kabbagekales - Tumblr blog

kabbagekales · 3 days ago

Note

OKAY IVE BEEN IMAGINING A HAWKS X BAKUGOUS OLDER BROTHER READER?? okay but here me out bro, reader has been dating hawks for a while now, occasional family dinners at readers house with his parents, not brother, due to the fact that he’s training.

reader never brought up the fact that his younger brother goes to ua, and hawks never said anything about teaching 1a gym time-to-time, one day, reader goes to pick up katsuki early from school, and he realizes hawks is teaching, basically how everyone would react to one, finding out bakugou has a brother, and two he’s dating hawks??

(ps, hawks knew of readers last name, but never thought anything of it,)

big bro

keigo takami x male! older bakugou brother! reader

genre: fluff and slight crack oneshot (1,300ish words)

notes: i’m not a massive fan of how i wrote this (i don’t think it’s very good) but it’s been sitting in my drafts for months so here you go

synopsis: reader is katsuki's older brother who is dating hawks -- katsuki doesn't know reader is dating hawks, and hawks doesn't know katsuki is reader's brother. it stays that way until reader has to pick up katsuki from school early while hawks is teaching.

masterlist | make a request

Principal Nezu is shorter than you expect.

You expected him to be a man-sized rat, not a rat-sized man; though you suppose that isn’t an apt description either, given that he’s at least 2 feet tall and most rats aren’t 2 feet tall.

Regardless, he's still pretty intimidating when you run into him in the hall and he starts to ask you what you're doing.

"I'm looking for Bakugou Katsuki -- uh, my little brother. My parents wanted me to pick him up early since we're leaving today to go on a trip." Nezu seriously makes you nervous.

“Bakugou Katsuki is in Hero Training as of right now. You’ll be able to find him in the gym!” He smiles at you, teeth surprisingly white for a rodent. “Make sure to alert his teacher before you leave,” Nezu continues, an unnerving glint in his abyss-like eyes. You decide not to ask why he knows Katsuki’s timetable by heart.

“Sure. Thanks, Principal Nezu,” you smile, offering him a handshake kindly.

“Anytime, Bakugou-san.”

As you step into the gym, the first thing you notice is the smell of sweat. That, and the temperature. Despite the amount of heat emanating from the fire quirks of a select few and the body heat of everyone in the gym, it’s — surprisingly — rather cool. UA's unflinching ability to invest copious amounts of money into air conditioning was impressive. Your eyes trail across the sweeping ceilings and expensive equipment, whistling lowly. I should come here more often.

1-A looks to be split into pairs — sparring, maybe? — each student difficult to view clearly under the thin blanket of steam and smoke that surrounds them. Katsuki, however, is easy to spot among them. His explosions light up the room, the sound of the loud booms only rivalled by his rage-fuelled yelling. You watch, amused. Glad he’s… letting that out.

As much as you didn’t want to interrupt class (the idea of 20 different teenagers having their undivided attention on you was a terrifying thought), the teacher was nowhere in sight and you were running out of time. “Katsuki!” you call, waving at the angry red glare that lands on you. The boy, in response, rolls his eyes snidely and stays rooted on the spot.

You sigh. Little brothers are so goddamn annoying. “Let’s go, dude,” you urge, emphasising your words with a vague ‘hurry up’ gesture. He scowls, but obliges nonetheless, walking slowly over with his hands shoved into his pockets. Once he's in front of you, he stops.

“My teacher isn’t here. I can’t leave yet.”

“Isn’t it their job to, you know, teach? Where the fuck did they go?” You furrow your brows.

“Fuck if I know,” Katsuki responds, matching your curses with equal indifference. “He went with Deku to go and get something.”

“Izuku’s here?”

“Why wouldn’t he be, dumbass? He’s in my class.”

And that’s when you notice the rest of 1-A. 18 pairs of eyes stare at you in utter shock and confusion, burning with questions. Your body stills, awkward under their gazes.

“Is that… your brother?” a red-haired boy with sharp teeth asks, looking between you and Katsuki slowly.

“Yeah,” Katsuki replies nonchalantly.

You take in the other boy's appearance: the insane amount of gel in his weirdly-styled hair, pointed teeth and the fact that he was sparring with Katsuki. Close friend, bad hair?

“You must be Shitty Hair.” you say, prompting half of the class to erupt into giggles. Vaguely, you recall his name is Kirishima, but Katsuki says it so rarely that you barely even associate it with him. ‘Shitty Hair’ blushes at the attention, nodding bashfully with an awkward smile. He rubs the nape of his neck, glancing once again between Katsuki and you.

“I can see how you’re related,” he laughs uncertainly.

“I can see who got the good genes,” a pink-haired girl with horns calls, “clearly not Bakugou.”

“YOU WANNA SAY THAT AGA—”

The doors slam open. You first see Izuku, who pauses at the commotion, and behind him you see… your boyfriend? What the fuck?

“Keigo?”

“[Y/N]?”

“[Y/N]-nii?” Izuku adds.

“Nii?” someone whispers in confusion.

“Hey, Izuku,” you respond weakly.

Silence falls. You take a moment to appreciate Keigo in his hero costume before the dots connect and you turn to Katsuki accusingly.

“He’s your teacher!?”

“He’s your brother!?” Keigo counters.

You turn to your boyfriend. “I told you I have a brother. You know my last name. You’ve literally met my mother and she’s the carbon-copy of Katsuki. Keigo, what even?”

“Er, well, in hindsight, maybe you’re right— but... you’re so nice,” he says, disbelief evident in his wide eyes and confused brows. “And he’s so… not—”

“The fuck did you just say—!?”

“Young man, I will give you a detention if you swear at me again,” Keigo says sternly, schooling his face into something unnaturally serious and crossing his toned arms over his chest. You can see the humour dancing his eyes, prompting you to chuckle quietly.

Katsuki rolls his eyes. “Yes, Hawks-sensei,” he mutters, face contorted into a scowl. He angrily taps his shoe on the ground.

“Stop being a shit,” you chide, grabbing Katsuki by the shoulder roughly and rubbing your knuckles into his skull. The rest of 1-A watches on in absolute disbelief. (Except Izuku. He’s used to this.)

Katsuki groans exasperatedly, “You stop being a shit.”

“Hey!” Hawks gasps dramatically, “don’t call my boyfriend a shit!”

Silence.

You rub a hand over your temple in an attempt to ease your oncoming headache.

“YOUR FUCKING WHAT?!”

“Katsuki—”

The rest of 1-A is left in shock. (Including Izuku, this time). Some start yelling, some look like they’ve turned to stone, the usual. You’re too busy trying to hold back your feral little brother from attacking Keigo — you know he won’t actually, you’re just hoping Keigo knows that too.

“Wait, you’re gay?” A boy who you can recall as Kaminari splutters. Your face crinkles into confusion, nose scrunching like you’ve smelt a bad odour. You can see why Katsuki calls him Dunce Face.

“It runs in the family,” you say, with a pointed look to Katsuki.

His exhaustion must’ve caught up to him since he only offers a middle finger in response. Kaminari bursts into startled and slightly scared laughter.

A warm arm makes its way around your waist and it takes an embarrassing amount of effort for you to suppress a smile. You don’t even have to look at Keigo to know that he’s grinning.

Neither of you are big fans of PDA, but the urge to hug him right now is particularly strong; especially since he’s right there, but there’s also 20 kids right there which sucks and you have to go—

Right. You and Katsuki need to go. That was the point of this whole ordeal.

“Keigo,” you murmur, quiet enough for only him to hear. The rest of the class has ignored the two of you in favour of chatting amongst themselves or questioning Katsuki. Keigo hums, meeting your eyes. He smiles, his golden irises pooling with affection and his arm squeezing gently around your waist, seemingly in a trance. You chuckle, “I need to go.”

He startles. “Right! Right,” he says, clearing his throat. You pretend not to notice the faint tinge of red high on his cheekbones.

“Okay, 1-A. I’m gonna go sort this out quickly,” Keigo says to the class, his voice raised slightly in order to drown out the talking. “So please continue sparring — without quirks — until I’m back. I won’t be long.”

The class answers an affirmative, and then the two of you (plus Katsuki) are out the door. You turn to face Keigo, placing a quick peck on his lips. “I thought I just needed to tell you Katsuki was leaving and then you’d sort it?”

“That’s true… but I missed you,” Keigo sighs wearily, acting like he hadn’t seen you in years. (You spent the night with him literally yesterday.)

