And She Cried When The Sun Came

And She Cried When The Sun Came

Fandom: Bnha / Mha

Pairing: Bakugo x Reader

Rating: 16+

Words: 951

Warnings: Major Character Death, Angst, Coping, OOC Uraraka, several references to sex, swears, sl*t shaming

A/n: A self indulgence angst, cringe in a way but it’s what I wanted

Remastered: Aug.9 2022

“Hey Y/n-- It’s me again. Izuku. Just uh, well, just wanted to say we’re still thinking about you. I know it’s really hard but we’re here for you. That’s all-- see you soon.”

“Hi Y/l/n, this is Yaoyarozu. I just wanted to let you know we’re all here for you. Call if you need anything.”

“Y/n!” Ashido cheered, “Let’s go out tomorrow! I hate thinking about you all alone in that huge condo of yours. Let me know!”

“Hey Y/n...This is Shoto. I know it’s hard but It’ll get better. I swear.”

“Y/n, get your cute little ass out of that apartment! Katsu wouldn’t want this. If I know my son, he’d throw a bitch fit if he saw you sulking. Come to dinner with me, my treat. I love you, sweetheart.”

Y/n stayed on her couch, covered in about three blankets wrapped carefully as a cocoon to shield her. She didn’t exactly know what she was shielding herself from, but she knew she needed protection.

Her answering machine read out these messages multiple times a day, all from people who knew her fiance.

“Don’t listen to those extras,” Bakugo scoffed, leaning against the wall across from her, “take your time princess.”

"Shut up." She rolled onto her side, facing the cushions, "what do you know? You're dead."

He faded away, like he always did. The first time Katsuki appeared in their home he was looking out the window and Y/n started to cry-- when he vanished she broke down into messy sobs. Now, her cold eyes were hardened. And she was numb, so very numb.

Three knocks resonated through her apartment, stirring her from the comatose state which rolled over her in waves after a sleepless night.

“Y/n, sweetie? It’s Uraraka and Izuku!” 

“Y/n, we brought some food over.”

She didn’t move. She couldn’t move.

“Y/n?”

“It’s okay! We’ll just leave it at the door for you.”

Time moved on, and eventually, his name vanished from the tabloids. Memorial candles burnt out, food spoiled, and the memory of Ground Zero slowly faded away into a hazy fever dream. 

To her credit, Y/n did put in an honest effort to move on. Truly, she did what every therapist, self-help book, pretentious podcast told her to. She cleaned herself up, took regular showers, ate health, redecorated some, contacted her old friends, did everything she could. 

But no book could tell her how to handle the nights she laid alone, shivering in the bed that used to be so full. No motivational speaker could tell her what to do when she turned to look at her husband and find nothing there. What to do when she's walking down the street and her hand keeps flexing because it's so use to being held that the air feels forighn in her palm. Everything felt so empty now. Her apatite was large yet unsatisfactory, her joy felt superficial, even the pain inside felt lacking. 

So she did what anyone would do.

“Your place or mine?” Y/n whispered against the lips of a new stranger, eyes locked up with theirs while tugging her lip between her teeth.

And don't you dare blame her for it.

She loved when they said “Mine,” getting to go somewhere else, be someone new. She loved being a person who wasn’t destroyed over Bakugo Katsuki. 

But when they said “Yours,” she still took them home. She peeled off the layers of clothes piece by piece until they were both naked and yet completely covered from one another.

There was her line.

Her body was free for her to give, to use in any way that brought her comfort. Her soul however, belonged only to Katsuki. She’d lay bare for no one but him. 

When it got around the group that Y/n had been leaving behind a string of one night stands, it was a mixed reaction. Some nodded in understanding, others closed their eyes in a disappointing acceptance. A few, though, were disgusted.

“How could you do this to him?” 

When Ochaco came to her door Y/n was surprised. They hadn’t spoken directly ever, and she only visited with Midoriya by her side, never alone like this.

“What did I do?”

Her face contorted, eyes narrowing into a hateful glare-- “Bakugo loved you and this is how you repay him?”

Y/n’s face returned to a hazy state of numb nonchalantes. 

“You sleep around with the entire region? Talk about loyalty.”

