the wrong thing? Crap. You scoured the whole box to find neither details about who the recipient nor who the sender was. 

Oh, well. Did that mean you could keep whatever was inside? You grinned. Opening up the box, you find out it was a vivid red book entitled:

Ultimatum Wishes: The Ultimate Spellbook for Summoning Demons! All your wishes will come true! Follow the instructions inside. 

Yeah, right. Like you could summon a demon to send you a trillion yen.

(apparently, doubt didn’t stop you from trying.)

☆     ☆     ☆     ☆     ☆

First of all, what the actual fuck. 

Your curiosity got the best of you. The instructions were pretty easy; sugar, salt, dirt, water, a jar of mayonnaise, a drop of blood— basically, the usual ingredients for summoning demons. Like that’s shitting normal? You had to mix them all together and spread them into the circle you drew on earlier. 

Second, did you really summon a demon?

You were obviously not in your dorm room. It was bigger, darker, and colder to what you were accustomed to. After saying a stupid chant, you make a wish and boom! demon comes to you. So the instructions said. 

It was a joke, really. You never thought the book was actually real! Once you said your wish, a bright light flashed and... you were here. A basement like room devoid of light, making your fingers the only things you could see at the moment. 

You were sprawled on your back, staring at your hands. If only your eyes could adjust to the light then you would be on your merry way to finding the exit. Except, that you didn’t really need to adjust. The lights opened with a flash and you were met with red eyes:

“Took you long enough, brat!”

Lastly, who the hell was this?

The moment you and this miniature bomb exchanged looks, and he realized that you weren’t the person he was hoping for, the man grabbed the collar of your shirt lifting you high up to the ceiling. 

“How the fuck did you get here stupid human? Pretty gutsy of you to just waltz in like you own the place, hm?” He growled, slightly shaking you with every syllable he uttered. 

You barely registered it, you-know before you were lifted up, but this person in front of you was terrifying. He radiated waves of “answer properly or i’ll rip you into shreds” and you didn’t want to die.

(not at least before smacking this crappy brute.)

“Put me down you—you crappy dog! Treat me nicely and I’ll tell you everything,” You choked. 

He scrunched his eyebrows in confusion. “You’re really haggling with me now, maggot? The last time I checked I could easily squeeze the fucking life out of you—”

“T-The book! Shitty book! Followed it and I’m here!”

And with that you were dropped onto the floor. You yelped upon impact, rubbing the area of your neck with your fingers. That hurt.  Your eyes hovered to your assailant and saw his frustration building up. Hoo, a little bit more and he’d be on fire. 

“...How’d you get it?” 

“Sent to my doorstep. D-Didn’t think it was real I thought—”

“You opened it knowing it wasn’t yours?”

“Oh, no you aren’t! Don’t blame me for your shitty mistake in the first place!”

“Watch your tongue, human.”

You sighed. Everyone knew you were someone who wouldn’t back down from a fight, but your senses told you otherwise. There was a fine line between pissing him off and stabbing you in the heart, you knew you were likely closer to the latter part of the scale. 

“Fine. Whoever that package was sent to, it came to me instead. Why am I here?”

He contemplated for a while, searching for the right words to spout out. Oh God no. Were you brought here as a sacrifice? You shook your head. Anything but that! Sweat dribbled down your forehead. Why wasn’t he saying anything?

“...to kill...”

Yeaph. And with that, you blacked out. 

(imagine, fainting from your own demolition. oh, you hope you didn’t actually break a bone or two.)

☆     ☆     ☆     ☆     ☆

You awoke to a strange tapping noise, more like a smack, and groans of infuriation. The vivid colors of black, pink, and yellow caught your attention, making you stare in awe. Was that Mario Kart...?

The clicking sound came from the blonde who sat cross-legged on the floor, eyes drawn to big television screen in front of him. While you were on a black couch around three hands away from the man. Seemingly, he could sense your tiny movements as you sat up, compelling him to chuck a controller at you. 

