#writing bakugou pov is fun yall lol

[theolddarkmachine]

Imaginary- Chapter Two

Midoriya Izuku’s life was turned upside by fate.

Eri’s life was turned upside down by circumstance.

And Bakugou Katsuki is about to learn that even imaginary friends need to grow up.

Also on AO3

A/N: Just a couple quick notes on this world to avoid possible confusion. Bakugou is an imaginary friend, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t exist. There’s a whole bunch of imaginary friends who all work together and are assigned to kids by Administrators. They appear to kids based on whatever they need, so while some kids do end up with imaginary friends who look like kids, Bakugou appears to Eri as an adult. 

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Bakugou Katsuki huffs an annoyed sound as he shifts against the embrace of the large bean bag chair beneath him. Crossing his arms over his chest in defiance, he tilts his chin upwards at the Administrator. The man before him is gaunt, almost swimming in a bright yellow suit that would have matched the messy mop of hair on top of his head if it wasn’t streaked through with grey.

Leaning forward on his desk, braced by his forearms, the Administrator holds his glare as he waits for him to say whatever is on his mind. Because he knows there is something on Katsuki’s mind.

There’s always something on Katsuki’s mind.

“And why do you want me with some timid brat again?” He asks, eyes flicking down to the desk as if he can see the profile open on it. Instead, his eyes land on the nameplate that stands between them like some sort of shield.

Yagi Toshinori, it reads in gleaming gold.

The man was a hero of sorts in their workplace.

Imaginary friends are meant to help those who have forgotten how to smile, he had proudly proclaimed, cementing his status in the friend hall of fame, and also landing himself a promotion to the top seat as the Administrator.

As far as anyone in their line of work knew, he was the only imaginary friend to ever move up.

And sitting across from him, Katsuki can understand why. Even now he has a smile pasted across his aging mug, as if his very decisions weren’t being questioned, but rather praised.

Katsuki finds himself wondering if the great Yagi Toshinori is really just as good a mediator as the office legends say, or if he’s just fucking senile.

“You need a change of pace, young Bakugou,” he boasts loudly, his smile somehow growing wider as he links his fingers and leans even further forward against his desk. “When was the last time you had a friend give you a challenge?”

That’s one hell of a loaded question, Katsuki thinks, sinking further into the blue pleather hug of the bean bag and ignoring the way it squeaks ever so slightly with his movement.

Never, was the answer.

Being a friend was all he had ever known, starting from whatever point of existence they all came from to now. He had never been challenged because there was nothing else to it. He was an imaginary friend. Yagi told him where to go, he befriended who was told to befriend, raised some hell, then moved on.

It wasn’t really science, and it wasn’t like there was a brat that could challenge him, anyway.

That much he grumbles under his breath, not looking at the Administrator and his unimpressed look as he sighs.

“It will be good for you,” Yagi says, voice full of authority and signaling the end of the conversation.

Taking the dismissal for what it is, he pushes himself out of the beanbag, doing his best to act as cool as possible about it. The act seems to fall flat as he hears a low laugh from the man, causing him to bristle at the sound.

“Maybe you’ll even learn something,” he adds, voice full of wonder and what sounds a lot like some kind of inside joke where Katsuki just might be the punchline.

“What the hell is a kid supposed to teach me,” Katsuki growls, waving his hand in a dismissive goodbye as he makes his way to the exit.

“Even imaginary friends need to grow up, young Bakugou,” the Administrator calls as Katsuki reaches the heavyset door. His words give him pause as his hand rests on the red mahogany surface of the polished oak.

There’s a moment that stands stark and still between them before Katsuki breaks it.

“Yeah, yeah,” he growls, pushing the door open and stepping over the threshold and into the hall. “Whatever the fuck that means, old man.”

***

Midoriya Eri, age 4, adopted.

Almost a victim of human trafficking thanks to yakuza fucks.

Painfully quiet.

Possibly a daddy’s girl.

Katsuki runs through his own revision the girl’s profile in his head for the umpteenth as he sits at the dining room table waiting for her to get up. Even paraphrased, it still didn’t make any sense to him.

No matter how many times he had parsed the pages in the folder, he still hadn’t been able to quite figure out why the Administrator had thought that he would be the right fit over someone like Pinky.

Or Shitty Hair.

Hell, even that damn Peppermint Head.

But Katsuki? The imaginary friend widely known around the office for being the sole reason why playing Heroes and Villains was expressly banned due to a minor explosion that may or may not have even been his fault?