A moment of silence passed between them.

"I mean come on! At least give him the courtesy of a year with your legs closed do we can pretend you gave a shit about him! He was my friend!" 

“I’ll give you five seconds to leave before I call security to drag you out.”

“What’s the matter with you?”

Her straight lips broke into a snarl-- “Fuck you,” she took a step back. “Fuck you and your ‘I brought you food!’ Fuck you and your ‘Sweetie!’ Fuck you and the fake ass sympathy, fuck you, fuck you, fuck you!”

Blood fell from her palm, where nails had pierced through the skin. “You don’t have the right to tell me how to cope! You don’t get to have a fucking opinion, Uraraka! You don’t get to! You’re fucking husband is alive and well, a hero loved by everyone who’s gonna go down in history as the most overpowered saint to fucking live, so fuck off! You have no clue what it’s like!”

She scoffed, “Obviously it’s not affected you as much as you like to pretend it did.”

Her hand flew of its own accord, striking the hero in front of her. 

“I don’t owe you an explanation.” She shook her head, letting her anger die in her throat and suffocate the words that came with it. Y/n’s face returned to a passive state, “I don’t owe you anything.”

The door closed between them, and she never saw the floating hero again. 

Bodies still moved against her own, when the nights were too cold. She still grasped on to as much heat as possible, still let people she didn’t know into their her home. And still, tears watered her pillow when the sun came up on another day without him in it.

So yes, time still moved on without the past number two hero; but Y/n didn’t.

Loving Is Nothing

Fandom: Bnha, Mha Paring: Midoriya Izuku x Reader, Midoriya Izuku x Ochaco Uraraka Rating: G Warnings: Angst, Breakup Words: .6k97 A/N: A drabble for when he was your soulmate, but you weren’t his.

“It wasn’t supposed to be like this.”

Hearing him say it, Y/n almost forgave him. She smiled, putting a hand on his face to wipe the tears that started to fall from his eyes. “I know,”

It’s okay, she wanted to say, I understand. I forgive you. It’s not your fault. There’s no one to blame. She wanted to pull him in and ease away the pain he was in. She wanted to comfort him, but instead she dropped her hand from his skin. 

They sat across from each other in their favorite café, in the booth they shared their first kiss- the same place a nervous high school girl confesses her love to an awkward teenage boy. She smiled at the booth, so many memoires.

“I don’t know how to tell you how sorry I am,”

Her lips pressed together and her eyes heated with the tears she’d same until he was gone. Gingerly, she cupped his hands with her own- “There’s nothing to forgive.”

And that was it. The end of their story, the death of the love they once shared, the murder of the future which was being born in front of everyone’s eyes.

The media went into a frenzy, already having taken photos of a crying Y/n walking out of the café alone. After all, it’s not every day the top two hero's breakup. 

Honestly, it was much better than Y/n expected. The people were sympathetic, having watched the young couple grow up together and following their love story- some even felt like they were a part of the broken relationship. 

Deku and Uraraka stared dating exactly three months after the relationship ended- what Ochaco considered a generous mourning period for a loveless relationship. But there was love, bruised, broken, love, but love none the less.

Her tears every night are an offering to the life they could have lived, her dreams a testament to her devotion towards this fallen deity. Every cry of his name while she slept was a prayer, nothing could fill her heart from the apocalypse her faith brought her. 

Her first date was a year after the breakup. “I think you’re beautiful,” The man had told her- a gentle smile on his face as he pulled the chair out for her to sit.

“I want to see you again,” he smiled bashfully, as they walked out the restaurant.

“I really like you,” he admitted over a nighttime stroll, ice-cream in his hand.

“I always want to be by your side,” he whispered into her ear after she called him in the middle of the night, broken from the dream she had.

“I love you,” he smiled over the expensive cake in their go-to restaurant. 

“We’ll get through this,” he ran his finger over the back of her hand, after Y?n got involved in a accident during a mission.

“I can’t do this anymore.” He said over coffee in their apartment, his eyes out of focus as he blankly starred at the wall- having heard his love say a different mans name during her sleep. 

