Warnings: Angst to Fluff, Canon Divergence (College/University AU), Temporary Character Death (Implied/Feared), Severe Motor Vehicle Accident (Off-screen/On News), Detailed Descriptions of Injuries (Road Rash, Dislocation, Concussion), Hospitalization & Medical Sedation, Emotional Breakdown/Panic, Mutual Confessions, and Hurt/Comfort.
A/N: hehe >:3 kicking my feet and crying rn. guysguys- I made (y/n) mixed because I recently met a Japanese Filipina that made me short circuit. The vision was right there in front of me
The neon sign of the campus diner buzzed with a low, irritating hum that Katsuki Bakugo could feel right in the marrow of his teeth. It was a Tuesday afternoon, the worst kind of day—sandwiched between the weekend's lingering exhaustion and the impending dread of late-week midterms. He was aggressively stabbing a fry into a puddle of ketchup, his jaw locked in its usual state of perpetual agitation, while the rest of the table dissolved into their typical chaotic chatter.
They were all there, crowding into a vinyl booth that was technically meant for four people but currently held five, with Katsuki shoved into the corner against the cold glass of the window. Kirishima was actively trying to steal Mina's onion rings, which resulted in a minor skirmish involving plastic forks, while Sero lounged across the back of the seat, his eyes glued to his phone. Next to him, Jiro was nursing a iced coffee, one of her wired earbuds hooked and dangling on her ear while the other remained firmly wedged in her ear to block out Kaminari’s loud, animated retelling of a video game tournament he’d lost the night before.
It was loud. It was annoying. It was exactly how their college days had played out since they all moved from the strict, suffocating structure of their academy days into the lawless expanse of university life as juniors.
But there was a glaring, empty space at the end of the booth. An open spot where a helmet usually sat, its dark visor reflecting the greasy lights of the diner, right next to a black leather jacket smelling faintly of expensive vanilla perfume, asphalt, and the sharp, minty tang of a vape.
"She’s late," Katsuki growled, his voice a gravelly snap that immediately cut through Denki’s rambling. He didn't need to specify who she was. Everyone at the table knew exactly who his internal radar was always tracking.
"When is she not?" Mina laughed, finally abandoning her defense of the onion rings to swipe a lock of pink-dyed hair out of her eyes. "Relax, Baku-bro. You know how she is. She probably slept through her 11:00 AM lecture, which means she's currently doing sixty down the interstate to make it here."
"She didn't sleep through it," Jiro chimed in, not looking up from her phone. "She texted me at 10:00 AM. She was already out. Said she was going to clear her head before she had to sit through three hours of macroeconomics. Though, knowing her, she probably aced the pre-quiz without even looking at the textbook."
Katsuki let out a sharp, derisive snort, turning his gaze out the window to watch the gray campus quad. It irritated him to his core—how easily you moved through life, how effortlessly you managed to break every single rule of a conventional "good student" while still pulling a GPA that rivaled his own. You were, by all traditional standards, a terrible influence. You were the girl his mother would have warned him about if Mitsuki hadn't already met you years ago and instantly adopted you into her heart because you were the only person who could match Katsuki’s temper with a lazy, unbothered smirk.
You didn't go to half the classes. You spent your nights at crowded, sweaty house parties, a cigarette tucked behind your ear or a vape cloud trailing behind you as you laughed with people you barely knew yet got along with swell. You had a reputation that preceded you—the girl with the striking, intricate Japanese arm sleeve that paid fierce, beautiful homage to your roots, stretching down to your wrist in bold black and gray ink, and the sharp, geometric Filipino sun tattooed across your shoulder blades, a proud marker of your heritage that peeked out whenever you wore backless tops to the clubs.
You were a walking contradiction. An untamed force that rode a heavy, dark sports bike, making a name for yourself on an Instagram account where you posted aesthetic helmet content—tucking your dark hair into the padding, looking effortlessly lethal and intoxicatingly hot as you cruised down the freeway. You never rode like a maniac; you were actually careful, maintaining moderate, safe speeds that contrasted entirely with your rebel image, but the mere sight of you on that machine was enough to make Katsuki’s chest tighten with a toxic mix of fury, anxiety, and something heavy and aching that he didn't know how to name.
He’d had a crush on you since their second year at the academy. It was a pathetic, lingering thing that had grown from a stubborn spark into a roaring, suffocating fire over the years.
He hated it.
He hated how his eyes automatically tracked you when you walked into a room. He hated how he knew the exact sound of your bike’s engine long before you even turned into the parking lot. He hated that you were his best friend, the one person who could shove him back, call him out on his bullshit, and then offer him a drag of your vape with a crooked, teasing smile that made his heart do stupid flips.
"Dude, look at this," Sero said, shoving his phone in front of Kirishima’s face. "She posted a story an hour ago. She’ll probably be here soon"
"She better be," Katsuki muttered, crossing his arms tightly over his chest. "If she misses the study session because she was busy taking videos for her stupid followers, I’m going to throw her helmet into the campus pond."