“You gonna play or what?”

Huh? You took the object, feeling the texture in your hands. It’s been a while since you held a controller; even longer since you played a game at all. The game home screen flashed, the cursor hovering over the “new game” button. He clicked it forcing the game to switch into the character screen. 

The man picked Bowser. Ah, not surprising. You grinned as you chose Princess Peach.

The game began immediately after and you thought, wow. You sucked at this game! Your cart hit track walls, bounced on boulders, special items that you sent managed to hit you instead. Rigged, this must be rigged! Just because the last time you played the game was ten years ago, doesn’t automatically mean you were shit at it.

Your companion thought differently.

“You’re crappy at this game.” He sneered.

You rolled your eyes. “It’s just the first game! A warm-up, you’ll see.”

And yes, he did see. See you fail round after round, time after time, the twenty games you played seemed to only prove your awful skills at a simple multiplayer game. You groaned. How was it possible to lose this much? Even the computer controlled characters beat you senseless. 

Gently placing the controller on the sofa, you wrapped your arms around your knees. Was this a test? A test to see whether if you were worth killing? Oh boy, you would have been slaughtered at the first playthrough. 

“Are you going kill me now?” You murmured. 

If this was how you were going to go, at least you had fun. Well, you did lose more times than you could count. But hey, it was enjoyable. 

“Ha. You think I’d let you go that easily?” He stood up, turned and grabbed the controller. “You made a pact with me, and now you’re gonna run away?”

His other hand reached for your chin and pulled it up, your eyes meeting his. 

“What’d you wish for, princess?”

alright. so that’s the prologue! thank you for reading. i’ll have the chapter one ready soon. so pretty much, what happened was: you received a package. bored as you were followed the instructions and summoned a demon. except, you were actually summoned somewhere else to bakugo no less. 

the introductions come on to the next chapter!! please leave a like if you like it aaaaa it would mean alot ;;;;

[pandemilkbread]

devil 007 (masterlist)

Bakugo Katsuki x Reader

i. prologue. chapter 1. 

summary:

demon!au 

Turns out Bakugo Katsuki never wanted to eat your soul, rather he just needed someone to play video games with. 

Genre & themes: demon!au; romance; tension; bakugo swears alot i promise.

☆     ☆     ☆     ☆     ☆     ☆     ☆     ☆     ☆

here we go again! i finished a new chapter of my other story when this idea popped up. the whole story as a whole would be around eight to ten chapters?? hopefully. aaaaaaaa.

so the whole point of the story,,, you get summoned/sacrificed to a demon by a cult. turns out that demon is kacchan,, you really think you’ll be eaten alive. turns out he just needed someone to play games with.

italics = to be added.

 author’s note:

i should really edit some graphics as a banner or something aaaaah 

update: so i did make a banner aaah pls bear with me i made it on a whim.

[pandemilkbread]

thoughts #1

alrighty. not really a new work. 

just wondering who should i write about next. if you leave it to me,, i’d be writing about katsuki non stop i tell you. 

any thoughts? you could send me a message or ask or aaaaaaaa i need to fuel out my stress into writing 

[pandemilkbread]

paubaya (angst!oneshot)

authors note: hello! i had an angsty dream last night and instead of pouring out my thoughts and using it to write on my story... it made me write a oneshot. also, the new moira song had me thinking— why shouldn’t i make this into an angsty oneshot too... hm. 

anyways. please enjoy :>

Bakugo Katsuki x Reader

Paubaya 

noun /pa·u·ba·ya/  origins. filipino

summary: You were far from being a pessimist; but you knew, you utterly knew, that loving Bakugo Katsuki would end in heartbreak. 

intro. 

You loved reading. Your favorite part? The ending. Especially when the villain’s wicked schemes go haywire at the hands of the prince, who in the name of love saves his beloved from their wicked hands. 

