#i'm really an i can fix him kind of bitch when it comes to bakugo idk what to tell you

[gardenofnoah]

cowardice

bakugo has a bad day and is a drama queen and you love him still. wc: 2.8k cw: mentions of drinking, some fighting within an established relationship, they make up tho <3

Bakugo Katsuki felt the heat of the sunlight slipping through the curtains against his skin before he opened his eyes. Resting on his side, arm tucked under his head, he let his breath fill his chest, finding the stretch of it pleasant. For a moment, that was all there was-- his breath, the feeling of the sheets beneath him (linen, because you wanted to indulge, and who was he to deny you when you looked at him like that in the middle of the department store), the strip of warmth against his back where the sunlight played, the click of the old, rotating fan that sat on the dresser across the room, too ancient to provide anything but white noise at this point.

He was never a morning person before he met you-- he'd wake up, sure, but always sluggish and grumpy for the first hour or two before he shook off the last bits of sleep and rejoined the living. This morning, though, in the hum of the quiet, he thought he could understand why you liked them.

The arm resting over his waist reached over to you, but instead of you, he was met with cold sheets under his palm. He froze, eyes snapping open. His fingers created creases in the fabric as they pressed down into it-- you were gone.

You were gone.

He sat up, one arm holding him upright as he surveyed the room. Your things were still there, but you wouldn't have taken it all. No, you'd come back in waves, taking your sweatshirt with the frayed sleeves and your grandmother's hair clip and your favorite book until his apartment and his heart were emptier than they were before you came into it.

He ran his free hand through his sleep-disheveled hair, letting out a deep, painful sigh. He didn't have to reflect on it to know that this was exactly what he deserved-- what he always knew would happen. He'd tried to play house--he'd thought he'd liked it, actually, the way he'd come home to find you in his sweatshirt, curled up on the couch under a blanket in front of the TV, with your sleepy eyes on him and his name on your lips. He loved you, and he'd told you so in the ways he knew how, but he knew that how he'd been taught to love did not always come out like love. He'd hurt you.

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He'd had a bad day. He'd been met with a shit show as soon as he'd stepped foot into his agency's office-- one of the interns had seriously injured a civilian before obtaining their provisional license, and he was forced to play damage control-- something he was wholly unfamiliar with, considering he was usually the one that needed cleaning up after. It was an all-day thing-- constant media requests for information, insistent phones ringing shrill against his eardrums. He'd eventually gotten so fed up with the repeated, sympathetic "What would you like me to say?"'s from his publicist that he'd just walked out, not saying a word to any of his employees as he stormed out of the front door of his building.

It was late, pushing 8 o'clock by the time he left, but he didn't want to go home. He knew he should, knew you'd be waiting on him, but he couldn't bring himself to walk in the direction of his apartment. It wasn't that he didn't want to see you-- he did, all of the time-- but things had been tense lately, mostly because of him and his bad days that were quickly turning into bad weeks. He knew it was affecting you and he hated the way your mouth pulled down at the corners when you realized he'd come home angry again. He felt the weight of your disappointment, and tonight it would certainly be the thing that crushed him. So he'd avoid it.

He found himself walking in the direction of the bar he met you at when he'd just started out as a pro. He hadn't been well known enough to turn too many heads yet, but his ego made up for it. He'd seen you at the end of the bar, and found himself unable to look away. His eyes had trailed up your blue jean-clad legs and settled for maybe too long on the way that white T-shirt clung to you, the little roll of your belly sticking out over the top of your jeans making his mouth feel too dry. His eyes dragged up until they met yours, and you cocked an eyebrow, shooting him a side-eye and asking if he had a staring problem. He was hooked.

You'd been in your second year of nursing school, too tired to pretend to be entertained by any of his attempts at impressing you. You didn't care who he was-- hero or not, he was just a person, and you told him so. Never had a shot to his pride hurt so sweetly before. You laughed at his vain effort at fluffing himself up like a proud chicken, and saw who he was beneath all of the strength and bravado. Not one to be deterred, he didn't understand why he didn't intimidate you-- even a little bit-- at first. And then he understood, very quickly, that you yourself were a force to be reckoned with, and that it was him who should be a little intimidated. He'd never admit that he was.

