Hes Supposed To Be Studying.

He’s supposed to be studying.

HAHAHAHAH

Thank youu

ʜᴇʀᴏᴇꜱ ᴠɪʟʟᴀɪɴꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴛʜɪɴɢꜱ ᴘʀᴏʟᴏɢᴜᴇ: ɪɴɴᴏᴄᴇɴᴄᴇ ɪꜱ ꜰʀᴀɢɪʟᴇ

ɪᴢᴜᴋᴜ ᴍ

summary: your childhood

warnings: nightmares, anxiety, depression, murder, death, violence, mention of running away

an: izuku is honestly a cute beam of sunshine here in reader’s sad little life. Not proofread.

“Y/N?” His soft breaks you out of your self deprecating thoughts. You’re both sitting under a tree, watching Bakugo and his lackeys play heroes in the playground.

You look up into his soft doe eyes. “Yeah?”

“Are you okay? I..couldn’t help but notice you seemed to be sad.” Izuku says, looking concerned.

You smile in fake happiness, “I’m fine. Why aren’t you with them?” You gesture towards Bakugo with a nod of your head.

“Oh..well, cause I’m, y’know, quirkless, and stuff, he doesn’t want me to join in. Cause heroes have quirks..and they're playing heroes. Actually, why aren’t you with them?” He twiddles his fingers nervously.

You frown, “That’s stupid. You can be a hero if you wanted to Izuku. And I’m not with them cause Bakugo thinks a quirk called ‘pickpocket’ sounds villainy.”

He flushes, eyes widening, in hope you think. "Really..?" Practically ignoring what you said after.

You nod, "You can be one, Izuku." Secretly wishing he would assure you that your quirk wasn’t evil, but it’s not like you could talk.

He blinks, a bunch of unreadable emotions going through him. "Thank you.."

You pause, "What time is it? I think I have to go now." He frowns, "You haven't even been here that long." You pause, thinking of a lie.

"Er..I have an appointment." You say, hoping he believes it.

He pauses not quite believing it, but too nice to pry. "Ok..see you tomorrow?" He asks hopefully.

You smile and nod, relieved he somewhat believed you. "I'll try." He hoped he wouldn't question how and why you planned on going home. Or how you even got here at the park for that matter.

Yep, nothing suspicious about a five year old going to a park all by themselves.

You waved bye, “Bye Izuku.” As you left, you passed by Bakugo, and stuck your tongue out.

He glares at, looking like he’s about to say something, but you’re too far to hear it.

The walk home is adventurous. Following your parent’s advice, use and ‘practice’ your quirk’s abilities by ‘borrowing’ wallets. You knew it was wrong. But your daily practice helped your family get by. Granted, the least they could do was be proud of you for helping.

You make it home, dumping your pockets contents, save for some 5 dollar bills. “Mom.” You say, announcing your arrival.

Just another normal day as a low rank thief.

—————

You’re eight now. With a bigger knowledge of the world and reality then any child should know. Using your quirk everyday to see what’s inside other’s pockets, then pickpocketing it.

Downright evil. You can’t help but feel glad Izuku won’t ever get to know. He’d try to save you or whatever.

You still continue meeting up with him at the park, playing together. Even though he would probably like to visit you, and maybe a bit hurt that you refuse.

That is, till you see your parents die.

A completely normal day. Mother hits you for not meeting the quota. You don’t cry. You’re used to it.

Your dad doesn’t show up till late night, and frantic. He immediately starts packing up after a brief conversation with your mom and a lot of yelling. Soon your mom joins in, telling you to make yourself useful and help.

So you do. And right in the process of stuffing your saved and stolen money into all your pockets, you hear someone banging on the door.

And who could that be, so late at night? And why did your parents look so terrified?

“We’re too late.” Your mother utters, standing still in terror. “Late?” You question.

That snaps her out of it. “Hide in the cupboards. Now.”

You blink, “Why?”

“Just do it!”

More banging, and curses.

She grabs your old stuffed dog toy, long discarded, and shoves it into your hands. “Don’t make a sound, and hang onto that.”

She pushes you into a cramped cupboard, and you protest. “Stay here and if you hear anything, don’t scream, don’t cry, don’t make a sound. Got it?”

You blink in shock, “Why..?”

She deeply inhales, “Your father borrowed money from people, bad people. So now they want to hurt him. And they don’t care who. So hide.”

That shuts you up. You nod, and your mother sighs, “Good. And don’t come out till you hear absolutely nothing.” She pauses, and the door breaks. “I love you.” She closes the door, and leaves you in darkness.

You hear screaming, and gunshots. It makes you jump, and you close your eyes shut. You dare to crack the door, just a bit.

What you see makes you wish you had obeyed. Your blood runs cold. Your dad lies dead, bleeding from his head, eyes lifeless but wide open.

Your mom was a gun pressed against her head.

“Where’s the money!” The man, at least you think is on, barks.

“U-under the mattress!” Your mom manages to say.

Which she would be right. If not for the fact that while you were packing up, you had grabbed it and put it in your pockets. You stiffen. If your mom died, her blood would be on you.

One of the men stormed into your shared room. A bunch of noises of things getting tossed around, and he returned, shaking his head. “Nuthin.”

The man cocks the gun. “Last chance.”

“I don’t know!” She cries. The gun goes off. And your mom falls over in a pool of her own blood.

You almost cried out and got out of the darn cupboard. But you remember her words.

You wanted to go out there and kill them. But now is not the time. You grip the stuffie, practically strangling it.

You wake up in a cold sweat. You blink. Oh right. You are not eight anymore. You are seventeen, had some kills under your belt, and was living in a shoddy abandoned shed on the top of a rooftop.

You rub your eyes, thinking about how somehow, your eight year old self had stuffed everything they could into a backpack, opened the window and never looked back.

You even still had that darn stuffie. It was a miracle you had lived this long. No thanks to heroes.

Today was a new day of stealing, maybe killing if anyone got in your way. Granted, you had already gotten your revenge by slitting their throats with a knife, after a long three years of stalking.

And you did feel guilty for indirectly being the reason your mother died. And maybe the authorities were on your tail. But you had outrun them. Maybe. Probably.

You sigh, surveying your scars on your arm. Caused by getting into knife fights with low rank scum.

You get off the floor and your sad excuse of a mattress, and start your day.

@candiiee 2024

@kimyoudraft hereee

I kind of love Hound Dog

MF WHAT

BAKUGO 😭

hi!

in case tumblr didn't notify you, I sent you Uravity's speech a couple of days ago as a submission. happy writing!

I got it, thank you!