As a past time, you would imagine the days when your own prince charming would sweep you off your feet; promising his unconditional love for you. Showers of light glistening all the way to your magnificent castle. 

But by the tender age of nine did you start doubting those acts of prose in fairytales. Maybe, just maybe, if you believed hard enough he would finally show up. 

And by the miserable age of eleven, when your own father left your home for the final time, the only words of assurance your mother could give you were:

“Oh, honey. Sometimes the hardest kind of love is the one you have to leave behind.”

first verse. 

You loved writing. Your favorite part? The words. How they instantly relieved yourself of thoughts that lurked deep within your subconscious. Your hands scribbled endlessly on the pages of your notebook, professing your love for the kind boy in class (oh, please someone save your sweet heart). 

The contents of your diary will forever remain confidential. The objective? You thought by writing down how you felt for him could you move on from his clutches. He wasn’t necessarily a villain, but to you— a fragile girl at the age of thirteen, he could easily scar you for life. 

A bit over the top for someone so young; but you like to think about it this way. To save yourself from the embarrassment of rejection, to save yourself from bawling your eyes out thereof; keeping it to yourself was the best course of action. 

When the burden became too heavy, you continued writing every single feeling down until you were left empty to the core. What’s left to do? Rip out each and every page and burn it. 

Yet, it was a mishap really. When the gods decided to play you like a fool when the medium of your leaked thoughts disappeared. A joke? Not a funny one at all. 

And only on the rooftop of your middle school building did you realize where your missing item went. Into the hands of the person you liked. 

By now, you were fuming. How dare he take something that did not belong to him? How dare he—

“How stupid is it of you to believe that any fraction of kindness anyone gives you is equal to love?” 

He was right. You were stupid enough to fall for his good looks and kindness, you were dumb enough to be swayed by his charms. Though his angelic persona couldn’t stop you from punching the lights out of his face. 

(but the cries of his friends hiding behind the door did.)

pre-chorus.

Bakugo Katsuki was an enigma. It was near impossible to comprehend how someone that attractive could be devil’s reincarnate, you even felt the heat of Hell radiating out of his body. 

He was no prince charming; no one convinced you otherwise. And yet, you couldn’t help yourself but fall for the antagonist. The epitome of a fairytale villain right in the flesh. 

You first met him in high school, your first year specifically, in the nurses’ office. As a student intern for Recovery Girl, you spent most of your days in her office handling paperwork. Quite surprising really how a quirkless student like you made it into the prestigious school in the first place. 

Well, where you lacked you made up for. You had your brains to thank. It made up for the lack of power, good enough to get you in the general department. 

Anyhow, if someone came up to you and said ‘you’ll be swept of your feet, baby!’ you’d scoff and retort back in laughter. But when Bakugo Katsuki came into your life, it was a pretty close demonstration of what it felt like to be a princess— one that was blasted of her feet. 

(and you didn’t mean it figuratively. nope, he really did blast you off your feet.)

chorus.

How it happened? Simple, a rage visit to the nurse.  

The door slammed open revealing an irked pomeranian covered in bruises. Bakugo marched over to your desk looming an irritated expression. For someone who’d look like he could blast you into smithereens, you stared in awe. He was really attractive in person. 

You’ve heard of the boy from passing conversations in your department. His name frequently mentioned when the words sports festival and kidnapping popped up. His reputation couldn’t prepare you for his good looks, you would never admit it but, god does he look good. 

And with that, he said his first words to you: “What the fuck are you looking at?”

Ah, yes. How romantic. You held back an eye roll and stood up. Predictable. He was probably looking for Recovery Girl to fix that bleeding gash on his temple, but sadly the latter was unavailable. Something around the lines of quick bathroom break or teacher meeting. 

“She’s not here. Bear with it for a sec, let me get something to help.” You mumbled. 

Being the only intern for the office had its perks, you freely practiced first aid when the paperwork was bearable and no one was around. You cleaned the wounds with an antiseptic, then proceeded to patch them up with bandages and some gauzes. 