“Stop before I tear my fucking eyes out,” Katsuki interrupts. Keigo lifts his head to glare unhappily at him.

“Piss off, Katsuki,” you grumble, placing a slightly longer kiss on Keigo’s lips. You pull away at the realisation that you’re probably late, which means you’ll probably have to face the wrath of Mitsuki Bakugo. “I should— we should go. I’ve stayed way longer than I needed to.”

“Thank fuck,” Katsuki grumbles, occupying himself with his phone. Teenagers.

Keigo groans dejectedly but lets you go nonetheless. He watches you walk away, waving. “Bye, honeybear!”

“Don’t call me that!”

3K notes · View notes

kabbagekales · 6 days ago

Text

Shoto Todoroki seriously has a problem saying no to you.

But I mean.. it's not the worst thing in the world! Especially since it's all on Endeavor's credit card anyway.

At least, that's what he tells himself as he stands idly in the corner of the kitten adoption center, your eyes sparkling as you beg him to let you adopt one. you didn't really think he was going to say yes but there's no backing down now!

Watching your excited figure bounce around the area ecstatically, cooing and petting various little kittens, Shoto's heart definitely melted a little.

Growing up, Shoto obviously didn't have the best view on father-son dynamics, or just father anything really. But seeing you so happy to welcome a small fluffy addition to your home... it didn't seem so bad anymore.

Especially if you were by his side.

At the end of the day, you ended up with two kittens, 30 pounds of cat food, a scratching post, two collars, and about 1,461,063 yen (9,785.49 USD) taken out of Endeavor's credit card.

Shoto's never saying no to you again.

A/N: A little shorter than usual but YAY KITTIES! :D i'm a dog person shh

716 notes · View notes

kabbagekales · 6 days ago

Text

you love to see izuku’s face when you tease him

walking around the common room, you only had a tight t-shirt and shorts on. your wet hair lay on your shoulder, creating a wet patch near your chest. part of your shirt was almost see-through now, and your boyfriend, izuku could nearly see your bra.

he blushed and tried to focus on the sketches in front of him, with a shaky hand failing to erase some mistakes. soon, you noticed his shy figure and walked over to him, sitting on the chair next to him.

izuku froze, eyes widened and cheeks getting warmer by the second. you asked, “why are you out here, baby? it’s pretty late, we should probably be in our dorms right now, don’t you think?”

he softly nodded, a movement so subtle you almost missed it. he got up from his chair but didn’t spare you a glance, afraid he would embarrass himself if he looked at you. as he was headed toward his dorm, your hand grabbed his, and your other held his sketchbook and pencil, which he forgot to bring.

izuku was acting odd ever since you walked into the common room, and it began to frustrate you. he hadn’t even said a word to you yet, just a nod and not even a glance. was he mad at you?

his fists clenched once he felt your chest press against his arm. did you know what you were doing to him? maybe you didn’t and he was being a pervert, no, that would be bad. he couldn’t start thinking this way.

but when the two of you opened his dorm room door and entered, he still didn’t say much. eventually, you sat his notebook down and asked, “why aren’t you looking at me, zu?”

well, that made him look at you. the boy didn’t want you to feel insecure, he was just flustered because of how you looked!

the way your hair swooped over your shoulder, your big doe eyes looked up at him, and a little bit of cleavage was showing drove him crazy. you looked too good, and he couldn’t handle it. you were driving him insane without even knowing it.

he apologized and averted his gaze, “‘m sorry, you just…” he paused, and you tilted your head. god, you weren’t going to make this easy for him, were you? he hesitated, “you look really pretty right now, it’s hard to focus.”

a gasp escaped your lips, and your eyes widened. you didn’t expect that from him. was it the fact that you just came out of the shower? the fact that water droplets were still on your skin or how part of your shirt was soaked? was it how you acted while walking to his dorm? you wondered why he thought you were especially pretty at that moment, but throughout the next few days, you would try to figure out why.

so after training or working out, you began to wear semi-see-through shirts, and tiny shorts just to see how izuku would react. safe to say, he was always flushed. sometimes, he would excuse himself to take a breather, too nervous to face you. you were his girlfriend, why did he still get so worked up after seeing you like that?

even when you changed in front of him, taking off your uniform to change into one of his shirts, the blush never failed to leave his face. he would try to stare at the ground, think of the most disgusting thing ever to take his mind off you, but he couldn’t. it never worked.

and you were more touchy with him for the next few days. whether it was a hand on his back or bicep, your chest pressed against his back or chest when you gave him a hug or a kiss on his neck, you were always touching him in some sort of way. you never failed to make him warm.

whenever you kissed him, he would get so flustered, sometimes leaving him breathless or in silence for a couple of minutes. he seemed more sensitive these days.

so when you leaned in to kiss him one day, he pulled away with red cheeks. he mumbled, although your hand was on his chest, “i-i’m sorry, i love you, but you’ve been driving me crazy these past couple of days! i’ve just been so nervous around you and— i just… i don’t know— i can’t…”

you put on a fake frown, deciding to tease him further, “can’t what, izuku? you have to tell me what’s wrong so we can solve the problem.”

as he tried to look for the words, you slowly crawled into his lap and sat in it, cradling his face with one of your hands. you rubbed his soft, freckled cheek and kissed his other, all while you were rubbing up and down his scarred chest. your kisses began to travel down to his neck, feeling him gulp underneath your lips.

“i-i don’t know. you make me nervous and i don’t know how to deal with it…” he mumbled, hands stiff as he held onto his bedsheets.

you paused and grinned, “well that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

his brain short-circuited. huh? what were you talking about?

suddenly, your lips crashed against his, and you began to kiss him with such intensity. he whimpered at the intimacy, and you placed his hands on your thighs. he was scared to move them any further, not wanting to go across your boundaries or be weird.

he whimpered, and when you pulled away for a second, he whined, “honey, please—“ before you cut him off with another kiss.

but when you finally pulled away, izuku was out of breath with tired eyes. he leaned his head against the wall with a loud thump, and his breath staggered. he looked as if he was about to pass out, so tired, and you thought you hardly did anything.

“it’s so easy to rile you up, baby.” you giggled, pressing another soft kiss to his cheek.

he muttered out a couple of inaudible words but began to nod off once you got up to turn his big light off.

god, he was so pathetic.

omg i LOVEEE pathetic izuku so much!!!! is this too suggestive btw because idk? tell me what you guys think

670 notes · View notes

kabbagekales · 6 days ago

Text

"Explosions of the Heart"

This one is rlly long😭

☆☆☆

The hospital reeked of antiseptic and tension. The fluorescent lights flickered overhead as Bakugo Katsuki paced the floor like a caged animal. His hands—usually steady in battle—trembled slightly. Outside the delivery room, his world was unraveling.

"Mr. Bakugo," the nurse called gently. "She’s in distress. We’re doing everything we can."

He didn’t answer. His crimson eyes were locked on the swinging double doors that had swallowed you hours ago.

You—his wife, his partner, the only person who could call him a dumbass and still get a smile out of him—were behind those doors. And you were fighting a battle even he couldn't charge into fists-first.

Twelve Hours Earlier

Your water had broken in the dead of night. You’d barely gotten a full sentence out before Bakugo was already tossing clothes into a bag and barking at the cab company over the phone. By the time you reached the hospital, contractions were tearing through you like lightning, each one worse than the last.

Something wasn’t right.

The baby was breach. Your blood pressure spiked. You were losing too much blood. They rushed you into an emergency delivery, voices sharp and fast. Bakugo hadn’t been allowed in.

Present

Time blurred. Katsuki hated feeling useless more than anything. He should be in there. He should be beside you, holding your hand, telling you it was going to be okay even if his chest felt like it was going to explode.

A sudden scream tore through the hall. Your scream.

His knees buckled. He hadn’t even heard himself move before he was slamming into the door, fists glowing faintly, ready to break it down—

"Sir!" a nurse barked, shoving him back. "You can't go in there!"

"That’s my damn wife!" he snarled. "Let me—"

The screaming stopped.

Too abruptly.

Bakugo froze. The world stopped moving.

Seconds felt like eternities until finally, the doors opened and a doctor stepped out, blood on her scrubs and exhaustion in her eyes.

"She’s alive," she said softly. "And so is your son. But it was close. Too close."

His legs gave out and he collapsed into the nearest chair. His hands covered his face as air finally returned to his lungs. Alive. You were both alive.

"You can see her now."