So he sat down at the bar, alone, and ordered whatever cheap beer he saw first on the menu. He ignored the chatter around him, mostly about him and the mess his intern had made, electing to stare straight at the TV behind the bar and grimacing when he realized it was coverage of, not surprisingly, his agency.

"Hey," he called to the bartender, pointing to the TV, "you mind changing that?"

The bartender shrugged and reached up to press a button on the TV, the channel flickering to what appeared to be a recording of an earlier soccer game. Katsuki sighed, elbows coming to rest on the bar top, chin in his hands and shoulders hunching. He'd been feeling his phone buzz in his pocket for the last 10 minutes, and he didn't have to look to know it was you. Guilt washed over him-- he wanted to tell you that he was alright, that he needed a minute to himself, but he didn't know how. So he'd avoid it.

He'd ignored the unwelcome presence next to him for as long as he could, until he heard her in his ear. "Long day, hero?" the woman cooed, much too close to him. He'd shot her a sideways glance and then returned his eyes to the game, choosing to ignore her and hoping she'd get the message. To his dismay, he felt her arm try to wiggle its way to loop through his. "C'mon," she tilted her head to him, batting her eyes, "you wanna talk about it?"

Katsuki yanked his arm out of her grip, turning to openly glare at her now. He sighed, standing up from the bar and reaching into his pocket to fish out spare bills to pay for his drink. He slammed them onto the counter, pushing past the woman whose eyes were now as wide as dinner plates, muttering a "can't even get a fuckin' drink in peace anymore," for good measure.

He took the long way home, walking down side streets and alleys until he decided it was time to return (and knowing it had been that time hours ago). It was approaching midnight by the time he walked through the front door, with some part of him hoping that you'd gone to bed. When he'd reached the landing at the top of the steps, his hopes were dashed-- eyes meeting yours as you sat on the couch under a blanket, a glass of red wine in your hand.

"Hi," you breathed, and there was no warmth in it. Katsuki grunted in response as a half-greeting (and immediately regretted it), dropping his keys on the end table and turning down the hall to the bathroom. Desperate to avoid you still, despite the way he could feel your eyes burning into the back of his skull as he retreated. He was a coward, and he knew it. He couldn't face it, not right now.

"Are you serious, Katsuki?"

He paused, rocking back on his heel. He couldn't turn, couldn't look at you. The shame was so stifling it took up all the space in his lungs and he startled himself at the little gasps of breath coming from his chest. He knew what he needed--hell, he knew you'd understand what he needed if he could just tell you to give him a minute. But he couldn't say anything, so smothered by his own cowardice and your disappointment that he just stood there in the hallway, back to you while you seethed in your spot on the couch.

"It's fucking midnight and I've been calling you. You couldn't be bothered to shoot me a text to let me know you were alive? And now you just storm in here like you can't fucking stand me," your voice broke, and he tried to convince himself it was the wine. He knew it wasn't. He felt something start to crawl up his throat. He pushed it down, hard. He still could not look at you.

"Do you think you're the only one that had a bad day?" you spat at his back, standing up now, "I've watched three of my patients die in the last two weeks. I can barely get out of bed in the morning. And where the fuck have you been?"

Try as he did to stop it, what had been climbing up his throat punched its way out through his mouth as he turned to look at you. He looked at you and all of the shame and guilt and inadequacy he felt came crashing down around him. He looked at you and it hurt, because where had he been? He hadn't known you were struggling-- if he was honest, he couldn't remember the last time he'd asked you how your day had been. The self-loathing lashed through him like a whip and he let it out on you. He projected every bit of boiling emotion that had been burning him onto you, letting the venom spit right at you and only stopping when there was no air left in his lungs.

It was silent then. You only looked at him, eyes wide and unblinking. He couldn't meet them-- he knew he made a mistake. A big one, if your uncharacteristic silence was anything to go by. He squeezed his eyes shut and turned on his heel, muttering something about needing a shower as he walked away from you. He was careful not to slam the door behind him, leaning up against it and letting out a breath. Fuck.

He heard you set your glass down in the kitchen sink and make your way down the hall to the bedroom. He was unsettled at how quiet you were. He moved on autopilot through his shower, pulling briefs on afterward and making his way to your bedroom. The door was shut, and he held his breath as he opened it quietly, half preparing for you to be ready to attack him on the other side of it. He wouldn't have blamed you.