You found it amusing how the loud boy remained quiet on the chair while you were working on him. You finished your treatment with a pat to his head, “Good boy, you can leave now.”

Your words just seemed to rile him, ending the conversation with a “What’dya call me, ugly!?”

second verse.

By now, you were well-acquainted with Bakugo’s bunch of friends that you call the semi-crackheads and the real-crackheads. It was easy to differentiate the members into the two categories. All you had to do was think: among all of them, who had the most potential to burn down the school in flames?

Bakugo obviously stands at the top of that list followed by Kaminari, and Mina. The other lesser two evils, Kirishima and Sero, were safely sorted into the semi’s. 

How you met? Simple, repetitive gestures you did whenever you saw Blasty. 

After the events in the nurses’ office you’ve come to notice the boy more at school. Whenever lunch came around your eyes would instantly search for his figure, darting around for any sign. When it ends in vain, you sighed. 

The next day however, you found him by the corner of the cafeteria with his friends. You focused your time gazing at Bakugo’s mop of hair, and in turn, he looked up and met your own. You sent him a nasty grin and for some reason, he sent a glare back. 

The boy, obviously distracted from the conversation at their table, caused sets of eyes to turn to the source of his focus. Now gazed upon not one, but five sets of faces with undiscernible looks. So this is what being the center of attention feels like. 

(you sincerely hoped it would stop. though you only have yourself to blame for it.)

pre-chorus.

Time flies quick when you’re surrounded by people who make your life difficult. And when you mean difficult, you mean constant trips to the nurses’ office when any of the quintet manage to injure themselves. Unsurprisingly, this happened frequently. 

Apparently, the pomeranian revealed you worked for Recovery Girl and made his friends intrigued. Especially when he called you “ugly” more times than they could remember. 

You were already on your second year of high school when Mina proposed you joined their group study session.  Evidently, you had the best grades in the general department, well— except for math, and they wanted to use it to their advantage. You willingly accepted though, with the exchange of having blastboy teach you your weakest subject. 

(only after being taunted.)

You felt the rush of heat that swirled in your stomach when Bakugo meets your eyes, grinning. It remained in your thoughts the night after, the feelings rising and falling every second that passed. 

By then, you knew you were screwed. Oh god, he was going to break your heart. 

chorus.

“Do you like someone?” You muttered one day. The other four members of your so-called study group (more like a cramming team, you’d retort.) missed out on today’s session as they had other things to do. 

This left you and Bakugo as the only participants. The silence was unbearable, truthfully you had done enough reviewing to last a year, but you wanted to attend for the sake of seeing his face. 

You knew he was a loud one, a potty mouth at that, and it was worrying to see him so... silent. You wanted to break the peace by riling him up and to your disappointment, he remained silent. 

He did reply though, minutes after. 

“...Shut up, extra.” 

His usual snap backs always made you laugh. Even when it looked like he was going to send you into an early grave. But the way he said it right now, made you nauseous. Something akin to dread swiveled within you. No, it couldn’t be? 

One of your many talents lie in the skill of perception; and perceptive you were. More so when it involved the people you cared about, and you more than cared for feisty boy. 

You reached out and grabbed him by the collar, forcing him to look into your eyes. The tangerine color of the sunset couldn’t hide the pinkish hue that was plastered on his cheeks. Funny as it was, a part of you wanted to scoff. The Bakugo Katsuki likes someone. 

With that, a small part of you shattered. The remaining bits of pieces tied together by a string hanging loosely in anticipation, was it you? 

“Who is it?”  You whispered.

You were far from being a pessimist and you held on to that hope so tightly. Please give me a chance, please don’t break it. In that matter of seconds before his answer, you prayed ever so gently. 

And when he breathed out a name that clearly was not yours, all hope died. 

(and you with it. if you had just kept your mouth shut.)

bridge. 