He stood shakily, pushing into the room. You looked like hell—pale, exhausted, barely able to lift your eyelids—but when you saw him, a weak smile curved your lips.

"You look like shit," you whispered.

A choked laugh escaped him. He grabbed your hand and pressed it to his lips. “Don’t ever scare me like that again, dumbass.”

Then he saw the tiny bundle in your arms. Wide red eyes—his eyes—blinked up at him.

"Hey, little guy," he said, voice thick. "You’re already causing trouble, huh?"

You laughed faintly, and Bakugo leaned in, touching his forehead to yours.

"Next time," he murmured, "we're adopting."

---

Two Weeks Later

You were finally home.

The scent of sterilized hospital air had been replaced by the warmth of your shared apartment, still littered with unopened baby gifts and half-assembled furniture. It felt surreal, like you had died and somehow gotten a second chance.

Katsuki hadn’t left your side since the hospital.

He’d been quieter than usual—not cold, but... different. Protective. Watchful. The explosions were fewer, the yelling almost nonexistent. And at night, when he thought you were asleep, you caught him just staring—at you, at the baby, at the scar the IV left on your hand.

Like he couldn’t believe either of you were still here.

You shifted slightly on the couch, wincing. Your body still ached like hell. The stitches, the swelling, the pressure—no one talked about how brutal recovery would be. You felt raw. Fragile.

"Katsuki," you called weakly.

He appeared instantly from the kitchen, a bottle in one hand and your pain meds in the other. "Need something?"

"Come sit with me."

He hesitated. "You’re still hurting. I don’t wanna crowd you."

You reached out, fingers curling in the air.

He sighed, set everything down, and slid onto the couch beside you. Carefully. Gently. You leaned your head on his shoulder, your newborn cradled against your chest, tiny breaths warm against your skin.

"He looks like you," you murmured.

"Poor brat," he said, but his voice was soft.

Your fingers laced with his.

"You’ve been quiet."

He didn’t answer for a long time. Then:

"You almost died." His voice cracked. “And I couldn’t do shit about it.”

You turned to look at him, eyes brimming. "But I didn’t. We didn’t. Katsuki, you didn’t leave me. Not for a second. That means everything."

He clenched his jaw. “I’ve fought villains who tried to kill me. I’ve been stabbed, exploded, buried under rubble. I can deal with that. But you, bleeding out and screaming and I couldn’t even touch you—” He broke off. “I’ve never been that fucking scared in my life.”

Tears slipped down your cheek, and you pressed your lips to his temple. “You’re here. I’m here. Our son’s here. That’s all that matters.”

He looked down at the sleeping baby, chest rising and falling in sync with yours. “He’s tiny.”

You smirked. “So were you. Until puberty hit like a damn truck.”

A reluctant chuckle rumbled from him. “If he has even half your stubbornness, we’re screwed.”

“Half yours, you mean,” you teased.

The room went quiet again. You nestled closer, letting yourself breathe in his warmth, his scent. Safe.

“I thought I was ready to be a dad,” he said suddenly. “I trained for it. Got the nursery set up, read every damn book. But the second they handed him to me, I realized I didn’t know shit.”

You smiled sleepily. “You’re already doing perfect.”

“You’re just saying that ‘cause I haven’t blown up a diaper yet.”

You both laughed—quiet, tired, and a little broken, but real.

He looked at you, really looked, eyes softer than you’d ever seen them.

“I love you,” he whispered.

You blinked. Bakugo never whispered.

“I love you too,” you whispered back, voice catching.

And for the first time in weeks, you both finally exhaled.

---

Three Months Later

“You sure you’re okay without me for a few hours?” you asked again, already halfway out the door.

Bakugo rolled his eyes, baby monitor clipped to his sweatpants, your son strapped into a carrier on his chest like a slightly confused koala.

“D’you think I can’t handle him or something?” he grumbled.

“I think he shat through three outfits before noon yesterday, and you nearly declared war on baby wipes.”

Katsuki scowled. “One time.”

“One time per diaper.”

You kissed his cheek before he could argue, smirking. “You’ll be fine, Dad of the Year.”

The door clicked shut behind you.

And just like that… it was quiet.

Bakugo glanced down at the wide-eyed little boy strapped to his chest. “Alright, kid. Just me and you.”

The baby blinked, then made a soft gurgling noise.

“You better not be loading your diaper already.”

The first twenty minutes went smooth. Katsuki heated a bottle with military precision, burped the baby like a pro, and even played peekaboo without blowing anything up.

Then the baby started crying.

Loud.

Katsuki checked the diaper. Clean. Tried feeding him. Refused. Burping? Nothing. Pacifier? Launched like a missile.

“Are you broken?” he hissed, bouncing him awkwardly.

The baby wailed louder.

Bakugo, future Number One Hero, demolisher of villains, destroyer of fear itself… was being absolutely obliterated by a 12-pound infant.

“Alright!” he shouted over the crying. “You win, gremlin!”

He tried the ultimate move: laying on the couch with the baby on his chest, just like you did.

It worked. Instant silence.

“…Seriously?”

Tiny fingers gripped the collar of his shirt, and the baby let out a satisfied sigh, snuggling deeper against him.

“Tch. You just wanted to lay on me, huh?” Katsuki mumbled. “Clingy little nerd.”

He didn’t move. Not even when his phone buzzed. You’d texted: Everything okay?

He snapped a photo of his son sleeping peacefully on his chest and sent it back.

We’re good. Don’t rush.

He stared at the photo for a long time, warmth blooming in his chest. The kid looked so much like you when he was relaxed. And Katsuki realized something he hadn’t said out loud yet.

He loved this.

Being a dad.

The mess, the noise, the confusion—it was all chaos he could handle if it meant protecting you and this little bean.

“You’re not that bad, y’know,” he muttered. “Might even grow up to be cooler than me.”

The baby snorted in his sleep.

“Yeah, alright, don’t push it.”

When you walked in an hour later, you found them both fast asleep—Katsuki snoring, the baby drooling on his chest, one tiny fist tangled in his dad’s ash-blond hair.

You smiled and quietly snapped a photo.

The caption would read: My boys. Chaos level: manageable.

For now.

---

Ten Months Later

Your son had started babbling a while ago, but it was mostly incoherent nonsense—"ba-ba," "da-da," the occasional squeal that sounded like a baby pterodactyl mid-meltdown.

Katsuki had been watching him like a hawk, waiting for the first real word. It had practically become a competition between you two—who would he say first? "Mama" or "Dada"?

Katsuki refused to lose.

“You know I carried him for nine months, right?” you said, folding laundry one afternoon.

“Yeah, and I carried your ass through every post-labor breakdown, so I’d say we’re even,” he grunted, ruffling your son’s spiky blond hair as he sat chewing on a toy grenade (definitely plastic).

Your son looked up at him with wide, mischievous eyes and suddenly let out a loud, clear—

“Boom.”

Silence.

You blinked. “Did he just—?”

Katsuki’s eyes widened. “No. No way. Say it again, brat.”

The baby giggled. “Boom!”

“Oh my god.”

Katsuki stood there frozen for a moment, and then his mouth curled into the smuggest grin you’d ever seen.

“That’s my boy.”

You threw a sock at his face. “Katsuki, his first word was ‘boom.’”

“I’m proud as hell.”

“He’s not a grenade!”

“He’s mine, so yes, he is.”

Your son squealed again. “Boom!”

Now he was bouncing.

“Stop encouraging him!” you said, even though you were trying not to laugh.

Bakugo squatted beside him and bumped their foreheads together gently. “Boom, huh? You’re gonna be a damn legend.”

You shook your head in disbelief, watching your two pyro-twins grin at each other like chaos incarnate.

Katsuki looked up at you, full of fire and affection. “Guess we know what kind of quirk he’s leanin’ toward.”

You groaned. “We are so not baby-proofed for explosions.”

Katsuki smirked. “Guess I better teach him control before he blows up the crib.”

Your baby babbled happily between them again. “Boom!”

Yeah. You were definitely raising a little dynamite.

And honestly? You wouldn’t have it any other way.

---

Age: 2 Years, 3 Months

Your son’s first day of daycare was supposed to be normal.

You’d packed his snacks, extra clothes, diapers, wipes, and left strict instructions that he was “sweet, a little stubborn, and very attached to his Bakugou-brand plushie.”

You also wrote in bold: “If he gets upset, avoid loud noises. They tend to... backfire.”

The teacher smiled politely. “We’ve handled all kinds of quirks. Don’t worry.”

