Because It Took Me So Long I Would Really Appreciate If You Guys Gave It A Little Extra Love - Tumblr Posts
Angel (Ages 5-13)
Points in time through your friendship with Bakugou, from its beginning, to its transformation into love, to its demise. Inspired by Angel Pt. 2 by Fast and Furious (feat. Jimin)
Word Count: 2,655
CW: mentions of injury, some violence less than canon-typical though, reader uses female pronouns, hurt/no comfort, angst angst angst, mental health struggles, mentions of self-hatred
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When you were five years old you and Bakugou lay sprawled on soft green grass. You closed your eyes, the fading sunlight painted the inside of your eyelids a pinkish orange. Inhaling deeply, you enjoyed the peace and tranquility of the moment.
Just minutes ago, Bakugou had declared the trek up the hill a race and shot in front of you, determinedly pumping his legs in an effort to win. Screeching that it wasn’t fair, that he got a head start, you raced after him, catching him just in time to tie. The buzz of cicadas filled the heavy summer air swirling languidly through your neighborhood; the quiet soundtrack of summer.
Fluffy clouds painted pink and orange in the light of the sunset drifted high above you in the sky. At your young age this was the happiest you had ever been. After a long day filled with squeals of laughter, and getting into mischief with your best friend you were exhausted, but content. Suddenly feeling sentimental, you rolled over and poked your friend’s shoulder. Said his name once to make sure you got his attention.
And on the evening of that perfect summer day you extended your pinky and interlocked it with Bakugou’s, forever sealing the promise the two of you made.
“Hey, we’ll always be this happy, right? We’ll always be best friends.”
“Tch. What, are you stupid? Of course we will. From now to forever.”
When you were seven years old the two of you had already made plans to become heroes and open your own agency together. And to Bakugou being a hero meant beating up any and all bad guys. Always winning the fight. Some boys stole your lunch money? Well then they were villains, and he had no choice but to take them on. So what if they were a few grades older than you? They were thieves and had to be punished. If he didn’t put them in their place, how could he call himself a hero?
Walking across the uneven gray concrete behind the school, he approached the group of older boys and gave them his signature look. A promise of violence gleamed in his ruby red eyes as a cocky smirk pulled at the baby fat still adorning his cheeks. Calling out to the extras he got their attention before charging at them, sparks flashing in his palms.
When you found him later his clothes were disheveled but a look of smug satisfaction was painted across his face. Rushing over, you check him for injuries, brushing the dust and dirt off him and straightening his clothes. Other than a small red scrape on his cheek from skidding across the concrete and little burns on his wrists where the sparks from his quirk had burned him he appeared mostly unharmed. Suspecting the answer to your question but still needing to confirm your suspicions you demand that he tell you what happened. With an air of arrogance, he regales you with his tale of victory over the evil extras, hamming it up to impress you, carefully watching your reaction as he recounts his story.
After he finishes the tale, you sigh and tell him you wish he would be more careful. But he saw the admiring sparkle in your eyes as he told his tale. He knows that deep down you were impressed. And that’s enough for him.
“You really need to think more often before you charge in.”
“As if, I’m gonna be the strongest, remember? No extra is ever gonna take me down.”
When you were nine years old it had become a running joke in the Bakugou family that you were ‘Katsuki’s angel.’ And although he always protested and fake gagged when his parents called you that, inside he secretly liked the idea that you and him were meant to be together. The first time Mitsuki called you Katsuki’s angel, it was Katsuki’s birthday, and Mitsuki was trying to wrangle him into a custom made suit jacket she had designed especially for him. Chasing him around the house screaming obscenities and calling him an ungrateful brat she tried to force him into his gift. Katsuki had been screaming back at his mother, hurdling over comfortable yet tasteful couches and using his quirk to evade her every movement. Then you walked in, and the second he noticed you Katsuki skidded to a halt, clamping his mouth shut at your disapproving look.