Her name came up more often than you thought; and to your dismay, you noticed the growing grin that came along with it.  Bakugo sported a different kind of vibe the moment any conversation stirred towards the object of his affections. 

And more often than you liked; the feelings of anguish mixed with the bitterness twisted ever so constantly in your chest. Like a weighing anchor falling into the sea, an endless rope diving deep into its waters. 

As cheesy as it was, you  but feel... hurt? For what reason? You hardly knew yourself. Though a deep part of you truly hoped, maybe, even a tiny little bit, that he liked you. 

Seemingly, your fondness for the boy must have clouded your senses by the time Kirishima showed up at the library one afternoon. With all knowing look, he sat down opposite of you and mumbled:

“You know, for a guy that’s pretty smart. He can be real dense sometimes.”

Your heart leapt. You took a deep breath and counted. One, he couldn’t know. Two, he shouldn’t know. Three, was it that obvious? Four, does he know? You flipped the pages of your textbook, pretending to be so immersed in the subject that—

“He’s never going to know if you don’t speak up.” Was he reading your mind now? 

“How’d you find out?” You sighed, dropping your head into your palms.

“You’re not the only observant one.” 

Of course. Besides the dense Bakugo, there were four other sets of eyes in your group. One of them must have noticed how stiff, or how unusual (more like miserable) you’ve been acting. You gotta hand it to them though, they work fast. 

“It shouldn’t be like this. Why am I so miserable?”

A pause, then two, then three. Kirishima weighed your options, and like the supportive friend he was, he gave you an answer. 

“You should talk it out. Let him know. Because at the end, you’ll be the one who suffers the most. Just try.”

outro.

And by some interference of faith, more like some intervention from Mina and coaxing from Kaminari, you waited outside the 3-A homeroom for the so-called love of your life. You’d prefer to stop the cheesy antics, yet your nerves were all over the place. You needed something to calm you down. 

Earlier that day, you sent a message to Bakugo asking him to meet you halfway. 6 PM. Outside 3-A. Don’t be late, stupid. Minutes pass and there was no sign of the guy. Figures. 

Just as you were about to call quits the man of the hour finally showed up, sporting a look of annoyance. 

“You finally decide to text me back, extra.” 

Of course he was mad, you ignored his texts the past week. Avoiding him like the plague.

“Hm. You missed me?” You heart beats frantically in your chest. 

“Who would miss you, ugly.”

And there it was, the whomper. Giggles erupted from your mouth and you wiped the almost tears in your eyes. Although his words seemed derogatory, the way he looked refuted his words. He was visibly upset at your attempts of ignoring him. 

“I’m sorry. The exams were really difficult.” You consoled. “I missed you too, Katsuki.”

With that, you saw the cogs twisting and turning in his head. His face showing a definite ‘what the fuck just happened’ expression. Of course he did, this was the first time you’ve ever called him by his first name. 

You hoped for the best that was enough for you to get your message across. He was pretty smart, but pretty stupid. Oh well. 

You sort of realized that even the words pass by his ears and he barely understood a thing, you were happy. Yes, you were still miserable. Yes, you wanted him to love you the same way you did. But, sometimes the best way of loving someone was to let them go. 

You didn’t want to burden him with your problems, or even add more to his. So you decided to keep your feelings to yourself. Kirishima must be berating you right now. You laughed. 

The journey to moving on would be tough. You knew it. Telling him the truth would be so much easier. You knew it too. Just like your mother said, sometimes the hardest kind of love is the one you left behind. 

And no way in hell were you leaving Bakugo Katsuki. 

end note: so that’s the end aaaaaa i wanted to keep it as a oneshot but for some reason... part two??? bakugo’s pov??? AAAAAAAAA okay yes reader chan kept her feelings to her self. it’s a bit sad, but you know... that’s life and you don’t always get what you deserve :<

thank you for reading!!

[pandemilkbread]

12.192 meters (prologue)

Todoroki Shouto x Reader

prologue. chapter 1. 