Shaking his head, Katsuki slouches low into the seat, watching Eri’s dad possibly contemplate drowning himself in the scalding cup of coffee before him.

Poor bastard, he thinks as he watches the green haired man sigh heavily.

Midoriya Izuku, his mind supplies.

Age 26, single.

Rescued Eri from said yakuza fucks. Adopted her before she could enter the foster system.

Painfully tired.

Possibly addicted to caffeine.

He seemed like an upstanding citizen if he had ever seen one. If the profile was correct, Midoriya had been well on his way to the higher ranks of the police force in Tokyo before taking the young girl in.

A possible mental break, and some certified burnout later, and the guy was back in this small shit hole town with some serious baggage. Both of the emotional and eye varieties.

Katsuki would be a liar if he said he didn’t kind of admire him. He may not have known anything else aside from his job as a friend, but he sure as shit can guess that he also wouldn’t take the sudden turnaround in lifestyle very well.

At least it seemed as if he was doing a decent enough job with Eri.

She clearly cared about him. His influence had shone through, shiny and annoying, when he’d finally met her a few days earlier and it had almost caused him to strike out before he could even befriend her.

I don’t talk to strangers, Eri had said, not even bothering to look up from the sand castle she was crafting.

Then, when Katsuki had made a sound of indignant surprise, she’d gone on to say her Daddy Izuku was a cop and could kick his butt.

I’d like to see him try, Katsuki had grumbled, unprepared for the glare that shot straight through him when Eri had finally looked up from her hard work.

As it turned out, the kid had some spunk after all, and she had been prepared to show him just how much damn spunk in the name of defending her adopted dad.

Katsuki didn’t know Midoriya, but he knows that the cop is damn lucky Katsuki has some cool magic tricks up his sleeve that eventually buttered her up.

So you’re really my imaginary friend? She had asked after seeing every trick he knew, the sparkle of wonder in her eyes dampened by a hint of lingering suspicion.

On my life, kid, he’d answered as he’d held up three fingers with his left hand and crossed his heart with his right. Scout’s honor.

For how long? She’d countered, curious now.

For as long as you need, Katsuki had answered with a shrug. It wasn’t much of an answer but was as good as he could give. There wasn’t a time limit on how long imaginary friends stuck around. They would be there until they weren’t needed anymore, but that was too much of a concept to give a kid.

It had seemed to be all that the girl needed, though, before she’d pointed at the sand next to her and ordered him to help her finish the tower she was working on.

Midoriya’s world weary sigh pulled Katsuki’s focus to him once more.

He looks fucking tired, Katsuki thought before he heard the soft shuffle of feet.

Eri had the same tired look as her dad, down to the bird nests that they called hair, as she pulled out her chair and carefully climbed into it. The main difference, though, was that Eri’s sleepy demeanor would ease after some of those chocolate donuts Midoriya had on the table and probably an hour of actually being awake.

“Good morning,” Midoriya says, voice still sandpaper as he pushed the plastic container closer to the young girl, whose eyes light up slightly at the sight of chocolate.

“Morning, Daddy Izuku,” Eri replies quietly before greedily grabbing one of the donuts.

“Good morning, short stack,” Katsuki says, eyeing the small donut in her hand. Her gaze pulls from the pastry in her grasp and toward him before her lips turn up in a grin. With a small movement, she gives him a two-handed donut wave.

“Pass one of those over, why don’tcha,” he says, tilting his chin towards the plastic box at the same time Midoriya asks something about milk. Eri nods, and for a moment Katsuki isn’t sure if it’s to him or her dad until she dips a hand into the container and pulls another donut out.

As she places it in front of him on the table, Katsuki finds his attention back on Midoriya as he grabs a small pink mug from a cupboard. From where he sits, it looks a lot like it says ‘Daddy’s Sidekick’ in bright, curly script.

Mentally, Katsuki scratches out possibly a daddy’s girl and revises it to definitely a daddy’s girl as he watches Midoriya shuffle around the kitchen to fill the mug with some milk.

With his eyes locked on the man’s back, Katsuki grabs the chocolate donut and stuffs the whole thing in his mouth before smiling wide. It earns him a sleepy snicker from the girl that only makes his smile grow.

“Thanks, Squirt.”

***

“So you just rest it on your finger like so,” Katsuki says, holding the sides of the ball as Eri points a finger beneath it.

“Like this?” She asks, face contorted in very serious concentration. Katsuki knows it’s serious, because her tongue pokes out of the corner of her mouth.