You didn’t.

Until the phone call.

Three hours later.

Bakugo answered it on speaker.

“Hello, this is—uh—Miss Hikari from Little Hero Steps Daycare. We have a small situation.”

Katsuki’s eyes narrowed. “Is he hurt?”

“No! No, he’s fine. Perfectly fine. A little excited, actually…”

Your stomach dropped.

“…but the plastic slide may have, um... detonated.”

Katsuki let out a low snort. “He blew up the slide?”

“It was only the top half,” she added quickly. “And technically, it was more of a pop than a boom.”

You could feel Katsuki’s pride from across the kitchen.

“Are the other kids okay?” you asked, horrified.

“Yes! No injuries. He wasn’t upset, just… showing off. He said ‘Boom!’ and then—”

“That’s my son,” Bakugo said, folding his arms with a smug little smirk.

You elbowed him. “That is not a good thing.”

“Didn’t say it was bad either.”

When you arrived at the daycare, your son was sitting on a beanbag with three teachers around him—like he was some kind of dangerous celebrity.

His hair was wild, his cheeks were smudged with soot, and he looked way too pleased with himself.

“Mommy! Daddy!” he yelled, running over and nearly tripping on his own feet.

“Hey, you little menace,” Katsuki muttered, picking him up.

“Boom!” he chirped proudly, like it was his name.

One of the teachers came over, cautiously.

“We think his quirk is starting to develop. It’s... early, but very similar to yours, Mr. Bakugo.”

Katsuki beamed. “Damn right it is.”

You groaned. “Please tell me we’re not banned.”

The teacher laughed nervously. “No—though we’re investing in more fireproof playground equipment starting immediately.”

That night, after your son was passed out in his crib, soot still faintly dusting his forehead, you collapsed on the couch.

“He’s gonna be a handful,” you murmured, resting your head on Katsuki’s chest.

“Yeah,” he muttered, stroking your hair. “He’s gonna be a hell of a hero too.”

You smiled, eyes drifting closed as you listened to your husband’s heartbeat under your cheek—steady, strong, and forever explosive.

Just like the little boy down the hall.

---

You were pregnant. Again.

You hadn’t meant for it to happen quite so soon—not when your firstborn was still blowing up laundry baskets for fun and calling it “training.”

But the second those two pink lines appeared, your stomach flipped. Part nerves. Part excitement. And a lot of “oh god, how is Bakugo going to react?”

You told him on a quiet evening. Your son was asleep (finally) and the living room still smelled faintly of scorched Play-Doh.

You sat beside him, heart racing.

“I’m pregnant.”

Bakugo blinked. He looked at you. Then at your stomach. Then back at you.

“…Are you sure?”

You nodded, biting your lip.

He leaned forward slowly, resting a hand on your thigh like he thought the couch might explode.

“Holy shit.”

You laughed. “That’s… not the response I expected.”

He stared at your stomach for a long time before finally saying, softly, “You okay with this?”

“I’m scared. But yeah. I want this.”

He nodded, jaw tightening. “You nearly died last time.”

“I know.”

“You think I can do this again?” His voice cracked, barely above a whisper. “What if I lose you this time?”

You reached for his hand. “Then you hold me tighter and fight harder.”

Bakugo clenched his fists, then gently rested one palm on your belly.

“…You better be a chill baby,” he muttered. “I can’t handle two demolition experts at once.”

Your son found out a week later when he walked into the kitchen, pointed to your tiny bump, and said:

“BOOM 2?”

You choked on your orange juice. Katsuki burst out laughing.

From that point on, the baby was Boom 2 to him.

As the months passed, your second pregnancy felt... different. Easier in some ways, harder in others. Your son was older now, talking more, asking endless questions.

“Did I live in your belly too?”

“You did, baby.”

“Was I loud?”

“You screamed the whole time.”

He nodded proudly. “Boom!”

Katsuki didn’t stop worrying. Not for a second. Every time you winced, he was at your side. Every time you had a check-up, he came. He argued with nurses over your chart. Practically threatened the OB into promising you a safer delivery plan.

“I lost my shit once,” he told the doctor. “I’m not doing that again.”

One quiet night, a few weeks before your due date, he crawled into bed behind you and wrapped his arms around your belly, pulling you gently against his chest.

“Still scared,” he whispered against your skin.

“I know,” you whispered back.

“But I want this. I want all of this. You, him”—he nodded toward your sleeping toddler down the hall—“and this tiny bomb too.”

Your heart melted.

“I want them to know they’re loved,” he added, voice thick. “No matter how loud, or messy, or crazy it gets.”

“They’ll know,” you promised, turning to kiss him softly. “Because they have you.”

Katsuki didn’t answer. He just held you tighter, his hand on your belly.

And somewhere inside, Boom 2 kicked like they were already ready to make an entrance.

Just like their brother.

Just like their dad.

---

It started with a kick.

Not just any kick—one that rocked your whole body at 3:12 a.m.

You groaned, gripping the edge of the bed.

Katsuki shot up like a soldier under fire.

“Contraction?” he barked.

“Yep,” you hissed, breathing through it.

He was already moving—bag in hand, grabbing your shoes, shouting toward the baby monitor: “Stay asleep, Boom #1!”

This time around, the doctors were ready. And so was Katsuki.

Still, even as they guided you into the labor room, he was white-knuckling the edge of your bed, eyes locked on you like if he blinked, you’d vanish.

You reached for him.

“I’m okay,” you said between waves of pain. “I’m okay.”

“I’m not letting go of you this time,” he muttered, voice low, jaw clenched.

And he didn’t.

Not when your screams broke through the walls.

Not when the monitors started beeping faster.

Not when the doctor said, “We need to move quickly—cord’s wrapped.”

He held your hand through it all. Pressed his forehead to yours. Whispered every curse word in the book, followed by: “You’ve got this. You’re stronger than anyone I’ve ever met.”

And when the final cry rang out—

A high, sharp wail that cut through the air like lightning—

Bakugo exhaled like he’d been holding his breath for nine months straight.

“She’s perfect,” the nurse whispered.

“She?” you breathed, dazed.

Katsuki blinked. “A girl?”

They placed her on your chest—tiny, red, angry as hell. She immediately latched onto your hospital gown like she was ready to fight the world.

You laughed through tears. “She’s already like you.”

Katsuki stared at her.

Just stared.

His eyes—those wild, stormy eyes—were wide and full of wonder.

“You’re kidding me,” he whispered. “I’ve got a daughter.”

You reached for his hand. “You’ve got us.”

He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, then to your daughter’s.

“I swear on my damn life,” he whispered, “no one’s ever gonna mess with you.”

She let out a fierce little squeak.

And he smiled, completely undone.

An hour later, you were resting, and he was sitting by the bed with your baby girl tucked into the crook of his arm.

“Name?” you asked, eyes heavy but heart full.

He looked down at her, then at you.

“What about Kaori?” he said. “Strong. Bright. Means fragrance or light.”

You smiled. “Kaori Bakugo. It’s perfect.”

And for the first time that night, the hospital room felt still. Safe.

Because no matter how explosive your little family was becoming—

It was built on something unshakable.

Love. Fire. And a whole lot of Boom.

---

Two days after Kaori’s birth, you came home—sore, exhausted, but glowing. Kaori was tiny, sleepy, and wrapped like a burrito in her fuzzy explosion-patterned blanket that Katsuki insisted she wear home.

Your front door creaked open slowly.

Bakugo carried Kaori in with terrifying precision, like she was made of nitroglycerin.

Inside, your two-year-old son was standing barefoot in the hallway—holding a plastic grenade in one hand and a drawing in the other.

“Mommy!” he shouted, running at you.

You caught him one-armed, lifting him up, groaning slightly. “Easy, baby.”

Katsuki stood back, rocking gently with Kaori in his arms. “Hey, Boom #1,” he said softly. “Wanna meet your sister?”

Your son blinked, looking at the tiny pink bundle.

“That’s her?”

“Yup.”

“She looks squishy.”

“She is,” you said, chuckling. “Gentle, okay?”

He padded over on tiptoes, peering up at her like she was some sort of sacred relic.

“…She doesn’t go boom?”

“Let’s hope not,” Katsuki muttered.

“She’s your baby sister,” you explained. “Her name is Kaori.”

He tilted his head. “Can I keep her?”

Katsuki smirked. “She’s not a pet.”

“But I love her already,” your son said proudly. Then leaned close and whispered (as if it were a spell): “Boom.”