Walking over to him, you cuffed him on the ear and firmly told him that he shouldn’t call his mother an old hag, and that he should be grateful she went out of her way to make such a nice present for him. Opening his mouth to retort, all it took was one disappointed glance from you and he was turning to face his mother. Grumpily he muttered out a half-assed apology and allowed himself to be tucked into the perfectly tailored jacket. It was a smooth, rich, smoky gray with orange embroidered accents. Honestly it was so nice it seemed a little obscene to give as a gift to an unappreciative nine year old. But you were entranced by it.
Stepping closer to Katsuki, you couldn’t help but run your hands over the front of his jacket, marveling at the texture and the intricate work of the embroidery. Not noticing the pink flush that tinted Katsuki’s cheeks, you ran your hands along his chest admiring the jacket. “It’s so pretty.” You muttered it quietly under your breath, but Mitsuki heard it. Perking up, she announced that she was so glad that you liked it, because she had a matching dress made for you! Surprise!
Quickly waving your hands and telling her that she didn’t need to do that, protesting that you couldn’t accept a gift that nice (your parents had raised you to be a polite young woman, and while they failed in most regards you had still managed to retain some manners) and that she should give it to someone else. Insisting that the only person the dress was meant for was you, Mitsuki dragged you upstairs and gently helped you into it. It was a lighter shade of gray than Katsuki’s suit, and the accents were a paler shade of orange, closer to the color of the sunset than a violent shade of neon orange, but it was undeniably a match to Katsuki’s jacket.
Self-conscious because it was your first time wearing something that luxurious, you anxiously asked Mitsuki if she was sure she was okay with you having it. Reassuring you that she had made it for you and that you looked beautiful she led you downstairs and called for her son, asking him what he thought of it.
Stomping angrily out of the other room and demanding to know what was so important he stopped when he saw you, his eyes softening as he gaped. Looking down, you nervously played with the hem of your new dress. When he didn’t say anything, you apologized, saying that it wasn’t right for you to match with him because it was birthday and you didn’t want to take any attention away from him. Turning, you began walking up the stairs but paused when you heard him speak. Quieter than you had ever heard him speak before, he told you that he didn’t care about stupid things like matching, and that it suited you. The last part was spoken in a near whisper, then he scoffed and stormed away, loudly griping about how annoying all the females in his life are.
Later that night when Mitsuki was talking to Masaru, she mentioned Katsuki’s behavior towards you. Recounting the events, she wondered about his change of attitude when it came to you, pondering aloud if perhaps you were some sort of angel sent to make their son behave. Unbeknownst to her, Katsuki had been coming downstairs for a glass of water and heard everything, quietly sitting on the stairs eavesdropping as he wondered what the strange feeling inside his chest was.
“I’m telling you,He was gentle! I’ve never seen our son so sweet and well-behaved. It’s like she’s his own personal angel, sent to make him behave!”
Hm. His own personal angel…well, you were a little too aggressive and sarcastic to be considered an angel, but for some reason the idea of you being his angel pleased him.
When you were eleven years old you asked Bakugou to stop fighting your fights for you. When you were younger, you held your own against anyone who came your way, but as the two of you grew up he became more and more protective until it got to the point he was fighting all your fights for you, not allowing you to intervene. What he didn’t realize was that having an explosive guard dog at you back 24/7 only made things worse for you. For one thing, it made you feel bad about yourself. All your life you had prided yourself on being strong, a bit of a wild child, and a lot more rough and tumble than the other girls your age. While the other girls your age had pretend tea parties and played with dolls you wrestled with the boys in the grass, often beating them. But when Bakugou fought for you he made you feel weak, like he didn’t believe you could hold your own when you knew you could.
In your opinion, every pair of pants with the knees ripped, every callous, every scrape and cut, every grass stain and bloody nose was a mark of pride. It was a mark of your strength, a sign that even the boys couldn’t beat you. Screw the patriarchy! But your female classmates disagreed. They would gossip about you in loud stages whispers as you walked by, wondering if you were even a girl, and that it was no wonder you were friends with all the boys with that haircut. You looked exactly like one of them.
When Bakugou caught wind of it, he wasted no time giving each of them the verbal beatdown of their lives, unaware that one of them was the younger sister of an eighth grader. After the humiliating experience she had gone to her older brother, and now some older boys were constantly harassing you, shoving you around and mocking you. Your pride didn’t permit you to tell Bakugou, and honestly you saw this as a perfect opportunity to prove your own strength not just to everyone else, but to yourself as well. But before you could confront the group of boys, Bakugou caught wind of the bullying and was demanding to know why you didn’t tell him.