"You wouldn't dare," Denki snickered, leaning back against the vinyl. "That helmet probably cost more than my entire computer setup. Plus, she’d actually kill you. Like, buried under the football stadium, no one finds the body."
You were supposed to be here twenty minutes ago. You were never this late when you promised to buy him a coffee to make up for stealing his notes the day before.
Above the greasy smell of burgers and the low hum of student gossip, the diner’s multiple television screens—mounted in the corners of the ceiling, usually tuned to sports or mindless talk shows—suddenly flickered. A bright, obnoxious red banner flashed across the bottom of the screens: BREAKING NEWS.
Katsuki didn't pay attention at first. He was too busy staring at the door every time the little bell jingled, hoping to see your leather jacket slide through the entrance.
But then, Denki stopped talking mid-sentence.
The silence that fell over the blonde boy was so abrupt, so entirely uncharacteristic, that Kirishima actually paused with his fork halfway to his mouth. "Denki? What’s wrong, man? You look like you saw a ghost."
Denki didn't answer. He was staring straight up at the monitor mounted above the cash register. His mouth was slightly open, his face rapidly draining of whatever color it usually had. "Guys...Look at the screen."
Something in Denki’s voice—a sharp, trembling note of sheer terror—made Katsuki’s head snap up instantly. His eyes locked onto the glowing television.
A local news anchor was speaking, her voice muted, but the images on the screen were loud enough to deafen the entire room. It was an aerial shot from a helicopter, looking down at a stretch of the interstate—the very same interstate you used to get to campus from your apartment. The traffic was backed up for miles, a sea of red brake lights, but the focus of the camera was on a horrific, multi-vehicle pileup. Two sedans were crushed like aluminum cans against the concrete divider, and a massive semi-truck was jackknifed across three lanes.
The text scrolling across the bottom read: MASSIVE MULTI-VEHICLE ACCIDENT ON I-95. 3 CONFIRMED DEAD. 4 SEVERELY INJURED. HIGHWAY CLOSED UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE.
A collective murmur of shock and sympathy rippled through the other students in the diner. People shook their heads, whispering about how awful it was, how dangerous that stretch of road could be when the afternoon semi-trucks started rolling in.
But Katsuki couldn't breathe. His lungs felt like they had been suddenly filled with wet cement.
The camera on the screen zoomed in closer as emergency responders worked to clear the debris. The paramedics were wheeling a stretcher toward an ambulance, the bright red and blue lights flashing violently against the gray pavement. And there, lying crushed beneath the crumpled bumper of the jackknifed semi, was a mangled frame of metal and plastic.
It was a Honda CBR600RR. The frame was twisted at a grotesque, unnatural angle. The dark, glossy paint was scraped raw, covered in soot and white foam from a fire extinguisher. The front wheel was entirely missing, sheared off by the force of the impact, and the custom decals on the side—the distinct, minimal design that you had meticulously applied yourself—were torn to shreds.
It was your bike.
There wasn't a single doubt in Katsuki’s mind. He had spent hours helping you tune that exact machine. He knew every scratch, every bolt, every single inch of that metal. He had sat behind you on it, his hands locked around your waist, cursing at you to slow down while his heart hammered against his ribs from the sheer thrill of being that close to you.
"No," Mina whispered. The onion ring slipped from her fingers, landing with a dull thud on the table. Her eyes were wide, filling with immediate, hot tears. "No, no, no. That’s... guys, that’s her bike. That’s her."
"Are you sure?" Kirishima’s voice cracked, his usual steady, boisterous demeanor instantly shattering into panic. He slammed his hands onto the table, leaning forward as if getting closer to the screen would change what he was seeing. "There are thousands of bikes like that, right? It could be anyone’s. It’s just a coincidence."
"It’s not," Sero said, his voice entirely hollow. He pointed a trembling finger at the screen. The camera had panned slightly, catching a glimpse of a shattered, dark-visaged helmet rolling across the asphalt into a puddle of oil. "Look at the sticker on the back of the helmet. The silver sun. That’s hers."
The diner around them seemed to fade into a dull, white noise. Several students from their lectures, who knew you from your social media or just from seeing you park outside the engineering building every day, turned around in their seats. They looked at the Bakusquad’s booth, their expressions a mix of horror, pity, and sudden, grim realization. They all recognized the bike. They all knew who it belonged to.
Katsuki couldn't move. He was paralyzed, his eyes locked onto the flashing red lights of the ambulance on the screen.
3 dead. 4 severely injured.
The words repeated in his head like a demonic chant.
3 dead. 3 dead. 3 dead.
Which category were you in? Were you one of the bodies wrapped in a white sheet behind the barrier, or were you one of the broken, bleeding shapes being rushed into the back of a siren-wailing truck?