“Just like that,” he says before nodding his head toward her other hand. “Now with that one, you’re going to put it on the ball, and when I say go, you’re going to give it a spin. Got it?”

Nodding slowly, as to not disturb the ball, Eri brings her other hand up and presses it lightly to it.

“Okay,” Katsuki breathes, flicking his gaze between the girl and the ball, trying his best not to laugh.

She just looks so damn serious over a silly ball trick. It isn’t even his best or most exciting one, but she had been adamant about learning this one.

I don’t think Grandma Inko will like if we set her house on fire, she’d said matter-of-factly when he’d offered to teach her a different one involving sparklers. At the time, he’d mentally cursed Midoriya for instilling the girl with too good of morals.

But now he thinks he can forgive him if only because the pipsqueak is at least giving him a good laugh.

Pausing in order to let the moment fill with tension, Katsuki counts to 20 in his mind, waiting until the exact second he’s certain Eri is going to pop with her excitement.

“Go!” He yells, quickly pulling back. Keeping his hands in the air, he watches as the ball stays on her finger for a quarter of a breath before it falls off the side of her finger with a dead thud on the grass.

DOA, he thinks sadly, painfully aware of the silence around them as Eri stares over at where the ball has stopped rolling. It’s one second, then it’s two, and then before he can get to three, he watches as she throws her head back with a loud laugh.

“Again!” She cries, pushing herself up to jog toward the ball. Picking it up, she brings it back over, sitting once more and adopting her super serious face before holding it up to him.

Taking it from her grasp, he kneels in front of her and holds the ball between his hands and waits for her to touch her finger to the bottom.

“So, kid,” he starts, watching as she squints harder at the ball as if she can find some answer to making it stay on her finger when she spins it, “what’s your dad’s deal?”

“What’s a deal?” Eri asks, cocking her head to the side as she pulls her hand back from the ball. With a tug at the bottom of her shirt, she uses the fabric to wipe at it before resetting it to the ball’s bottom and nodding as if it had made some huge difference.

“You know, why he looks,” Katsuki takes a hand away to gesture vaguely at his face,  “like that?”

Tearing her gaze from the ball and fixing it on him, Eri’s eyebrows go up in question.

“Pretty?” She asks in that stupidly earnest way that kids have. It’s the first time he finds himself at a loss for words over something one of his friends has said.

“The fu—” he starts before stopping himself, biting the curse in half between his teeth and breathing in deeply. Pinching the bridge of his nose, Katsuki drops his head back, screwing his eyes shut against the bright sun above and doing a quick count to five.

Pretty was not what he had meant, though if he was being truthful, Midoriya did have an appealing quality to him.

Maybe it was the stupid spatter of freckles that dusted his nose and cheeks. Maybe it was the soft way he spoke with Eri in a way that was wholly different from what he was used to in his friends’ parents. Maybe it was those stupid curls that looked intentional, though Katsuki knew better after having seen the bedhead chaos from that morning.

But all of that was none of the brat’s damn business.

“No,” he growls when he resurfaces from his quick reset. Dropping his hand back to the ball and looking at Eri once more, he continues, “stressed as hell.”

“Oh,” she says, shoulders hunching around her ears as her frame and voice go small. Katsuki is sure she doesn’t fully understand what he means, by the way he can see the wheels turning in her mind, and he’s ready to rephrase again when she finally speaks up.

“I think he’s still sad we had to move. He really liked it in Tokyo.”

Katsuki supposes that makes sense. He truly can’t blame Midoriya for that. In comparison, Noto doesn’t hold a candle to Tokyo. Sure, he’d never been himself but he didn’t need to visit to know that the call of a fast life and the neon lights of a city would appeal to him much more than the quiet town if he was given the chance.

“Did you like Tokyo?” He asks, genuinely curious. There hadn’t been much in Eri’s profile about her parents and her time in Tokyo aside from everything after Midoriya had saved her.

With a half shrug, noncommittal and barely a movement at all, Eri doesn’t say anything else as she gives the ball a halfhearted slap. They both watch it as it rolls pitifully across the grass and towards the garden boxes along the fence.

Mentally, Katsuki adds possible emotional constipation to his mental list of Eri traits.

He gets that. He doesn’t like to talk about feelings either.

Standing to his full height, he offers a hand to the small girl to pull her to her feet.

“Do you like it here?” He decides to ask as they make the short walk across the yard to get the ball. The question causes her to perk up, her back straightening as she runs a bit ahead of him to pick up the purple plastic ball.