But you were there, in his bed, covers pulled around you in the dark. He lingered in the doorway for a moment, horribly unsure of what to do next. Given a little bit of confidence at the way you'd not immediately yelled at him to leave, he padded over to the bed quietly, peeling back the blanket. He eased in cautiously, body stiff as he laid down. You were turned away from him, and he knew you were not asleep. He laid on his side, staring at your back and shoving down the feeling of wanting more than anything to reach out and pull your body to his.

It was still for a few moments, the old fan clicking, interrupting the silence. Then, still turned away from him, he watched the hand draped over your waist move behind you. You splayed out your fingers and it took him a beat to realize you were reaching for him. A wounded sound escaped him as he threaded his fingers through yours. You squeezed a little and his eyes burned. He didn't know whether to be relieved or afraid. You squeezed again, and he just barely caught the broken "I love you" that came from your side of the bed. He held your hand like it was a lifeline and turned his face into his pillow to muffle his obnoxious sniffling. He cried until he wore himself out.

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He didn't know what else to do, so he pulled himself out of bed, just standing in the middle of the bedroom like he was lost. He finally walked to his dresser, body feeling like lead, and pulled open the drawer to find a crewneck to put on. The sight of your clothes in his drawer nearly stopped his heart, and he closed his eyes and grabbed the first of his that he could find, slamming it shut. He pulled the sweater over his head and walked out into the hall, making his way into the kitchen. He stood in the doorway, unable to think of what to do next. His eyes swept the room, not looking at much of anything until they landed on your wine glass in the sink. The breath he let out was pained as he slumped against the door frame. This is what his life would be now. Walking around his house like a ghost and mourning the pieces of you that you'd left behind.

He was so caught up in his grief that he didn't hear the click of the front door as you shut it closed behind you. You stopped, staring up at his back from the bottom of the steps. "Katsuki?" you called to him quietly, not missing the way he jumped out of his skin, whipping around to look at you. His mouth opened and shut like a fish out of water. You'd have teased him if you weren't so concerned.

"You left," he croaked out, and it felt like sand in his mouth. You held up the paper bag in your right hand cautiously.

"I picked up breakfast," you offered weakly, eyes never leaving his as you watched him take in your words.

"I-I thought...you left," he whispered, looking down at his feet. The burning in his eyes was back but he'd be damned if he cried twice within the span of 12 hours in front of you. He sniffled anyway and hated himself for it. He heard you sigh quietly, the wooden stairs creaking as you made your way up them. His body tensed as you wrapped your arms around his waist, bag of food long forgotten as you pulled him tightly to you, pressing your forehead into the crook of his neck.

"I'm not leaving," you said firmly. He took a deep breath in, and let out a whine at the feeling of your lips pressed into his skin.

"You're fucking infuriating," you stated, like it was just a fact-- inconsequential and just there-- "and I am not leaving you."

He let his arms wrap around your shoulders and he buried his face in your hair, eyes screwed shut tight to keep the tears from leaving them.

"Just," you whispered, planting a soft jab into his side with your fist, "talk to me next time."

He couldn't stop the shuddering exhale that escaped him, because of course you knew. You understood what he needed, but you needed him to be accountable to you. You knew he was trying to learn.

You rocked up on your toes to press a kiss to the point of his jaw, and you snaked an arm up to hold the back of his head, pulling him down to you.

"And if you ever say such evil shit to me again," you breathed in his ear, "I will put you down like an old dog."

He snorted, turning to press his lips to your temple. "That's fair," he whispered, letting you wiggle from his grasp to pick up the food bag that you'd dropped. He watched you pull out the food, setting his out for him, and he let the emotion wash over him in waves. He loved you terribly, and he wanted to be better. He would try for as long as you kept reaching out for him.

this fic belongs to me (@b-writes-things). i do not allow anyone to repost, edit, or reproduce this work.