His chest heaved, but no air came in. His hands, resting on the table, began to shake from sheer, unadulterated panic, burning the cheap laminate of the table. He didn't care. He couldn't feel it. The world was spinning, collapsing in on itself, leaving nothing but the image of your shattered motorcycle on a dirty highway.
BZZZZZZ.
The sudden, harsh vibration of a phone against the tabletop sounded like a gunshot in the silent booth.
Everyone jumped. Katsuki’s head snapped down. It wasn't his phone. It was Jiro’s.
The screen lit up with an unknown number, the location showing the city’s central hospital. Jiro’s hands were shaking so badly she almost dropped the device as she swiped the screen and pressed it to her ear. You had put her down as one of your primary emergency contacts a year ago, laughing over drinks about how your parents were halfway across the world and wouldn't be able to fly in if you ever got into trouble. 'If I ever break a bone or get arrested for public disturbance, you’re the one getting the call, Kyouka,' you had teased.
Nobody breathed. Mina was gripping Kirishima’s arm so tightly her nails were digging through his shirt. Katsuki’s eyes were boring into Jiro’s face, watching every single micro-expression, looking for a death sentence.
"H-hello?" Jiro’s voice was barely a squeak.
She listened. For three agonizing seconds, she just listened, her face pale, her lips trembling. Katsuki felt a cold, primal rage building in his chest—a desperate, terrifying need to grab the phone, to scream into it, to demand answers from whoever was on the other end.
He couldn't lose you.
He hadn't told you.
He hadn't told you that he loved you, that he’d loved you for years, that every single angry outburst and stubborn argument was just him trying to keep you close because he was too much of a coward to say it out loud.
Then, Jiro let out a long, ragged breath that sounded like a sob, her shoulders dropping.
"Yes. Yes, I'm her friend," Jiro choked out, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. "Is she... is she alive? Please tell me she's alive."
Another pause. The longest second of Katsuki’s life.
"Okay. Okay, thank God. We’re coming. We’re on our way right now. Which room? ICU or emergency? Okay. Thank you."
Jiro hung up the phone and looked up at the table. Before she could even open her mouth, Katsuki was already out of the booth, floor as he grabbed her by the front of her jacket.
"Speak!" he roared, his voice cracking with a raw, terrifying desperation that none of them had ever heard from him before. His eyes were bloodshot, wide with a frantic, unhinged terror. "Is she alive? Tell me she's fucking alive, Jiro, or I will lose my mind!"
"She's alive!" Jiro shouted back, tears finally spilling over her cheeks. "She’s alive, Bakugo! She’s in the emergency room at General. They’re moving her to a room soon. She’s hurt bad, but she’s stable. She’s alive."
The relief that washed over him was so violent it made him almost collapse. He let go of Jiro’s jacket, stumbling back a step, pressing his palm against his forehead. He was breathing heavily, his chest rising and falling in ragged, uneven gasps. She was alive. You were alive.
"What are we waiting for?" Kirishima said, his face fierce with determination as he grabbed his keys from the table. "Let’s go. Now."
Nobody talked on the drive to the hospital. Kirishima drove his car like a man possessed, weaving through the city traffic with a grim, silent focus that left no room for Denki’s usual commentary or Mina’s anxious shifting. In the passenger seat, Katsuki sat staring straight ahead, his fists clenched so tightly in his lap that his knuckles were stark white, the skin stretched to its absolute limit.
His mind was a toxic wasteland of worst-case scenarios.
Hurt bad but stable.
What did that mean? Did you lose a leg? Was your face scarred? Were you in a coma? He remembered the image of the bike, crushed under the semi-truck, and a sick, acidic wave of nausea rolled through his stomach. You were so small compared to that massive machine, despite your tough exterior, your sharp wit, and your effortless confidence. You were just flesh and bone.
By the time the car screeched to a halt in the hospital’s emergency parking lot, Katsuki was out of the car before the engine had even fully died. He sprinted through the sliding glass doors of the emergency lobby, the sterile, bleached smell of antiseptic and rubbing alcohol hitting him like a physical blow.
The rest of the group burst in right behind him, but Katsuki was already at the front desk, slamming his palms down onto the counter. The receptionist, a tired-looking woman with a headset, jumped back in surprise at the sheer intensity of the blonde towering over her desk.
"[Last Name], [First Name]. Where is she?" Katsuki demanded, his voice dropping into a low, dangerous rumble that commanded immediate attention. "Brought in from the I-95 pileup. Motorcycle accident. Where is her room?"
"Sir, you need to calm down," the receptionist started, reaching for her computer mouse. "Only immediate family is allowed in the emergency wing—"
"I don't give a shit about your rules!" Katsuki snarled, leaning over the desk, his eyes blazing with a terrifying fire. "Tell me where she is right now or I will walk through every single door in this fucking building until I find her!"