Bluntly, you told him it was because you wanted to take care of it yourself without him. A little stung, he asked why you wouldn’t let him help you. Was it because you thought he wasn’t strong enough? Exasperated, you explained that no, it wasn’t because you thought he was weak, but because he was treating you like you were weak.
While he understood what you were saying, and felt guilty for making you feel that way, he still demanded to at least be present when you took on the boys. You were okay with it, as long as he promised to not get involved. With a little smirk, he agreed, saying his only intention was to watch his best friend kick some ass.
And true to his word, he sat on the sidelines, not getting involved. Although, he was the loudest one cheering you on as you wiped the floor with those assholes.
“What? You didn’t think a girl could beat you up? Huh? Speak up.”
“Hell yeah! That’s my best friend. Get ‘em! Punch his teeth in!”
When you were thirteen, you were truly disappointed and angry with Katsuki for the first time in your ten years of friendship. For years, there had been tension between you and him about the way he treated Izuku, someone the two of you had been friends with since you were small. While Katsuki went out of his way to be cruel and derogatory towards Izuku because he was quirkless, you remained good friends with Izuku, often sticking up for him.
That cruel behavior had been the cause of many arguments between the two of you as you tried to understand why he treated Izuku the way he did. You knew that Katsuki was a good person, and while he was your best friend and you wanted to always support him, you couldn’t condone his behavior. This created a weird limbo where you helped Izuku out as much as possible while at the same time giving Katsuki space in regards to the matter, hoping he would eventually work out whatever was obviously going on inside of his head. But no more.
You had been waiting for Katsuki at your usual spot, ready to walk home together but ten minutes had passed and you were impatient so you went to find him. Walking through the clean well-lit halls of your school you headed to his homeroom, stopping when you heard his voice. Assuming that he was just having a conversation with his friends, you marched into the classroom fully prepared to drag him out because you wanted to go home-but nothing could have prepared you for hearing Katsuki tell Izuku to take a swan dive off a building and pray he had a quirk in his next life.
Frozen, you couldn’t believe what you just heard. Because there was no way that Katsuki -your Katsuki- had said something that vile. But he had, and seconds after the ugly, vicious words had spilled from his lips your hand came into contact with the side of his face with a harsh resounding smack. Hand flying up to cup his smarting cheek, he looked at you in shock. Not expecting you to continue, he wasn’t fast enough to block the unforgiving knee you crashed into his ribcage, nor the fist you sent flying at his face. He staggered back, coughing as blood dripped from his nose. Snapping his head up prepared to scream at you, he stopped short at the look on your face. You were looking at him like you didn’t recognize him, disgust and anger painted clear across your pretty features.
Not even bothering to speak to him, you turned and walked over to Izuku, quietly asking him if he was okay. You helped him gather up his stuff, packing his backpack and retrieving his notebook from where Katsuki had sent it flying. Slinging an arm around Izuku’s shoulders, you walked with him out of the classroom, straight past the shell-shocked Katsuki, not even sparing him a glance.
Later that night when Katsuki stormed over to your house to “apologize,” you were cold, and laid down an ultimatum: decide between being an insecure asshole, and being your friend. As long as he treated Izuku that way you wouldn’t and couldn’t support him. For the first time since the promise you made when you were five, Katsuki was worried about the state of your friendship. So, he managed to somewhat pull it together, ignoring Izuku for the rest of eighth grade instead of tormenting him. But he would never forget the feeling of your anger and fists being turned on him, or the look of pain and disgust you had leveled at him. No. That look was forever ingrained in his memories, reminding himself why he had to be better. He had to be a person worthy of your friendship and affection.
“‘M sorry I guess. Don’t know why you would pick that quirkless loser over me though.”
“This. This is my problem. Get out of my house. Get out of my house and stay out until you can figure out how to be a decent human being. Until then, stay the hell away from me.”
Alright! That's part one! Let me know if you want to be tagged in part two!