“Yeah, silly Kacchan,” she says brightly, not even looking back at him as she speaks, “because I get to be friends with you!”

It’s another stupidly earnest thing that makes him pause just behind her. Katsuki has had many friends that he has helped in his time. More than he could care to try and count, yet none of them had expressed that sort of sentimentality towards him. Had they liked him? Sure, at least, he thinks. He had been regarded as a partner in crime across the nation, helping punk kids work through their various anger issues and trouble phases.

Had any of them actively shown joy about his presence? That, was a big resounding no.

Yagi’s word flit around his mind as he flounders over the compliment, doing his best to decide between heartfelt thanks and on brand bite before settling on a subject change

“So what are these,” Katsuki asks flatly, pointing a finger at the garden box. Inside there are various plants growing in carefully placed lots and clearly marked.

“Plants!” Eri says merrily as she peers down into the box and looks over the various vegetables and fruits that have worked their way out of the soil. “My Grandma Inko is a really good planter.”

“Sounds like a boring thing to be good at,” he replies without any bite, breathing a small sigh of relief that Eri isn’t old enough to question his sudden interest in the garden over what she’s said.

“It’s not boring! They start as seeds and she makes them plants!” She exclaims. It’s the shortest lesson in plant growth he’s ever heard and he has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing.

Way to sell your grandma’s skill short, kid, he thinks to himself.

“Well that sounds easy as hell. If that’s the case, then I bet anyone can be a good planter,” Katsuki says instead. Moving his stare from a particularly plump tomato, he looks to Eri to see her bright eyes already on him.

“You’re silly, not everyone can make plants,” she states, voice dropping suddenly as if she’s divulging national secrets. “Daddy Izuku says he once killed a plastic plant and those aren’t even real.”

Katsuki’s barking laugh seems to take them both by surprise as it escapes him, filling the garden around him.

This kid is a freaking riot, he thinks as he mentally adds plant murderer to his internal list of Midoriya traits. Amidst his laughter, Eri’s attention is caught by something behind them.

“Hey Daddy Izuku!” Eri says brightly as she turns over her shoulder and does an awkward walk-run to close the short distance between her and her dad. Following behind, he watches as Midoriya sinks down to her level and reaches out to gently to stroke her hair. At this angle, the sun ricochets off his green hair, pushing its coloring closer toward gemstone instead of moss. It gives it a golden touch that Katsuki would think of as ethereal if he thought about that kind of shit.

Midoriya’s voice pulls him from his thoughts as Katsuki hears him ask Eri who she’s talking to.

The girl’s eyes go slightly wide as she looks to him, the question clear in her gaze. This isn’t the first time, or even the hundredth time a parent has asked their kid about him. Usually it takes at least couple more days, but it seems the Midoriyas were going to continue to surprise him.

That was fine, it wouldn’t change anything anyway.

Shrugging in a silent go ahead, Katsuki watches Midoriya’s face as Eri proudly waves towards him and says, “this is Kacchan!”

He can see the moment that her dad realizes he’s dealing with an imaginary friend situation. That at least isn’t different from what he knows. It starts with confusion, then melts into that subtle moment of fear where Katsuki suspects parents consider the possibility of a haunting, and then finally settles into understanding usually accompanied by a tight smile.

As if almost on cue, he watches Midoriya’s lips curl slightly at their edges as he looks in his direction, still crouched as if speaking to another child.

That is also another common misconception he is both happy and annoyed to see stick.

“Hi, Kacchan, nice to meet you!” Midoriya says in a cheery voice that holds the same quality of plastic. Katsuki doesn’t bother with a reply for obvious reasons, instead opting to roll his eyes and scoff.

That’s when it happens.

A line of tension cuts across Midoriya’s shoulders as his eyes creep up and for the length of his own sharp intake of breath, Katsuki could swear the man sees him. Truly sees him. Time stalls as Midoriya seems to hold his gaze, looking up with his verdant stare. It isn’t until the man blinks that the spell breaks, and almost as soon as it had happened, the moment was gone.

Turning away with an easy smile, Midoriya tells Eri that it’s time to go home and leads her back to the house, leaving Katsuki in the middle of the yard with a steady stream of what the fuck running around his mind.

He could swear Midoriya had seen him, or at the very least, heard him. The burn of his stare still prickles his skin as if it’s still on him even though the man has his back to him. Rubbing gently at the space over his heart where the ache seems to be radiating, Katsuki lets out an uneasy breath that he wasn’t even aware he was holding.

“What the fuck?” He asks to the empty yard before disappearing with a small pop.

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