"Bakugo, step back," Kirishima said firmly, placing a heavy, grounding hand on Katsuki’s shoulder and pulling him back. He looked at the receptionist with an expression of pure, desperate pleading. "Please, ma'am. Her parents are out of the country. We're all she has here. She’s our best friend. Please just tell us if she's okay and where we can see her."
The woman looked at Kirishima’s tear-stained face, then at Mina who was practically vibrating with anxiety, and finally back to Katsuki, whose anger was rapidly crumbling into a raw, hollow look of sheer panic. She sighed, her expression softening slightly as she typed rapidly into her keyboard.
"She was just moved out of trauma bay three to a private room in the secondary recovery wing. Room 412," the receptionist said quietly. "She’s stable, but she’s heavily medicated. Only a few of you at a time, please."
Katsuki didn't even wait for her to finish. He turned on his heel and bolted down the hallway, following the overhead signs for the recovery wing. His boots squeaked loudly against the linoleum floors, the sound echoing off the white walls. The rest of the squad struggled to keep up with his frantic pace as he tore through the corridors, turning corners sharply until he reached the fourth floor.
410. 411. 412.
He stopped dead outside the door. His hand hovered over the silver handle, suddenly trembling. For all his bravado, for all his screaming and his desperate need to get here, a paralyzing fear seized him.
What was he going to see when he opened that door?
Kirishima and the others caught up, breathless, stopping right behind him. Mina reached out, gently placing her hand over Katsuki’s trembling fingers, giving him a small, supportive nod.
Katsuki took a deep, shaky breath, closed his eyes for a split second, and pushed the door open.
The room was quiet, save for the rhythmic, steady beep of a heart monitor. The curtains were drawn, casting the room in a dim, soft shadow. And there, in the center of the raised hospital bed, surrounded by tangled IV lines and plastic tubes, lay you.
Katsuki’s heart stopped.
You looked like you had been put through a meat grinder. The left side of your face was heavily bruised, a deep, nasty shade of purple and blue swelling around your cheekbone and jawline, with a white butterfly bandage sealing a neat laceration over your eyebrow. Your left shoulder was heavily bandaged, strapped securely to your chest in a thick, restrictive immobilizing sling to keep it completely still after being popped back into its socket.
But worst of all was the road rash. The gorgeous, intricate Japanese sleeve on your right arm was partially obscured by raw, angry red scrapes where the asphalt had chewed through your leather jacket, the dark ink of your tattoo disrupted by patches of medical ointment and gauze.
You looked incredibly small beneath the heavy white hospital blankets.
Mina let out a muffled sob, covering her mouth with both hands as she rushed to the right side of the bed, careful not to touch any of the wires. "Oh my god... oh my god, [Y/N]?"
The sound of Mina’s voice seemed to stir you. The steady beep of the heart monitor spiked slightly, quickening in tempo. Your eyelids fluttered, heavy and sluggish, struggling against the sheer weight of the heavy narcotics pumping through your system.
Slowly, your eyes cracked open. They were glassy, completely unfocused, swimming in a haze of high-grade hospital painkillers. You blinked a few times, trying to clear the fog, your head rolling lazily on the pillow toward the sound of the voices.
You looked at Mina, then at Kirishima, Sero, and Jiro, your expression blank for a moment before a slow, incredibly goofy, loopsided smile began to spread across your bruised lips. The sheer absurdity of the smile on your battered face was jarring.
You looked past them, your glassy gaze finally landing on Katsuki, who was standing at the foot of the bed like a rigid, terrified statue, unable to move a single muscle.
You let out a low, raspy chuckle that turned into a small wince as your cracked ribs protested the movement. You swallowed hard, your voice slurred and thick with heavy sedation as you gave a weak, lazy wave with your uninjured right hand.
"Hey..." you slurred, your voice dropping into a sing-song, entirely unbothered tone. "Hey~"
Katsuki’s jaw dropped. The sheer, unadulterated absurdity of the situation hit him like a physical slap. He had spent the last hour convinced you were dead, his chest practically imploding from grief and terror, and here you were, high as a kite, greeting them like you had just bumped into them at a grocery store.
"Hey?" Katsuki repeated, his voice dropping into a dangerous, incredulous register. He marched around the bed, shoving past Denki until he was standing right over you, his hands gripping the metal guardrail of the bed. "That’s all you have to say for yourself? Hey? You stupid, reckless, irresponsible piece of shit!"
"Whoa," you muttered, your eyes widening in slow-motion wonder as you stared up at his angry, flushed face. "Baku... Bakugo. You’re... you’re really loud. Your hair looks like an explosion. Like... a really angry dandelion."
"Don't joke around, you idiot!" Katsuki yelled, though the volume was choked by the sudden tightness in his throat. Tears—hot, angry, frustrated tears—were finally blurring his vision, and he hated it, but he couldn't stop them. "We saw your bike on the news! It was crushed under a fucking semi! We thought you were dead! Do you have any idea what you put us through?!"