Kaori stirred slightly… and farted.

A loud one.

Your son lost it.

“SHE DOES BOOM TOO!” he screamed.

Katsuki nearly dropped her from laughing so hard. “Oh god. She’s already like you.”

You all settled in the living room. Kaori slept peacefully on Katsuki’s chest while your son built a pillow fort and declared it the "Boom Base."

“She can live in the base with me,” he announced.

“She’s not old enough for base life yet,” you said.

“I’ll protect her,” he added matter-of-factly. “From monsters. And spiders. And broccoli.”

You looked over at Katsuki, who was watching the two of them with a look you’d only ever seen twice before: once on your wedding day, and once when your son took his first steps.

“Didn’t think I could love more than I already did,” he murmured. “But damn.”

You scooted closer and leaned into him, Kaori safe between you.

“Looks like we’re officially a team of four.”

“Correction,” Katsuki said. “We’re a squad.”

A very loud, occasionally explosive, wildly chaotic squad.

And honestly? You wouldn’t trade it for the world.

779 notes · View notes

kabbagekales · 6 days ago

Note

Hi! I don’t know if your requests are open or not, if they aren’t feel free to ignore this lol

I absolutely LOVE your dad!bakugou fics and I have always wondered what it would be like if he and the reader have a son who looks just like his dad but is totally a mama’s boy. Like he wants to be glued to her all the time and when Bakugou tries to do something with him he looks at him with that judgmental attitude JUST like his own.

Like Father, Unlike Son

Bakugou x Reader | Dad!Bakugou | Fluff + Humor

Katsuki Bakugou had dreamed of having a kid that looked just like him.

And now that he had one — a blond-haired, red-eyed little menace who carried his scowl like a birthright — he wasn’t so sure it was a good idea.

Because this child? This three-year-old with the attitude of a seasoned pro hero and the death glare of a war general? Was one hundred percent a mama’s boy.

"Mamaaaaaa," your son whined, arms upstretched as you stirred the curry. "I wanna help you, not him."

Katsuki stood a few feet away, holding a small bowl and a wooden spoon like they were foreign objects. "Tch. I just said you could help me stir the rice, brat."

Your son blinked at him slowly — coldly. Like Bakugou had just suggested he eat broccoli dipped in mustard. Then he looked back at you with those same narrowed eyes.

“I don’t wanna,” he muttered. “Daddy’s too loud.”

Bakugou twitched. “I am not loud—”

“Yes you are,” your son interrupted with your patient tone, like he’d done this argument a thousand times. “Mama says you don’t have to yell for people to listen.”

You covered your mouth with your hand to stop the laugh that threatened to spill. Your husband snapped his head toward you.

“The hell are you teachin’ him?!”

“I don’t teach him anything,” you said, amused. “He just watches you.”

Their glares matched. Arms crossed, brows furrowed, identical little pouts on their mouths. It was uncanny. Like watching someone fight with a younger, ruder version of himself.

Katsuki pointed a spatula at your son. “Oi. You’re gonna help me stir this rice or I’m eating all the dessert myself.”

Your son gasped. "Mama, he’s being mean again!”

You sighed, scooping him into your arms effortlessly. “You know your daddy’s just grumpy because you look like him but you act like me.”

“I do act like you,” he said smugly, curling into your chest like a kitten. “That’s ‘cause you’re the nice one.”

Bakugou threw down the spatula. “That’s it. He’s not mine. He’s Deku’s kid now.”

“You take that back!” your son shouted from your arms — and Bakugou froze as that trademark angry scowl suddenly turned on him.

It was like looking into a mirror. A judgmental, tiny, mom-loving mirror.

“…Shit,” Bakugou muttered. “I am raising myself.”

200 notes · View notes

kabbagekales · 6 days ago

Note

HII! Could you do Katsuki x Fem reader, where she had very long hair, and one day got a pixie cut, I feel like he loves women with short hair..

"Shattered Strands, Soft Sparks"

Katsuki Bakugou x Fem!Reader

Word count: ~3,200

It had taken you a year to grow it out.

Long, silken strands that reached the small of your back. It flowed like honey down your spine when wet, a curtain of warmth that draped over your shoulders in the cold, something Katsuki had—more than once—braided clumsily when he thought you were asleep on the couch.

And you liked it. Once.

But there was something about letting it go that felt… freeing. Like you were peeling off a layer of yourself you didn’t need anymore. That girl with the careful trims and long, polished waves—she was tired. And maybe a little lonely inside all that softness. You didn’t want soft anymore. You wanted air. Ease. Edge.

So you sat in the chair at the salon and said, “Cut it. Pixie.”

The stylist hesitated. “All of it?”

You smiled. “Every last inch.”

---

The second you stepped out onto the street, your head felt ten pounds lighter. You barely recognized the breeze sweeping your neck, and the sun kissed the back of your ears like it was meeting them for the first time.

People noticed. Whiplash glances. Stares. A few approving nods.

But the one opinion you cared about most was going to be the hardest to get. Because Katsuki Bakugou—your gloriously, frustratingly explosive boyfriend—was not a man who gave compliments freely. Or at all, really. You had to earn them through battlefield blood or kitchen victories. And even then, they were quiet, almost begrudging things.

You had no idea how he’d react.

Still, you walked into the shared apartment with your chin high and keys jangling in your hand like armor.

“Katsuki?” you called.

His voice came from the kitchen. “You better not have forgotten the—”

And then he turned.

Stopped dead in the middle of pulling a pan off the stove.

The silence that followed could have been mistaken for fear—except Katsuki Bakugou didn’t get scared. He stared, eyes narrowed, jaw clenched, like you’d punched him in the gut with a glitter bomb.

You stood in the doorway, hands in the pockets of your bomber jacket, trying not to shrink under that gaze.

“Well?” you said. “Say something.”

He didn’t move.

Didn’t blink.

Then—

“You let someone hack your hair off?”

You winced. “Ouch. Not exactly the reaction I was hoping for.”

He slammed the pan down and stalked toward you, boots thudding on the hardwood. You stood your ground even though your heart stuttered with every step he took.

“You had that shit since high school,” he said, stopping just in front of you. “You used to bitch about split ends like they were personal betrayals. Now you just... chopped it all off?”

You exhaled through your nose. “It’s hair, Katsuki. It’ll grow back.”

He didn’t speak.

Just stared.

You tried again, voice quieter. “I needed a change.”

“Change?” he echoed like the word was foreign.

“Yes. Change. I felt like I was hiding behind it.”

He scoffed. “You weren’t hiding from me.”

“I know that,” you snapped, suddenly defensive. “This wasn’t about you.”

His eyes flickered at that. Something softened in them—barely—but it was enough for you to keep going.

“I didn’t do it to impress anyone. I didn’t do it to ‘make a statement.’ I just… wanted to feel different. Lighter. Like myself again.” You looked down, then forced your gaze back to his. “Do you hate it?”

He didn’t answer.

Instead, he reached up slowly—like you might bolt—and touched the side of your head. His fingers slid along the curve of your ear, grazing the freshly exposed skin behind it. Then up, brushing through the short strands at your temple.

“You look... sharp,” he muttered.

You blinked. “Sharp?”

He pulled back, face twisted like the word had betrayed him. “Yeah. Like—you could cut glass with that jawline. Or kill a man with a look. And I mean that shit respectfully.”

You blinked again.

Then laughed.

It burst out of you in a startled wave, and his scowl only deepened.

“Don’t laugh,” he grumbled, turning away. “I’m being fuckin’ serious. You look like one of those Bond girls who walks in and everyone dies two minutes later.”

You doubled over.

“Why the hell is that funny?!”

“Because,” you wheezed, “you basically just told me I look like a badass assassin and expected me not to melt.”

He looked at you out of the corner of his eye. “Well, don’t melt. You’ll ruin the effect.”

You straightened up, cheeks sore from smiling. “So… you like it?”

He didn’t answer immediately. Then—

“...I love it.”

Your heart did something traitorous in your chest. “Yeah?”

Katsuki shrugged, arms crossed, looking like he wanted to explode just to avoid saying what came next.

“I mean—I’ve always thought chicks with short hair looked hot as hell. Kinda hoped you’d try it someday. But I didn’t wanna say anything and make it seem like I gave a shit.”

Your lips parted. “You did give a shit.”

He looked away, ears pink. “Shut up.”

You stepped closer, tilting your head just enough that your hair—short, soft, feathery—brushed his jaw when you leaned in.