He broke up with her on their two year anniversary. Y/n wondered breifly, as she arrived home to see all of his belongings missing, if she was the broken one. She thought back on all the memories and wondered if she should be in pain right now. 

He had cried after he broke up with her. Should she have cried?

No matter how hard Y/n tried to feel sad about the end of their romance, she couldn’t. She had already met the love of her life- already had her epic romance, the relationship to test the tides of time. How do you love someone else after all that? She sat on the floor of her apartment for hours- legs falling asleep along witht he rest of the world. You can’t. There’s no one else after your soulmate. 

Once you lose the person you’re supposed to spend forever with, al love is empty. She spent all her butterflies on her first love, used up all she had to give. After him- after Izuku- loving is nothing. Not when she had him. Not when he’s gone.

"I worry sometimes About the ball of pressure that sits center mass in my chest. It humms the tune of electricity, and shakes the same. I worry when it shifts, It feels like a simple rotation could knock me over dead.  I try not to worry.  They say worrying is bad for your health; it’ll eat you whole.  The more I ignore the ball of pressure the denser it becomes, The scarier it is to fall asleep. The less sure I am, I'll wake. I know better than to worry others about the trouble in my ribs. I put it there, they have their own problems to deal with.  Still, when it humms too loud, I can’t help but feel the anxiety nip at my heels. I think I’ll go home for a little while. Maybe I’ll worry less."

-What Makes A Heart? (Where Is Home) Aik.

Misery’s Tango

Fandom: Bnha / Mha Paring:  B. Katsuki x Reader Rating: 14+ Words: 1k28 Warning: Swearing, Alcohol, reference to sex, a little spicy dancing, mentions of bruises/ implied manhandling A/n: A short drabble for two lovers meeting again, dealing with the love they ended and can never get back

Dorris Day was officially getting old. The second her song started the ballroom was filled with partners gazing into each others eyes with a sickening form of endearment. It made her want to puke.

The Hero’s Gala was an annual event that served to honor the brave protectors of Japan and thank them for their hard work, presenting awards and opportunities. Y/n used to love going- getting dolled up to dance her feet raw with a prince charming she’d never meet again. She adored it really, every second was a dream to her.

Now, though, she felt cold. Her beautiful designer dress had been the talk of the night, the well-placed slit and plunging neckline had shaped her as a goddess, but it did nothing to protect her from the chill of the air. 

She swirled her red wine around her glass and tried to think of how many she could drink to heat her up but stay presentably sober. The sudden drop of a suit deep grey jacket around her shoulders jolted her back to awareness, and her face softened at the new company. 

Awkwardly standing next to her but not meeting her eyes, Bakugou scowled. “You’re such a dumbass. It’s the middle of winter and you didn’t bring a fucking jacket.”

She smiled softly and purely at the flush dancing along his cheekbones, “It’s been a long time, Katsuki.”

He hid the sudden hiss he released upon hearing his first name from her crimson lips, pretending not to melt at the way they shaped around the symboles. “Y/n.” Bakugou was breathless, whispering her name like a prayer to the goddess of life, begging for a moment longer to keep the atmosphere as elegant and familiar as it was.

“You look good.”

Her smile struck him in the soul, and he tried not to cry as she repositioned her body to face towards him- a habit she’d picked up when they were dating. It made him feel so important, like he was her sun. 

“So do you.”

Y/n fought to keep the pleasant upturn of her lips, but his strained voice was enough to make her cry. Still, he did look good. He’d cut his hair- shaved the sides while the top was fluffed back. He looked more than good, he looked heavenly. 

She blinked openly at the upward placed hand in front of her, blinking at Katsuki. She waited until he spoke- “Let’s dance?”

Say yes he wanted to cry. Dance with me, let me hold you- let me pretend for just a little longer.  He was sure he only needed one more second, one more night for it to be okay. Just one more hit of her addictive smile, her haze of affection, the high off her lips- just one more time and he’d quit for good. 

A bigger smile pulled on her lips and Bakugou suddenly couldn’t breathe- “I’d love to.” 

The sudden upturn of music didn’t go unnoticed- as their song started to play. Sway had been the first song they danced to together. A college party they were both a little too friendly at. 