"My bike?" you asked, your brow furrowing in a slow, confused effort to process the words. "Oh... yeah. A big truck went... skrrrrt. And then I went whoosh. It was like a movie. Am I an action star now? Mina... tell me I looked cool."
"You did not look cool!" Mina cried, half-laughing and half-sobbing as she gently squeezed your uninjured hand. "You almost died! You have a broken rib and your shoulder was dislocated!"
"Oh, that’s why my chest feels like Kirishima stepped on it," you murmured, letting your head sink back into the pillow with a lazy sigh. You looked up at the ceiling, a dreamy, entirely detached smile on your face. "The doctors gave me the good stuff. I feel like... I’m floating on a cloud. A cloud made of cotton candy and... and vanilla."
"You're high out of your mind," Jiro said, letting out a weak, relieved laugh as she rubbed her temples. "The nurse said you’re on heavy painkillers. You probably can't even feel your own legs right now."
"I have legs?" you joked, giggling weakly before another sharp wince cut through the laughter. "Ow. Okay, laughing is a bad idea. No more jokes."
"Good, because nothing about this is fucking funny," Katsuki snapped, his voice trembling violently. He was looking at your right arm, at the raw, bleeding patches of skin cutting through the tattoo you were so proud of. It broke something inside him. The anger that had been keeping him upright suddenly began to drain away, leaving behind a hollow, aching void of unadulterated terror. He looked so pale, so entirely shattered, that Kirishima quietly stepped forward, placing a hand on Sero and Denki’s shoulders.
"Hey, guys," Kirishima said softly, his eyes lingering on Katsuki’s rigid form before looking back at you. "Let’s... let’s go find the doctor and get an official update on her chart. Give her some room to breathe. She needs to rest anyway."
"Yeah," Sero agreed quickly, picking up on the heavy, suffocating tension vibrating between Katsuki and you. "Let’s go see if we can get some water or something."
Mina leaned down, gently kissing your uninjured cheek, careful to avoid the bruises. "We’ll be right outside, okay? Don't move too much."
"Can't move anyway," you slurred, your eyes already drifting shut as the sedation pulled at you. "Bye, guys..."
The door clicked shut as the five of them quietly filed out of the room, leaving nothing but the steady, rhythmic beep... beep... beep of the monitor and the heavy silence that settled over the space.
Katsuki didn't move from his spot by the guardrail of the bed. He stood there, staring down at your pale, bruised face, his chest tightening, his hands clenched into fists against the metal bar. The initial shock was wearing off, replaced by a deep, throbbing ache that made it hard to breathe.
You were right here.
You were alive.
But the image of your mangled bike wouldn't leave his mind.
You opened your eyes again, just a fraction, sensing that he hadn't left. You looked at him through a heavy, drug-induced haze, your expression softening slightly as you noticed the tears still tracks down his cheeks.
"Katsuki," you muttered, your voice losing some of its playful, slurred edge, dropping into something softer, more vulnerable. "Why are you... why are you crying? Angry dandelions shouldn't cry."
"Shut up," he choked out, his voice cracking. He couldn't hold it back anymore. The dam broke. He let go of the guardrail and sank into the hard plastic chair beside the bed, burying his face in his hands. His shoulders shook as a low, ragged sob tore from his throat. "Just shut the fuck up."
You blinked, the fog in your brain clearing just enough for a wave of genuine worry to hit your chest. You had never seen Katsuki Bakugo cry like this. Not during their grueling exams at the academy, not when he failed a project, not when he was at his absolute worst. He was always the pillar of explosive, unyielding strength. Seeing him completely broken down in a hospital chair was more terrifying than the semi-truck sliding toward your lane.
Slowly, painfully, you dragged your right hand across the white blanket, the movement making your broken rib throb with a dull, distant ache despite the heavy narcotics. You reached out until your fingers brushed against his wrist, gently tapping the back of his hand.
"Hey," you said softly, your voice cracking with a sudden rush of emotion. "Hey. Look at me. I'm okay. I'm right here."
Katsuki pulled his hands away from his face, his eyes red-rimmed, bloodshot, and wide with a raw, agonizing vulnerability. He didn't pull away from your touch. Instead, his large, rough hand shot out, wrapping gently but firmly around your fingers, squeezing them as if he was terrified you would vanish into thin air if he let go.
"You're an idiot," he whispered, his voice trembling with a desperate intensity. "You're a stupid, reckless, irresponsible idiot. You don't care about anything. You skip class, you stay out late, you ride that stupid fucking bike down the highway like you're invincible. You think everything is a joke."
"Katsuki—"
"No, listen to me!" he snapped, his voice dropping into a choked-up growl as he leaned closer to the bed, his eyes burning into yours. "You don't get to talk. I sat in that fucking diner and watched your crushed bike be shown on screen. I sat there for three minutes not knowing if you were a corpse on the way to the morgue or if you were dying in the back of the ambulance that brought you here. Do you have any fucking idea what that did to me?"