“Well,” you murmured, “I’m glad you like it.”

He grabbed your waist with both hands and yanked you in like gravity had given him permission. “Yeah,” he muttered into your neck, voice low and rough. “It’s real fuckin’ distracting.”

You grinned. “Gonna be a problem?”

He tugged your earlobe with his teeth. “Definitely.”

---

Later, he braided the back—what little he could—just for old time’s sake. It was a mess, crooked and barely held with a tiny clip, but he muttered, “It’s tradition,” and refused to let you fix it.

And as you curled into him on the couch, head light and heart full, you realized you didn’t feel like a different person at all.

Just more you.

And Katsuki—well, he hadn’t fallen for the hair.

He’d fallen for the girl who cut it off without fear.

174 notes · View notes

kabbagekales · 8 days ago

Note

Hiii can you do one where like Katsuki is mad at reader but reader is trying not to laugh while he’s yelling at her ( idk bru I’m bored )

Aww this one is lowkey cute hope y’all love it!!!

“You look way too cute when you are mad”

“You’re an idiot. A total, actual idiot,” Katsuki snapped, pacing back and forth in front of you like his feet were about to set the ground on fire. “What the hell were you thinking—charging in like that?! You could’ve gotten yourself killed!”

You sat on the bench outside the training room, casually swinging your legs while sipping from your water bottle, trying very, very hard not to laugh.

Because god—he was mad.

And flustered.

And sweaty.

And so stupidly hot while yelling at you.

His hair was messier than usual, sticking up in all directions, eyes blazing like he wanted to set the whole hallway on fire just so you’d learn your “lesson.” His hands kept gesturing wildly like his words weren’t enough, and his voice—gravelly and furious—kept cracking just slightly at the ends.

And instead of being scared or even apologetic like a normal person—

You were swooning.

“And don’t give me that stupid smile,” he growled, glaring at you.

“I’m not smiling.”

“You’re literally smiling.”

Your cheeks puffed a bit, trying to hold it in. “I’m not—I’m listening.”

He marched right up to you now, arms crossed, towering over you with that signature Bakugo intensity. “You could’ve gotten blown to bits, you reckless dumbass—why aren’t you taking this seriously?!”

And that’s when it hit you.

The little scrunch between his brows. The way his lips were tugged in the corner. The flushed look on his cheeks—not just from anger but from caring too damn much.

He looked—

So kissable.

You stood up.

He blinked. “What the hell are you—”

And you kissed him.

Right in the middle of his sentence.

Your hands slipped up the sides of his neck and you melted into him with that easy, heart-racing confidence. He went stiff for a half-second, completely short-circuiting, before making a low sound in his throat and kissing you back like it physically hurt him not to.

When you pulled away, dazed and breathless, his eyes were blown wide.

“I swear to god—” he started, but his voice cracked.

You smirked. “You were just… too cute. Couldn’t help myself.”

“CUTE?!” he barked.

You kissed him again just to shut him up.

Worked like a charm.

463 notes · View notes

kabbagekales · 8 days ago

Text

childhood friends, feat. shoto todoroki

"Your hair looks cool," was the first thing the student sitting beside him said.

Shoto turned slightly to look at you, squinting as you only smiled wider. Even at the tender age of five years old, Shoto had learned to be wary of others after a lot of long and painful learning experiences. His face burned with the phantom pain of boiling water.

His mother used to home-school him but after.. the incident, he'd been sent to the best private school near his home like the rest of his siblings. His father had hated the decision, but with his work as a pro-hero, there was no possible way for him to teach Shoto (and a tutor would ask far too many questions).

But as wary as Shoto was, he was still a polite child, so he nodded at you and said a soft, "Thank you." No mumbling. Father hates mumbling.

He thought that would be the end of it, but you seemed persistent to say the least. Kicking your small feet and not at all put off by his lackluster response, you continue talking. "It's like - candy canes. Or toothpaste. Why is it like that?"

"I don't know." Shoto responds, going back to tracing the kanji of his name into the paper over and over, pressing the pencil down gently. Your page is filled with more doodles than actual kanji. How do you expect to keep up if you slack off? This one of the top-rated schools in Japan for a reason. "You should do your work. You'll fall behind." He advises, looking back at the your face after the cursory glance at your paper.

You droop, slouching over your page like Shoto is ordering you to go to war for Japan, not finish your worksheet. "I guess you're right," you sigh, picking up your pencil again to actually do some work. Shoto feels a hint of satisfaction, glad to be rid of the distraction from his own work.

But of course, it doesn't last long. Most six year olds are known for being stubborn, and as soon as the teacher lets the class go on for break, you have latched on to his side like a leech. You stand when he stands and follow him outside to the play area, filled with swings, slides and sandboxes galore. The school doesn't let its standards fall in any way shape or form after all and the place looks like it's been plucked straight from a child's fantasies.

"What's your name?" You ask, long after the other children have split into their usual groups, tilting your head, the spring breeze ruffling your hair this way and that. "Why did you come here in the middle of the year? The teacher said you were home-schooled, what's that mean, was it fun?"

"Todoroki Shoto." He only bothers answering the first question, the endless barrage of others could be answered later if you kept repeating them. "What's yours?"

You tell him proudly, grinning brighter than the sun that's shining down on the two of you. Like it's something exciting, an accomplishment to do something as simple as say your name. Your enthusiasm is simultaneously exhausting and intriguing. None of his siblings have the same sparkle, the same boundless cheer, the lack of paranoia. You stand, proud and bold with a hand to your chest as you proclaim your name not just to Shoto, but to the world.

It reminds him absurdly of All Might. And that's when he decides he likes you.

Throughout the day, you yammer on to him about your lunch, about school, your friends, cartoons, your favourite colour. Anything you think of, you say. You don't think as much he does, but he finds himself admiring it. At least you seem content with his hums and nods of acknowledgement even if he sometimes can't keep up with the sheer amount of conversation.

When his siblings come over to the pick-up area since Endeavour demanded that they all walk home with Shoto, they seem a little.. shocked to see you. You're rocking back and forth on the heels of your little shoes, talking animatedly to their aloof little brother.

Fuyumi smiles gently and crouches down in front of the two of you, Natsuo and Touya peering over her shoulder. Natsuo looks intrigued, but Touya just looks bored.

"Hi there," Fuyumi says sweetly, gray eyes sparkling at the sight of her little Shoto with a friend. You introduce yourself just as excitedly as you had done earlier with Shoto, even as Touya taps his foot rapidly on the ground with a scoff, anxious to just get home. Shoto doesn't seem to share the same sentiment and as the group of siblings leave, he's trudging behind them while Touya and Natsuo push each other with giggles and Fuyumi snaps at them to, "cut it out!"

He looks back at you.

You smile.

He turns away.

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°••°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

The seasons go by far too slow and far too fast at the same time. As the sweltering summer heat beats down, Shoto seems to melt at your persistence to be his friend. No one has ever tried so hard for him before. He was starting to think no one ever would.

Every summer, he melts more and more, but even so he never invites you to come over and he rejects all your offers to invite him. At most, he'll hang around the pick-up area with you, lingering until Touya yells over his shoulder for Shoto to hurry up, and he'll dart away again. Like water, the product of the combination of his quirks, he slips between your fingers, seeping out every time you think you finally have a good grasp on him. Or maybe you're foolish to think that you could contain him, hold him in your hands at all.

Despite this, he's your best friend, and you're his only friend (that isn't his siblings).

At ten years old, you wander through the neighbourhood park, bored of the never-ending game of tag that the other kids were playing. You were more content to look up at the way the sunlight fell through the tree leaves, making their veins stand out and the green seem just that little bit brighter. You're examining the daisies when you hear, the distinct flat, unexpressive tone of Shoto's voice, the slow pronounciation of every syllable.

Your head snaps up towards the sound. What would Shoto be doing here? He never really goes anywhere except his house or school, so it doesn't make sense to you. Pushing yourself off the ground and not bothering to brush the grass off your knees, you go to investigate, marching off with righteous annoyance. Seriously, if Shoto can go to park, surely he can hang out with you, at least once!

Pushing past branches and delving deeper into the trees, you nearly stumble when you finally make it through to a clearing, the ground suddenly evening out under your now-dirty shoes. In fact, you do stumble, twisting so that you fall on your back instead of your face. It doesn't really hurt, you're just.. covered in twigs and dirt now. Great. Your mom's going to be so mad.