[zevlors-tail]

Hewwo!💕 jk jk. May I request a scnario (or headcanon what is easier for you) of shoto x izuku's older sister!reader. (Since tgis is an xreader blog maybe she is adopted? Ur choice) Maybe she meet him after the sports festival, and the only person that knew about her besides izuku was bakugo, and she is just so sweet and full of the fluffs that make his heart go boom. Sorry if I'm too specific 😅 love you💕

Um, hi! First of all, I am SO very sorry for the amount of time it took me to write this. Like seriously, I try to get things done in order, but for some reason requests have been a bitch to write. Second, I also love you! <3 And third, I love this idea! I hope you don’t mind, but I wrote it so that Izuku’s big sis was biologically related. Also, it’s mostly from Shouto’s point of view. I hope this is okay!

N/N = Nickname

It’s yours! Your quirk, not his!

Midoriya’s words repeated themselves over and over again in Shouto’s head as he trekked down the hall, trying to find the other boy before he left the stadium for the night. Crowds were already filtering into the upper halls to exit after the winners had been officially announced, and he didn’t feel like dealing with the hassle of being asked questions and giving statements about his second place win. Honestly, he could care less about that right now; he had a lot to think about, and most of it revolved around his scum bag father and his new...acquaintance? Rival? Friend? What was Midoriya to him, anyway? They’d almost been complete strangers before the sports festival, but now he felt a sort of connection to the other boy he couldn’t quite put his finger on. It was all so...confusing.

“Excuse me-!” Someone bumped into his left shoulder as they whirled past him, clearly in a hurry to get to their destination. “I’m sorry, oh-! Um...” A girl that Shouto didn’t recognize slowed only a little as she turned to apologize, a panicked expression on her face as she walked backwards without watching where she was going. “I’m so sorry!” she exclaimed one last time before turning around and bolting off, almost knocking over a startled Tokoyami in the process. 

Shouto stared after her dumbfounded, not sure what to make of the situation. It took him a moment to gather his thoughts again after the distraction, but he collected himself and turned to Tokoyami as the other male strode past him.

“Do you know where Midoriya ran off to? I need to speak with him.” 

“Midoriya, hm?” Fumikage paused as he thought about it for a moment. “I believe he was headed in the same direction as that girl, actually.” 

Without so much as a thank you, Shouto started down the hallway again, faster this time now that he knew where he was going. It didn’t take him long at all to catch up to the girl he saw earlier, and he could hear her stumbling her way to her own destination just around the corner, muttering apologies and greetings as she tried to stay out of the way of others. But just as he turned, she seemingly vanished, and he frantically looked around before spotting a rapidly closing door a few feet away. 

There. 

As he inched closer, he heard voices coming from inside; one of which belonged to Midoriya, he was sure, and the other... He tore open the door at the last minute before it could slam shut, barging in on the middle of a conversation between Midoriya and the mystery girl.

“-reckless, baka! Honestly, Izu...” 

“I’m fine, N/N! Recovery Girl fixed me already, and they said I did really well in sur...gery, so-” Midoriya’s voice wavered on the last half of his sentence; clearly he was afraid of the reaction he would get by telling this girl about his injuries. “Anyways, I can hold my own! You don’t always have to worry about me, you know. I can take care of myself now...”

“Surgery!? Oh, Izuku... I know you can, but as your sister, it’s kind of my job to worry about you, whether it makes you embarrassed or not!”

Sister...?

Said sister smacked the top of her brother’s head lightly, earning a light blush and a pitiful “Ow, Y/N!” from her younger sibling. “Careful! My head already has enough bumps and bruises from the festival...”

“Eh, what’s one more from a good scolding? You’ll live, kiddo.” Todoroki would hardly call that a scolding. Even with her playful words, she gently smoothed a hand over his hair, ruffling it in a tender way while gazing at him with concern. “I am proud of you. You’ve come a long way, otoutosan. Just please try to take better care of yourself. I think you nearly killed mom.”

Todoroki took a moment to really look at the two of them. Since when did Midoriya have a sister? It wasn’t like the two of them were close, so he wouldn’t have known anyway, but it came as sort of a shock that not only did Midoriya have a sibling, but they were older than him as well. His prior objective momentarily forgotten, he watched as they interacted with each other, noting how similar their features seemed yet so different at the same time. The two of you shared the same fluffy hair (though Todoroki thought the colors differed), the same nose shape, and of course what he considered to be the trademark of the Midoriya clan: those kind, round, determined eyes that he just couldn’t help but stare into-

“T-Todoroki-kun?” Midoriya broke him out of his thoughts, the greenette staring at him with a puzzled expression from across the room. “What are you doing here? Aren’t you heading home?”