You stared at him, the heavy fog of the painkillers suddenly feeling like a distant background noise compared to the raw, suffocating gravity of his words. Your heart hammered against your ribs, the monitor spiking its tempo into a fast, frantic rhythm. Beep-beep-beep-beep.
"I was terrified," Katsuki confessed, a hot tear slipping down his cheek and landing on your intertwined fingers. His grip tightened, his knuckles shaking. "I have never been so fucking scared in my entire life. Because the second I saw your bike, the only thing I could think about was that I never told you."
You swallowed hard, your throat dry, your chest tightening with something that had nothing to do with your broken ribs. "Tell me what?"
"That I love you, you stupid ass!" Katsuki burst out, the confession tearing out of his chest like a violent, agonizing scream that he had been holding in for years. It was angry, it was raw, it was completely devoid of any romance or gentleness, but it was the truest thing he had ever said. "I’ve loved you since our fucking academy days! I’ve loved you through every single stupid argument, every single time you stole my notes, every single night you went to some trash party and I sat by my phone waiting for you to text me that you got home safe!"
You froze, your breath catching in your throat. You stared at him, your glassy eyes widening in complete, utter shock. The words hung in the sterile hospital air, heavy and undeniable, shifting the entire foundation of your world in a single second.
"Katsuki..." you breathed, your voice barely a whisper.
"I hate how you ride that bike," he continued, the words pouring out of him like an unstoppable flood, his voice cracking with a deep, angsty desperation. "I hate how you vape that sweet, chemical shit. I hate how you don't take anything seriously. But I love you so fucking much it makes me sick. I love your stupid tattoos, I love your stupid laugh, and I love how you’re the only person who doesn't back down when I start screaming. And the thought of you dying on that highway... the thought of living in a world where I don't get to see your stupid, smug face every day... it fucking destroyed me, okay? It completely destroyed me."
He dropped his forehead against the edge of the mattress, his grip on your hand so tight it was almost bruising, his shoulders heaving as he let out a long, ragged, exhausted breath. He had laid his entire soul bare on a hospital floor, stripped of all his pride, all his anger, all his armor, leaving nothing but a boy who was desperately, helplessly in love with his best friend.
The room was silent except for the frantic, fast-paced beep-beep-beep of the heart monitor, betraying exactly how much his words had shattered your calm, drug-induced state.
You stared down at his blonde, spiky hair resting against the white sheets. The shock was still buzzing in your veins, but beneath the haze of the narcotics, a deep, warm, ache was blooming in your chest. You had known Katsuki was protective. You had known he was stubborn. But you had never, not even in your wildest dreams, realized the depth of the fire burning inside him for you. You had spent years keeping him at arm's length, hiding your own lingering feelings behind a mask of bad-influence rebellion, smoking and partying and riding fast just to feel something that could distract you from the terrifying intensity of the explosive boy who always sat next to you in those lecture halls.
Slowly, you used your thumb to stroke the rough, calloused skin of his hand, your heart swelling until it felt like it would burst right through your broken ribs.
"Katsuki," you said softly, your voice thicker now, tears finally pricking the corners of your own eyes, cutting through the chemical numbness.
He didn't move. He kept his face buried in the sheets, his voice muffled and stubborn. "What? Go ahead. Tell me I’m a dumbass. Tell me the drugs are making you hallucinate this shit."
"Look at me," you pleaded gently, tugging on his hand. "Please. Look at me."
Slowly, reluctantly, Katsuki lifted his head. His face was a mess—flushed, tear-streaked, his eyes wide and bracing himself for a rejection, for a joke, for you to laugh it off with another high-grade narcotic quip.
But you weren't smiling. Your expression was incredibly soft, vulnerable, and completely clear despite the drugs.
"I'm not going to laugh at you," you whispered, a single tear slipping down your bruised cheek, tracing the line of your jaw. "And I'm not hallucinating."
You squeezed his hand back, using every ounce of strength you had in your fingers. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry I scared you so bad. I'm sorry I almost made you think I was gone."
You paused, swallowing hard, your eyes locking onto his brilliant, fiery red irises with an intensity that made his breath catch. "But you're a total idiot if you think you're the only one. I’ve been hiding behind this stupid, reckless persona for years because I was too terrified to admit that the only person I ever wanted to look at me was you. I ride that bike because it’s the only thing that moves fast enough to keep up with how crazy you make me feel. I love you too, Katsuki. I’ve loved you for a really, really long time."
Katsuki froze. He stared at you, his mind entirely blanking out as your words sank in, processing the information with a slow, stunned disbelief. "You... what?"
"I love you," you repeated, a tiny, genuine, emotional smile breaking through the bruises on your face. "You angry dandelion."
Katsuki let out a sharp, breathless sound that was half-laugh, half-sob. He stood up from the plastic chair, leaning over the bed, his face just inches from yours. He looked at your bruised lips, then at the bandage on your forehead, his eyes wild with a sudden, overwhelming rush of pure affection and relief.