You open your eyes to see Shoto's upside-down face staring at you, hair falling into his eyes and he's sillhouetted by the sun. His expression is blank as ever, but you swear you see a flicker of amusement dancing in his eyes and the corners of his mouth twitch up.

"Are you alright?" He asks, moving so that he can help you up. His siblings are there too and already looking at you, and you feel a blotchy flush rise and spread throughout your face at the intense scrutinization. "Fine," you try to sound unaffacted, but the effect is ruined by Shoto casually picking a twig out of your hair that you didn't know was there. "Just fine."

All of them look away from you then except Shoto, the older ones huddling in a circle to whisper frantically. Touya throws you a glare that's more worried than angry, Natsuo is hunched like he's trying to make himself smaller, and Fuyumi is glancing around like she's expecting the shadows to come to life. Or maybe she's expecting a person to stomp through the trees, leaving them blazing in his wake.

You won't understand what that frantic whispering was about, why they all looked so stressed at having you there. You won't understand why they all looked so fearful until it's far too late to do anything about it. But years later, this memory will make you feel sick with guilt, even if right now all you feel is upset about the big kids excluding you and Shoto.

You turn to your best friend expectantly, crossing your arms with the most authoritative glare you can muster, as if telling to him to explain himself. He does, even if you weren't really all that intimidating with dirt on your clothes and leaves in your hair.

"Father's on a business trip." He starts, staring at his siblings who are still in their huddle and throwing suspicious glances back at you, as if they're expecting you to sell them out to Endeavour. "Natsu-nii wanted to play catch with all of us together, for once."

You frown, confusion etched into your features, but before you can ask anything Shoto's oldest brother comes over. "Hey kid," he leans down, glancing around surreptitiously. "Listen, if you promise not to tell anyone we're here, you can play catch with us. You just have to not tell anyone. Got it?"

You look up at him and solemnly nod, even if you're buzzing with excitement about hanging out with Shoto outside of school. "Pinky promise!" You vow, holding up your pinky. Touya blinks unsurely, but Fuyumi laughs, her shoulders loosening as the stress melts away. She links your pinkies together, giving you a secretive smile, and you can't help but beam.

"Think fast!" You whirl around to see Natsuo throwing the ball at you with vigor, eyes shining in the summer sun. You immediately turn and pass to Shoto after fumbling the catch, and he looks at you with confusion, like he was expecting to just watch.

"I won't let you sit on the sidelines and watch us play!" You scoff, like it's obvious, motioning for him to pass the ball to someone else.

His face is blank for a moment, then it splits into something different entirely. An actual, real, wobbly smile goes across his face, two-toned eyes lighting up, his hair more messy than usual. He grips the ball with childish determination, still looking straight at you, and you feel your heart flutter strangely.

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°°•°•°•°•°

The autumn of the year you and Shoto turn thirteen sweeps in rapidly.

Suddenly, trees stand bare and naked in the evening chill, orange leaves in piles at their cold roots, branches arching for the sky like they're reaching for solace that they won't find, not until spring arrives again. The warm, sticky days of childhood are gone, and it'll only get more bitter and colder as you grow. The sting of ice and snow will bite at your skin soon, but for now you can relish in the rare warm nights that are scattered throughout the autumn season.

You're both old enough to be trusted to walk home yourselves, old enough to have phones, old enough to have knowledge and awareness, old enough for change. And with that new-found independence comes sickening realisations about the scar on Shoto's eye, the bruises that appear on his pale skin. An ugly purple fading to a twisted green and then finally healing, just for another to end up on his face a week later.

You don't want it to be what it is so you don't ask and he doesn't tell you.

"Sho?" You ask, breath almost fogging in the afternoon air, though it's so dark that it looks more like evening.

He hums in his usual way, his gaze turning to your face as you hesitate before you ask.

"Would you.. want to hang out tonight?"

You feel the rope around your heart grow tighter as he looks away, but not quick enough to hide the guilt that paints his face. You two text, you see each other in school everyday, but things are going to change soon. Middle school is nearly over, and everyone knows Todoroki Shoto is going to UA. You've been thinking about it too, quite a lot in fact, but you just can't see a world where you're a hero. Your quirk isn't all that useful and definitely not as outrageously powerful as Shoto's is. Sure, you're smart. You could make it into the General Education Course, the Management Course, maybe even the Support Course. But you know you won't make the cut for the Hero Course.

And you're not sure that's what you want to do with your life. Just follow Shoto wherever he goes, do what he does. And even if you do get into UA, you'll see him at lunch at the most. Are you really willing to give up another pathway where you could thrive just to see Shoto for thirty minutes a day?

("Yes," a traitorous, small part of you whispers, "yes you are.")

"I'm sorry," he starts, snapping you out of your thoughts. "I have.. training."

You both know what training means.

But it's starting to hit you now. In a year, he'll be gone. There'll be no more walks home after school, speedy runs to the gas station shop, kicking pebbles in comfortable silence. You won't see his eyes light up when you pass him a candy you know he's not allowed, when you pick him as your partner in dumb school projects. He won't be there to smile that private smile that's just for you. He'll smile it at someone else, a new best friend, and they'll be heroes together and you'll be left behind -

"Then I'll wait." You don't realise the words are coming out of your mouth until you've said them, but you're not backing down now. Your mouth is set into a harsh, stubborn line, even as Shoto looks at you like you're crazy.

"You'll.. wait." He repeats slowly. "You do know how long my training sessions are-"

"I know." Your jaw clenches and you swallow loudly. "I don't care."

He looks.. flabbergasted is the only word for it. He opens his mouth like he wants to convince you not to, but all he says is. "There's no guarantee I'll be allowed out afterwards."

You flounder for a moment before straightening again, looking him dead in the eyes before telling him. "Then I'll wait by your window. You must have a ladder. I'll climb up, and I'll wait for you."

It seems you've shocked him again, but this time a pink tint rises to his pale cheeks as he looks at the ground, contemplating. Or maybe it's a trick of the light.

"That's the second time you've said that. That you'll wait for me." He says, tone forcibly casual.

"Because I would. Why wouldn't I? You're my best friend."

He nods then, slowly at first, but then more assuredly. It's not a full 'yes', but it's not a no either, and that's good enough for you.

(You freeze your ass off on that ladder, shivering as the cold wind blows around you. But it's worth it when Shoto cracks open the window and looks down at you, face blank, but eyes shining in the low light, sparkling with some unreadable emotion. Happiness maybe. Even after all these years, it's difficult to decipher every one of his expressions, but you know that you like this one.)

Your parents yell at you when you come home late, but it's worth it.

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

Your sixteenth winter arrives, and with it comes separation. Texting really isn't the same. Trudging home with wet snow soaking through your shoes, you can't help but miss the warmth Shoto had brought to your life. He doesn't even come home anymore with the new dorms system. You know he visits his mother now, uses his fire now, smiles and talks more now, has friends other than you now and the thing is, he deserves it. After so many years of isolation and loneliness and grief and pain, he's changing for the better and you're happy for him.

But.

He used to grow with you, by your side as much as he could be. Your best friend and you were his in turn, and he changed and you adjusted and it wasn't perfect of course, people fight and argue, but you'd always drift back to him and he'd come back to you. The leaves of a tree change each season, green, then orange, then no leaves at all - but the roots remain intertwined with the soil, far too twisted and tangled up to even think of uprooting.

You and Shoto were growing up. And you might even be growing apart.

You don't say any of that on the voicemail you're currently recording though. It's become your routine now, sending a voicemail to Shoto that's at least an hour long, updating him on people he used to know, you, Fuyumi and Natsuo and Touya-

Sometimes you forget that Touya's gone. It's just so habitual to list him when you list the Todoroki siblings.

Your breath fogs up, voice echoing off the empty, icy streets. "You'll never believe it Sho," you start, as you keep walking home. "You remember Hayato from middle school, right? He got expelled. Yeah, you heard me, expelled. I mean, he wasn't that terrible that he needed to be expelled, at least that's what I think-"

You end the voicemail when you reach home, the beep sounding uncomfortably final in the silent house.

(Shoto lies back on the tatami mats. Today was long. Bakugo was particularly loud and angry, he couldn't seem to focus in class, his lunch order was messed up, and he was distracted all day.

But none of it seems so bad when he hits play on the most recent voicemail and your voice fills his ears. He relaxes almost instinctually at this point, your voice having become a staple in his night time routine. He usually falls asleep halfway through the messages, but in the morning he picks up where he left off while he gets ready. He enjoys it. It's like he's still right there, close to you, by your side. It's proof that you aren't forgetting him.