Summary: It only took two seconds for your world to start over. You plunged towards the dark, fingers crossed, and hoped for the best. 

At that moment, you had two problems and they both had to do with the dead man in their kitchen. He, on the other hand, found himself breathing— and was honestly very surprised by that fact.

Unbeknownst to you, the pretty-looking stranger with the heterochromatic eyes would make the four storey plunge into the Earth worthwhile.

[simply, a reincarnation fic where you the reader learn to live within the silhouette of someone else, in the world of someone else, and loving another in the place of someone else.]

Trigger warnings: mentions of suicide. 

                                                  ☆     ☆     ☆

7:45 A.M.

You were having one of those days where you sort of wished you didn’t wake up. 

Sad as it might be, it was a normal occurrence for you to wake up exhausted. Who wouldn’t feel tired cramming one week’s worth of homework into one night. You only have yourself to blame for delaying your work, time after time, on the basis of “I can finish it tomorrow.”

A blaring alarm roused you from your thoughts, and you turned right to pick up your phone— immediately switching off the annoying sound. Your eyes hovered over the time. 

7:47 A.M. 

Of course, you were late. Regular time usually started at 7:30 in the morning, or around 7:40 if you took account for your homeroom teacher’s tardy record.

You sighed. It was time to get ready for the intense nagging session. 

10:21 A.M.

It was quite ironic getting scolded by a teacher who was known to be unpunctual. Even more so, when you were berated for passing work late. 

When you arrived at your high school it was a bit past nine. You headed towards your homeroom and came face to face with the terror English teacher herself. With an irritated smile, she ushered you towards the staff room and began the so-called conference. 

After listening to her scolding, you left with haste. Your nose scrunched up hearing her voice remain in your thoughts “What am I going to do with you?” 

You didn't know what you were doing either. 

3:51 P.M. 

To say you were tired, was an extreme understatement. You were drained— more likely from the sixth cup of coffee you drank rather than the lack of sleep. 

You were unfocused the whole day, drifting off from each class every minute or so. You heard the quiet screech of chalk on to the board and your eyes roamed back to the topic on hand. 

Ah, yes. Mathematics. You weren’t bad at the subject, but you weren’t good at it either. If you had the will to study the subject more, you could have been great at it. 

You just didn’t have the passion for it at all. 

Your eyes strayed back to the window to your left. A class of older students were outside playing volleyball. You saw one boy slump face down to the ground, after he was smacked head first by the ball. 

A small laugh escaped your lips. It must have hurt seeing the one who threw the ball had a strength increasing quirk, or something along those lines. Other than the pain, it must be fun. 

It must have been fun to have a quirk at all. 

5:30 P.M. 

“You look tired.” 

Your eyes drifted towards the sound. It was Rin, a close friend from childhood who went to the same high school as you. Albeit she was in a different class, she never failed to be there when you needed it. 

“Blame the English essays. She had to make minimum pages ten.” You rolled your eyes in utter annoyance. 

“I told you to start them early!” Rin strolled to the chair that sat in front of you. “You already know how much you procrastinate.” 

“My brain only works when forced to by a deadline.”

“Hah, you’re just overloading yourself.”

You nodded in agreement. Suddenly your eyes focused on a small box placed on the chair nearest to Rin. It was a pink rectangular container that smelled heavenly. Something from the back of your mind clicked and you realized it was—

“Happy birthday,” the black haired girl cheered. “I know you’re probably tired and prefer to sleep the rest of the day. But… at least you could eat some cake for dinner.”

It touched your heart so much to have someone who cared about you to this extent. Seemingly, buying a cake for someone’s special day is considered as a small thing. However to a person who neither had close familial relationships nor a multitude of friends, it meant so much more. 

Hot tears slipped from your eyes and you were engulfed in bittersweet feelings. You thought it was Rin’s quirk radiating out that gave you so much warmth; when she reached out to grapple you into a hug. 

“Thank you.”