He wanted to kiss you. He wanted to kiss you so badly it was an physical ache in his jaw, but he looked at your dislocated shoulder, your broken rib, and your raw, scraped skin, and he hesitated, his hands hovering over your face, terrified of hurting you.
"Can I..." he whispered, a rare note of tentative gentleness in his voice. "Can I kiss you, or will your stupid face break?"
"Shut up and kiss me, Bakugo," you breathed, a lazy, drug-addled smirk returning to your lips for just a fraction of a second. "Just be careful with the ribs."
He leaned down, closing the distance between you with an agonizing, beautiful slowness. When his lips finally met yours, it wasn't explosive or angry like his usual personality. It was incredibly soft, and tender—a quiet, desperate sealing of a promise that had been years in the making. He tasted like the salty tang of his tears and the familiar, warm heat of his skin. You tasted like the faint, artificial vanilla of your vape and the bitter copper of the hospital room.
It was perfect. It was everything you had ever wanted, everything he had ever fought against admitting, a quiet anchor in the middle of a chaotic, broken day.
The heart monitor was practically screaming now, a rapid, frantic rhythm that echoed off the white walls, but neither of you cared.
When he finally pulled back, just an inch, his forehead rested against yours, his hot breath fanning across your skin. His large hand was gently cupping the unbruised side of your jaw, his thumb wiping away a stray tear.
"The second they let you out of this prison," Katsuki muttered, his voice dropping back into its familiar, possessive rumble, though the warmth in his eyes was undeniable. "I am selling what’s left salvageable of that fucking bike. You are never riding one again. You’re riding with me from now on. In a car. With airbags."
You let out a soft, wheezing laugh, your eyes drifting shut as the heavy wave of the painkillers finally began to drag you back down into a deep, healing sleep. "Okay... whatever you say, chief. Just... don't leave."
"I'm not going anywhere, you idiot," Katsuki whispered, his fingers tangling into your dark hair, smoothing it back against the pillow as your breathing slowed into a steady, deep rhythm. He slid back into the plastic chair, never once letting go of your hand, his red eyes fixed entirely on your sleeping face.
The door to the room cracked open slightly, and Kirishima peeked his head in, his eyes widening as he saw the peaceful, quiet atmosphere and the way Katsuki was holding your hand like it was the most precious thing in the world. Kirishima gave a soft smile, nodding to the rest of the squad waiting in the hallway, letting them know that for the first time all day, everything was going to be exactly where it belonged.
Especially a man who when he has to leave for whatever obligation and bids you goodbye hurriedly. And even though he’s in a rush, grabbing his coat and his bag, you stop him at the door, grabbing one of his shoulder so he can slightly turn around.
He’s about to say he doesn’t have the time but you kiss him. He drops what he had in his hands in slight surprise. And he melts away, the stress of his shoulders disappearing. And when you pull back lightly, he tries to follow the touch of your lips, his eyebrows scrunching in the cutest pout and he has to hold the whine from escaping past his lips. He keeps his eyes close for a second longer, enjoying that small moment before he cracks them open. His pupils are slightly blown and with his now free hands he reaches for your hips and pulls in for one more.
However he’s not devouring you. No he’s enjoying your presence and the softness of your touch. His right hand slightly trails up the line of your back while the other cups your cheek. And he peckers small tender kisses on your lips, tilting his head in different angles, taking his sweet time before going in fully. He’s dipping you slightly with the force of his passion.
And like it never happened he detaches himself, grabs his coat and bag scattered to the ground to trudge out of the house in a hurry. As if he didn’t just give you a wedding worthy kiss. You’re left breathless and red, smiling because this trick always works.
And don’t worry, he will sit in his car in the driveway in silence, his head against the wheel as he tries to gain back his focus. Man you need to stop making him late.
It’s been five years since I started this anime. I was just starting to watch some and had just finished Naruto when I fell on this.
My hero academia.
I had heard the name a few times and gave it a try. Not knowing it would be my biggest love. Even though I only discovered it 5 and a half years ago, I felt like I grew up with it.
I went through high school and my first year of med school. Remembering that I can beat through it with a smile and some very loving people around me.
I’ll always remember when the last chapter of the manga was aired just a few days after my 18th birthday. After being pushed and pushed away for a few years by the author. I felt so empty knowing one of the rare things I grew up with was ending.
Never would I have guessed from the moment that I clicked on that first episode, how much it would carry me through hard times. Through smiles and tears.
And now that they all made us grow, that they grew up too, and learned with us and us with them. I wish that their story wouldn’t stop right here today.
But I don’t think it will ever. Because this anime will grow old with us. Push us to be better. To be the greatest heroes. And perhaps someday we will show it to our kids and nieces, smiling. Or hearing the music theme through the door of your child’s/sibling’s/loved one’s room while passing by, recognizing yourself. Because this isn’t about the toxic fandoms or the ships.