Taking her place in front of him with her back turned- her breath hitched as one of his hands settled on her waist. The trumpets sounded off as they began moving- her hands drifting from his neck to his hair, trying to distract herself from his touch. 

Stepping in line with one another, Bakugou tried not to cry as her nails scrapped dully at the nape of his neck. The music worked up to signal the dip Y/n swooped into- clenching her eyes shut to stop herself from reacting to the hot breath against her neck. 

Pulling her up, Y/n twisted into a spin remaining connected only to his fingers. Tugging gently, he guided her back against him as they waltz across the dance floor. 

His eyes were blown with desire, his hands moving against the jacket he draped around her- regretting putting that layer between his hands and Y/n’s skin. 

I’m going to die here. Y/n’s eyes were glazed over as she fought to control her breathing, failing pathetically. He entangled his fingers into her hair as he swooped her backwards- a reminder of how flexible she was. 

Relying purely on muscle memory, Bakugou was taking in every moment he could- not wasting a single second. The music filled the air- the eyes surrounding them were unnoticed as the pair moved together. 

When Y/n’s leg wrapped around his a deep and craving moan came from his throat. He lifted her up across his chest as the dance called for, moving his hand a little higher than necessary- completely worth it for the whimper he received in return.

Each step was a moment closer together- each twirl an act of devotion. Like the sun and moon they circled each other. Like Hades and Persephone they doted on their affection, only to be separated at a moment’s notice. Like Icarus, Bakugou moved closer to his light. Like Catherine, Y/n felt her soul once again join with its identity. 

But the sun melted his wings, and Heathcliff was left without her. The song ended with them against each other- panting and delirious. Their eyes were locked and, just for a second, Katuski leaned down for a kiss. 

“Bakubro.” Eijiro’s voice called out rapidly approaching the frozen pair. Was that disappointment in her eyes? He wondered.

“Y/n/n!” Momo smiled pleasantly, wrapping her arm around Y/n’s. 

They were ripped apart by their worried friends, and, while they both knew it was for the best, they couldn’t help but look over their shoulders.

Could we have worked out? Y/n would think during her hot bath when the night was over- her hair in a bun and feet kicked up against the rim, a familiar crimson wine in her hand. 

What did we give up? Not even Kirishima could pull Bakugou from his thoughts that night, as he drowned himself in ‘what if’s’ and ‘could have been’s.’

Their love was fated for tragedy- romance painted from bruised skin and regret-soaked pillows. A tragedy, Y/n mused as she settled into her plush comforter, how melodramatic.

Don’t Let Me Fall (Too Far From Grace)

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cw: Major religious trauma for Y/n, enjoy. Swears, violence, cults, misogyny, self-mutilation, public abuse, parental abuse, attempted murder, self-defense, poison

A/n: a short glimpse into the makings of dadzawa; with an angsty Y/n religious quirk struggle

 summary: There’s a part of Shouta that hates his job. While he can handle the annoying brats, unstable quirks, rude comments, life-threatening danger, and annoying hours, there’s just some things not even Shouta could tolerate.  There’s a girl in his class. She’s nice but a little too quiet for it to sit right. He’s a teacher, been one for years and was a hero for much longer-- He knows the signs when he sees them.

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“Brother Haruka,”

“Father Y/l/n; it’s always a pleasure.” Clasped forearms greeted one another, eye to eye they examined the other. Smiles filled each room and yet the tension was so thick, thick, thick; she looked to her mother but found a void in her place.

It crept into Y/n’s throat like sludge, chocking on the breath that filled her lungs as she swallowed for the fiftieth time that service. The eyes that followed, the eyes that glared, the eyes that widened, all at her, at her, at her. She kept her head down. 

The family of five- a strong pastor father, the beautiful but sickly motherly wife, the silent eldest son, and the perfect youngest daughter. And Y/n, lost somewhere in the mess of facades they seemed to exchange so rapidly.

Or maybe lost was the wrong word, seeing as everyone could find her, the daughter of the pastor, the picture-perfect symbol of what they stood for, quirkless, pure, devine; up until four months ago. 

Four months ago, when her world changed.