It was your birthday, and you completely forgot. But she was there, and she remembered. 

11:49 P.M. 

You were stuffed. The chocolate cake was the best dessert you’ve eaten in a while, and you were so thankful to have someone like Rin. Currently you laid on top of the roof of your apartment building, plainly gazing into the dark sky above.

It was always a routine of yours to stargaze on your birthday. It made you less lonely than you were. You did have Rin, you had other classmates at school, you had friends, you even had the little old lady next to your room. She did bake the best banana cakes… 

All of a sudden, you heard a creak followed by a slam. Another person seemingly joined the exclusive party. By the sound of her voice you could tell it was a girl, you could hardly see anything on the rooftop devoid of light. You inched yourself closer to the stranger in curiosity. 

“I’m done! I can’t take it anymore, everyone’s so unfair! I’m useless! I hate it so much!” 

She was bawling her eyes off. Her sniffles becoming louder as you approached her. 

Ah, she was having one of those days. You could relate. 

“Stupid useless quirk! Stupid, stupid, stupid!” Her sobs echoed, and you could feel your heart rattling. 

You were about to reach her when you heard the words goodbye come from her lips. Wait, goodbye!? This girl!

Your hands grasped her shoulders tightly before she made one more step over the railing. She, in turn, panicked like a wild animal trying to shake your grip. 

“I’m trying to help! Stop struggling!” 

“No! Don’t touch me you don’t understand!” She started to kick your legs in the hopes of leaving your clutches. 

“Yes I do! Let me help you!” 

“No you don’t! Shut up! My quirk can’t save anyone! I’m useless!”

You clicked your tongue in annoyance. “I have no quirk, you shit! Of course I fucking understand!”

The both of you battle for minutes constantly shoving each other back and forth. Unbeknownst to you, your body was situated directly behind the ledge. Sweat dropped from your chin and you could feel the stress piling up. 

“Fine.” You heard the other woman say. She finally stopped shuffling out of your grasp and stood still in your arms. 

With a sigh, you let go of your hold. “Finally you took some fucking sense to—” were the only words you could sputter out before seeing her run back towards the railing. 

This little shit! You rushed to the stranger, barely grabbing on to the back of her uniform, before you tumbled off the rooftop. 

The scrapes of wind that passed your skin were proof that you were falling, and falling fast you were. You couldn’t even cry a scream out, still not over the initial shock. You were falling, falling, falling, and you were going to crash, crash, crash. 

You were having one of those days where you sort of wished you did wake up. 

Alright. That was the prologue it kind of serves as a background to reader chan and her background. As you could tell, reader is quirkless and has no passion for anything — well, for now hehe. 

The actual reincarnation happens in the next chapter :> The prologue is a bit boring, but it’s needed for the events that happen in the next chapter.  

I’ll post it later tonight... thank you!

[pandemilkbread]

12.192 meters (masterlist)

hallu! i got the idea for this fic while reading some of my favorite isekai at 3 in the morning. i couldn’t get it out of my head and so... i decided to write them all out. i kinda estimate it to be a 20 chapter series... 

please be kind! i’m a novice writer, just trying her best. will upload the prologue shortly hehehe

12.192 meters (Shouto Todoroki x Reader)

prologue. chapter 1. chapter 2. 

summary:

At that moment, you had two problems and they both had to do with the dead man in their kitchen. He, on the other hand, found himself breathing— and was honestly very surprised by that fact.

Unbeknownst to you, the pretty-looking stranger with the heterochromatic eyes would make the four storey plunge into the Earth worthwhile.

[simply, a reincarnation fic where you the reader learn to live within the silhouette of someone else, in the world of someone else, and loving another in the place of someone else.]

Themes: reincarnation, romance, drama, 

[pandemilkbread]

hallu :>

hallo! i’m cam ☆

just a novice writer who begins their journey in the sea of bnha fanfics. 

thank you for reading and i hope you’ll enjoy my future work!