"I've been trying to convince Fuyumi to move out. Honestly, I'm not sure why she even stays, you aren't there and neither is Natsuo and she definitely has enough money to get her own apartment. You should tell her too, she's more likely to listen to you than me-"

He doesn't want you to forget.)

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

At the end of winter comes the thaw. Ice melts, flowers bloom, birds sing and the Earth returns to being the lively, loving thing it was always meant to be, no longer hidden away under layers of compact snow and slippery ice.

You and Shoto have thawed too. Twelve years is a long time to be someone's best friend, their person, and maybe you two drifted closer then further away again, but your roots are still intertwined. Nothing can change that.

The UA graduation ceremony was beautiful. The pink leaves of sakura trees were just starting to fall on to the trimmed grass, Class 1A is lined up with smiling faces and loud laughter echoes across the school grounds. You stand in the crowd, grinning like you're the one who's graduating, clapping far too loud and enthusiastically, enough that a few people turn around to give you strange looks. You don't really care and Shoto doesn't seem to mind. It's the two of you after all, and it always has been.

The walk through the park where you and Shoto played catch together for the first time is calm. The weather is warm with a faint breeze that rustles his hair, messing up the usually perfect part and you can't help but chuckle.

"What?" He asks, turning to you with a smile that comes far more easily these days, his hair mussed up even more due to the action.

"Nothing!" You raise your hands placatingly, "Just.." You reach up in lieu of an answer, leaning forward to try and fix the mess that his hair has become, red and white strands mixed haphazardly. He stills under your gentle hands, those grey and blue eyes looking down at you like he can see straight into your soul. Now it's your turn to ask, "What?"

He doesn't respond, not for a long moment, but when you try and step away after giving up on his hair, his hands closes around your wrist. It's not a harsh grip, it's loose in fact, barely there. He's not holding you in place, not forcing you to stay close. It's a silent request more than it is a demand, calloused finger running gently over the inside of your wrist until he finds your steady pulse. He's still staring at you, like you put the stars in the sky, like you placed the water on the Earth, like you're some kind of deity.

You swallow, harsh enough that you're sure he can hear it.

"You were my first friend." He starts, still standing too close to you, like this is all normal. "I've always been.. grateful, for that."

"You don't have to be grateful," you reply automatically, unable to stop yourself from swaying closer as the breeze grows sharper, cooler. His hand is warm, sweaty even, shaking a little. "I'm glad I was. You're my best friend."

"You're mine too," he says softly, like it's a secret, the words almost carried away by the wind.

You're not sure who moves first. But then, lips are on yours, his hand is gripping your wrist a little tighter, the other is sliding into your hair and clinging, like he can't let go - no, like he's not willing to let go.

It's everything you've ever wanted. It's just so Shoto, awkward, sweet and slow and gentle, like you and him have got all the time in the world. Who knows. Maybe you do.

His face is flushed when he pulls away, looking down at you with that same terribly loving and awestruck expression that makes your heart twist and makes you want to hide away.

"I don't want to be your friend." He blurts out, words coming out in a rush, his hands still in your hair and around your wrist. You feel your stomach sink before he continues. "I want to - I want to be more than that to you. I've wanted to be more for, for a long time now." And then your stomach is swoopong back up again and your heart is beating in your throat and your face is burning red.

".. a long time?" You breathe out, repeating his words in a whisper, like if you don't they'll disappear.

"Yes." And he sounds so sure now, so devoted to this, that you can't help but kiss him again as the answer to his unsaid question.

Intertwined. Together. Like you were always meant to be.

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

inspired by @kitkat13001's post abt todoroki, it was so cute I literally had to write this. this is probably so out of character LOL i haven't watched mha since 2020 but i just got so invested in this that i wrote it in one sitting. well done for making it this far, this is long as heck, im sorry!! pls lmk if u liked it haha, i live for constructive criticism and praise. hope i did this justice and go check out kitkats stuff, its really good!!

317 notes · View notes

kabbagekales · 10 days ago

Text

At age 33 Bakugou has seen some shit. He's gotten older although he has aged liked a fine wine.

Or perhaps like a bourbon or whisky.

He comes home, growling and fighting with his steel toed boots. Cracking his neck and back as he stretches, taking off grenade belts and locking them up in the safe by the door.

"DADDY!" His kids screech as they run for him. Almost knocking the pro hero from his feet as he scoops them into his arms, they cling to his biceps for dear life.

"Oi I told you brats not to bombard me right as I get home. I barely put the danger away." He growls but all the while you can see the sparkle in his eyes as he looks at his little girl and his little boy. Giving each a kiss on their forhead while they giggle and give a half hearted apology.

"Sowwyyyy" they don't mean it and the thought makes you giggle aloud, they'll do the same thing like they do every day.

"Oi, oi what's so funny?" He snaps, carrying his spawns as the girl starts to treat him like a jungle gym. Hanging from his frame and swinging while her older brother curls into his father's neck. Having missed him while he was out all day. You wonder if Bakugou's beard scratches at your son's face. Smirking as you spot the grays that pepper his whiskers and wind blown hair.

"Nothing." You say as a cat smile blooms on your face, "Nothing at all."

"Daddy, daddy can we help you cook today?!" The girl yells, climbing onto his shoulders, almost kicking her brother in the face as she bends down to scream in his ear. Bakugou visibly jars, jerking his head away while grabbing onto her foot to prevent a black eye.

"Mindful of your brother baby." He says, "Yes you can help. Let Daddy stretch."

He picks up his daughter by the back of her shirt, like a cat with scruff and gently places her on the floor as he makes his way to bend over to set his son down more gently.

Bakugou found out the hard way that his son is more sensitive.

"Do you need to stretch now cause your bones are turning to dust, old man?" The bright eyed daughter inquires. You bust out laughing, encouraging her as your son begins to get weepy.

"Daddy is turning to dust?!" He cries, curling deeper into his father as his arms wrap tightly around Bakugou's thick neck. Tightly enough he almost chokes.

"Oi oi!" He rubs his large hand across his son's small back, "No one is turning to dust baby."

His voice is soft and you're falling in love with him all over again. After your son has calmed down Bakugou sets his tiny bare feet to the ground before his daughter launches at him.

"Tag you're it!" She knows it always cheers him up because he is the faster of the two. He lunges as she runs away squeeling with delight. While your kids share a game of impromptu tag Bakugou comes closer to you. Pulling you into his strong arms as the day clings to his skin. The sweat and dirt from the day streaking his face as he leans in for a kiss.

"I'm home." His lips twitch into a devilish smirk, "Lemme shower and I'll start dinner."

"We prepped for you today. So it should be easy." You place a peck. Fully expecting him to pull away. But he doesn't. Your pouty lips still getting the best of him as his fingers entangle in your hair at the nape of your neck. Deepening the kiss as his tongue slides across yours. He pulls back enough to just let his lips press against yours.

"EWWWWWWW!" Both of your kids shout in unison you both pull away but Bakugou keeps you pressed to him in his strong arms. .

"Momma's got cooties now!" Your daughter yells and when you notices your son's nose scrunched up both you and Bakugou can't help but laugh.

"Damn right Momma has cooties." He jumps away from you into a hunched over stance, "And now I'm gonna get you two."

They scream with delight, wanting the tickles and scratchy kisses on their foreheads but not wanting to be caught so easily. Bakugou chases after them and you hear when they get caught by the shrill screech that echoes through the house. The laughter that follows fills your heart, tears gather in your eyes as you sigh. Wishing you could bottle that sound, these past few moments forever.

You bite your lip to keep from crying as he saunters back with the kids tucked to his frame. Their little fists playfully hitting at his abs. It looks as if he's caught some villains. You can't help the shake in your shoulders. Your heart could burst from the love and the joy you're living.

Instantly the three of them notice the tears. Bakugou let's them down so they can hug your legs and he pulls the three of you safely into his arms.

"What's wrong?" They say, Bakugou's hands rubbing your back and the kids notice. Rubbing your legs as they imitate their dad.

"Yea why is momma sad?" Your daughter asks, her eyes starting to water too, your son is already starting to sniffle. You place your hands on their heads.

"Oh babies, Momma isn't sad. Momma is just..." You let a watery smile steal your features, not knowing your kids will remember what you said next fondly even as they age and well after you pass.

"I'm just so in love with my family."

3K notes · View notes