1-A kept a keen eye on Y/n, her silent passing and downcast eyes demanded attention from the rowdy bunch, but it was her appearance that caught them off guard the most. 

Denki had asked about them once, resulting in a panic attack and mute classmate which lasted a week before she would speak in a quiet, fragile tone. It got worse before it got better. 

She could feel them-- the eyes, eyes, eyes. Following her, ridiculing her, judging her. It broke Shouta’s heart.

“She’s just a girl, our little girl,”

“It’s a heathen!”

“She’s done nothing wrong,”

“It’s got horns god bless me!”

“Dear, she’s still our Y/n, our little angel,”

Her knees were pulled to her chest, listening silently at the top of the stairs to the hushed and not so hidden argument of her parents. Y/n’s father damning her, and her mom, desperately trying to cling to her life.

“That thing’s no angel-- it’s the devil.”

“What are you doing out here, kid?”  Aizawa cringed inside watching the girls entire body stiffen. 

“I’m sorry sir, I'll go back inside.” Her wide eyes became fixed on the floor, shoulders slouched but still full of twisted anxiety.

“You’re not in trouble, Y/l/n.”

“I’m not?” Her face stayed down, but she was finally looking directly at him, so Shouta counted this as a win.

“No,” he walked to the railing she had previously been leaning against, “There’s no rules against being on the rooftop. I just thought you might get cold.” He gestured to her head when he said that, causing her to flinch softly.

“I see.”

She still scurried away, leaving the concerned teacher by himself on the rooftop.

The horns that began to grew from the front corners of Y/n’s skull had been easily hideable when she noticed the growths. She teased her hair, wore headbands, dawned a head-scarf for modesty, but then her sister accidentally pulled it off her head during dinner, exposing them to the entire family. 

That was the first night Emi had crawled into Y/n’s bed and cried since she was six and saw her big sister be punished for the first time. Punished. 

The Shinja were many things, devote, united, pure, and forgiving. They believed in one thing above all else, God’s eternal and limitless magnanimity. For a sin their must be penitence, must be a beg for forgiveness. 

For Y/n, this meant one thing.

It started small, Y/n found a scarf waiting for her on the railing when she made her way to the roof that night. It was nice, it was warm; something Y/n struggled with being. 

Then Aizawa would stop by when it turned past midnight, sending the quiet girl back inside to stop her from catching a cold. And now, they coexist.

“Was--” she paused before shaking her head, looking back out to the grounds behind UA. 

“What is it, kid?” He paused for an answer before breaking, “You can ask questions you know.”

“Was Iida right?”

Silence. 

“That’s really up to you. At the end of the day, you decide what kind of hero you want to be. Your hero uniform is a big part of that identity, so if you think that’s a necessary part of that then you should keep it.”

Y/n played with the delicate silver cross dangling from the chain across her neck before looking up to the sky, just like Aizawa saw her do earlier during class.

“Kay.”

The conversation from the classroom had been a tense one to say the least. Iida, in his self-correct but oblivious way, asked the quiet girl, “Don’t you think it may be offensive to wear a cross as part of your hero costume? Won’t people feel imposed upon? Besides, very few people are catholic after the development of the quirk gene. Would it not, perhaps, be a better choice to remove that aspect from your uniform?”

Y/n had, at the time, only responded briefly, “Why would people be offended by a necklace?”  Everyone looked up to the mounds above her head. No one said a thing. 

A few days later he finally broke, “It was surprising I suppose. Not like I care, but people aren’t really religious anymore.”

She tried not to think about it, and she continued to try not to think about it long after she had left the rooftop. People aren't really religious anymore. Y/n tried to think through what makes a religion a religion, where things started to turn after quirks were made. Some religions embraced them as a new moral test of god, others claimed it disproved God entirely. Some drew strange connections claiming the bible predicted it all along.

Y/n is sitting in her room when it happens. She's absent-mindedly rolling her silver cross necklace between her fingers while ignoring her homework when she things- it would be so much easier if I wasn't religious anymore.

It felt dirty, like a dangerous secret. What does it mean to be religious on a personal level? She isn't allowed on the campound, let alone in the church. She doesn't read the scripture any more, nor does she pray genuinely. After a few cafeteria visits with Kaminari keeping her company she's even began to speak the lord's name in vain. Yet Y/n is so sure, in her heart and center of everything, that there is spirit within her.