Shouto was no longer sure that he wanted to talk to the other boy. He felt like he had intruded on a private conversation, like he wasn’t wanted here. And if he was being honest, it wasn’t fair of him to dump all of his problems on Midoriya. And now that he was really putting effort and thought into it, he wasn’t sure he was ready to even talk about his struggles at all. Besides...he knew deep down he needed to confront the issue at hand directly, and not just through venting to someone else. But before he could think of an excuse to leave, Midoriya’s sister cut in, clearly reading the tension between the two boys and wanting to ease some of it.

“Hey, I know you. You’re that Todoroki kid, right? I was watching your match with Izuku from the stands; you were amazing out there! You both were. You sure gave Izu a run for his money, huh? That’s saying something, considering my little brother is practically a stubborn bull when he sets his mind to anything. He doesn’t give up until he’s won, so I would say you’ve got quite the talent and willpower!” you said cheerily with a grin. “If you heard anyone screaming during your match, it was probably me. I like to show my support for my fam!” As if to emphasize your point, you slung an arm around your little brother’s shoulders.

Todoroki briefly recalled hearing someone shout Izuku’s name in the distance during their match, but he had been so focused on beating his opponent and being angry at his father that he hadn’t really noticed it at the time. “Mm. So that was you,” he stated plainly.

“Yep! Sure was! Anyways...” You suddenly made direct eye contact with Todoroki, and he swore you were looking right through him as you spoke, “It was nice to meet one of Izu’s friends, finally. I was starting to worry that maybe you guys didn’t exist.” You laughed as Izuku playfully pushed you away in fake annoyance at the halfhearted insult. “Oh, I’m Y/N, by the way! I’m a third year at UA, so you’ll probably see me around this year. I’d love to get to know you more! I think your quirk is super cool, I’ve never seen anything like it!” you gushed.

A friend...so that’s what I am.

Shouto didn’t miss the light pink color dusting your cheeks. Just a moment ago, when the two of you had locked gazes...he had felt something electric. Did you feel it too? His heart beat a little faster at your proposition, his imagination running wild with silly little scenarios; sitting with you at lunch, training with you to improve his fighting style, asking you out on a date, buying you flowers. He was no longer thinking about his struggles or what he was going to face tomorrow; those things didn’t matter anymore. For now, when you met his eyes, it felt like it was only the two of you and Midoriya and nothing and no one else. Even if he had just met you, he was already head over heals for your bubbly spirits, the way you loved your sibling, and the laughs and smiles you seemed to give away so easily. He wasn’t sure how to describe the feeling he got when he looked at you. You had this air about you; you made the people you were around feel cared for, important, and happy. You were just like your brother in that sense, he supposed.

“Thanks,” he breathed, though he wasn’t sure if you could even hear his response. Regardless, you turned back to Izuku and continued on.

“Hey, Izu, we should get going. I’m sure mom is anxious to have you home.”

“Mhm.” Izuku nodded in agreement and went to collect a his things.

“Well, see you around!” You bid Todoroki goodbye and walked past him confidently, a warm smile on your face as you waved.

“Y-Yeah...” Shouto was at a loss for words as he watched you go. 

“I’ll be outside, Izu,” you called over your shoulder, and then you were gone, only rays of sunshine left in your wake. 

“Todoroki.”

“Hm?”

“You’re staring...” Midoriya awkwardly told him.

Shouto didn’t seem phased by his words at all, instead choosing to turn to the green haired male beside him now. 

“We’re friends...right?” he asked, an unfamiliar nervousness saturating his voice.

“If you want to be, then sure. I’d like that.” Midoriya gave him an inviting smile, finally following you out the door and leaving Todoroki to his thoughts.

Yeah, he had a lot to deal with now, but at least he wasn’t alone anymore. He could do this. He would do this. For you, and Izuku, and for himself. He was going to confront life head on and deal with whatever came his way no matter what. 

After all...it was his life. His life, and no one else’s.

I hope this was okay! I realize not much happened between Todoroki and the reader, sorry...this is just where my mind took me. ;w; But since not much happened, I’m considering keeping this on the backburner of my mind for a possible part 2 drabble thing? We shall see.