She thinks about the religion she learned about the first time someone called her hometown a cult. She googled what the word meant and learned about a different group, a group that drank poison and passed away as a whole. Y/n can't think of another species that would do that and thinks they must have spirit.

The eyes from the pews followed her as she walked, head bowed as she pushed forward, past every person she ever knew, towards her father. Her father who forgave her, who actually forgave her. Forgave her monstrous appearance, was willing to look past the disgusting curse she had. She loves her father. So she kneeled willingly before the cross and bowed her head fifty times before turning on her knees towards her father.

A hush fell over the chapel.

She accepted the holy blade from her father.

She lifted it above her head. 

The scream echoed through the room, bounding back towards her from the walls it landed on. The blade moved back and forth, until her world became deathly still.

Her father placed his hand upon her head, gently ending the assault. “You’re doing well, my child.” Each following day was ended with her in the privacy of her family's bunker, penance following shortly after. 

She was repenting for her sins, but there was a silent acknowledgment among everyone. For Y/n, who never stopped sinning, there must be constant repentance. Nothing short of unyielding devotion. The days blurred together, so did her memory. 

Y/n looked up at the board, eyes coated with gloss and filled to the brim with pain, pain, misery. ‘Quirkless Study.’ A lesson on discrimination, of differences, of acceptance. Forty seven minutes of something she’d kill to get out of-- something she’d die to get out of. 

The class wasn’t today, thank God, but it was soon. Soon, being tomorrow. Tomorrow, class, quirkless, pure thing, stuck, school, mistake, thing, thing, thing. Words echoed through her head, too fast for Y/n too pick them apart, too fast to be remembered, just fast enough to hurt. 

Y/n stayed on the roof from after school to midnight, far too long in the cold, too long without eating, too long for no body to have noticed.

“Fucking hell, kid. Why are you out here?”

Aizawa-Sensai dropped in and wrapped his scarf around Y/n’s shaking body, noting both the absent look in her eyes and the festering fear lying just beneath the surface.

"Y/l/n? Are you with me?"

What a silly question. Of course she was with him, they're on the same rooftop– he's got a hand lying gently on her shoulder.

"Because you seem a little far away."

And didn't that make so much sense. Because they were right next to each other, much like how her dad was right in front of her, yet both of them were miles away from where Y/n was.

"I'm sorry, sensei."

He froze, "it's Allright, Y/n, it's going to be okay."

The need to gasp for air clued her in that she'd started to cry. The warm tears burned her frigid skin.

"Hey, hey," Aizawas voice rumbled deep in his chest, "careful there." He tapped her knuckles which had turned white with the force she had been digging her nails into her arms.

"I don't want to go to school tommorow."

She winced but he didn't answer her. Saying the words out loud felt different than the mantra from her head. It all seems a little silly now. Y/n wanted to be a hero after all, and here she was; scared to go to class.

The man leveled his eyes with her and sighed, raising a hand between her two curled horns and patting the top of her head.

"It's not silly, Y/n."

She wrinkled her nose at him, unsure of his meaning and was floored when he began to laugh. "You mutter, but that's okay. You don't have to be a hero yet; not today and not tomorrow. For now you are still a child, and you deserve to feel the safety that should come with that."

It felt odd, to feel so cold you want to shiver and yet melt from the inside out. Maybe, maybe that was true. Maybe she will be a hero in a few years, maybe less. But tonight she wasn't, tonight she could feel as little as that sentence made her. Small and safe, so fucking fragile but perfectly protected.

It made her want to cry.

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and there we have it. I know it's a little random but I feel like sometimes we carry the weight of lifetimes with us and forget how young we are in the grand scheme of things. It's okay. We'll figure this out together.

"I hated how their eyes felt on my bare existence, so I built up a circus and called it myself to give them a show other than who I am when I've taken off all my makeup and jewelry, put down my phone, and climbed into bed. I've worked so hard to play the part I've forgotten who I was when I first looked to others to see my reflection." -Nov 17 2023 Aik.