This is the story of Izuku and his friends. A story we listened for 42 chapters and 170 episodes. A story of how they became the greatest heroes. And how we can all too become a hero.
So yes, I wanted to thank every person who worked on this. Every voice actor, every animator, every fan.
And a special thank you to Horikoshi. Because this manga was his last chance and gave us all a chance to be better. To go beyond. For the rest of our lives.
Just thinking about newlyprohero!Bakugo and cheeky!reader
He never liked parties that much. All those gatherings of people he sometimes barely knew. Most of them drunk by the end of the night. And his friends were these kind of people.
He hated to receive a drunk call from Kaminari to pick them up at one am. So one when he and Kirishima proposed for him to go yet again, he just agreed.
So there he was in a corner of the club, sitting at a table with the bakusquad. His arms were crossed while he sipped his drink and eyed up all his gatherings. People shouting, swerving through the crowd, downing drinks, swaying to the rythme. He rolled his eyes and watched carefully as Denki tried to whoo two swedish girls. Key word : tried. he could smell his alcohol level from here and it made his eyes twitch slightly.
"Hey bakubro, you ok ?" kirishima shouted from over the sound of the deafening mudic. "We shouldn't be here. The media is already all over our asses ever since we announced the launching of our agency. I don't want to ruin my reputation as a hero." Katsuki grumbled. Kiri sighed, he had Mina on his lap who was smirking at Katsuki's annoyed posture. "Oh come on you big dummy. Live a little. We're graduates, building our agency and you're being over there sulking like an idiot."
"Who are you calling an idiot ?!" His hands popped little explosions. Kiri placed a calming hand on his best friend shoulder, slighlty pushing him back in his seat. "Hey, stop you two. But you know she's right dude. I know our starting carriers are being watched a lot. But maybe it's time for you to let go... like, find a girlfriend ? You used to tell us you were too busy with hero studies. Now's the occasion."
"Right now isn't the right time, Ei." he glared at his friend who just raised his hands in defense. "I'm just saying ! it might make you lose up a little. Look at Denki, he seems fine." Katsuki rolled his eyes at the sight of the other blond, slouched in front of them as he had both girls on his side.
"Is Kacchan afraid he'll never have his first kiss ?" Kaminari boastly mocked while his little guests seemed more and more interested in Katsuki. One of them even slipped away and sat next to Katsuki. A little two close to his taste. He huffed in annoyance and got up, leaving her dejected.
"Hey ! We're you going ?" Kirishima called as he watched his friend walk away. "Away from here, and getting dunce face some water." was the last thing he grumbled. They all looked accusingly towards Denki. "What ? Not my fault he can't live a little." Sero slapped the back of his head. "You're really an idiot sometimes."
Katsuki reached the bar and ask for something who will sober up his friend quickly. While he waited for the bartender to be over with some other costumer, he leaned against the bar, thinking about what they said. It's true he never dated anyone during UA, or in middle school for that matter. He thought it was a waste of time. But what they said troubled him. And even if Denki meant it as a joke, he was right. Katsuki never kissed anyone. Even now that he was 20.
And that made him feel uneasy. He was late compared to young adults of his age. After all he saw half of his friends kiss someone like it was a routine while it was a step he had yet to take. Even Deku with his undying shyness managed to start to date Uraraka the following year after graduation. So what was missing ?
Was he truly scared ? Yes, he was because it didn't go with his character. Dynamight, never felt the touch of a woman ? What a pity. To him it sounded so lame.
Then the anger came. Who were they to think he couldn't kiss a girl. He was going to prove them wrong and kiss one. Tonight. He scanned the dancefloor and was met with disappointement. Not because the girls weren't pretty. But because of the gut feeling that told him he shouldn't spend his first kiss away with someone he barely knew. He wanted it to be as special as he was told and read about. Though he’ll never say it out loud.
His train of thoughts got interrupted as the bartender was heading his way. But before he could even speak, a hand grabbed his arm. He tried to protest, thinking it was one of his friends but he was met with you. You seemed breathless and your cheeks were red. You were flush against him, your chest slightly moving out of your top as your half lided eyes met his. “Hey, care to be my man for five seconds ?” You don’t wait for his answer before crashing your lips against his.
The kiss was good, almost too good. It was messy but seemed perfect. That kind of perfect you only find in Christmas movies when the girl realizes she loved the hometown farm guy more than her business man boyfriend. It was electrifying. And for a second Katsuki wondered why he had never done that in his entire 20 years of existence.
All his hesitation vanished and his lips started to move against yours. He can feel you smile a little, after all he was still tense and inexperienced. But he was kissing you back. Like a shy and awkward 16 year old but still. You bit his lips and he just groaned in response, accidentally leaving entrance for your tongue to slip in his mouth. He was completely under your spell. And he wasn’t going to do anything about it.
He could feel the slight liquor off of your tongue grazing his tenderly, as if careful not to scare him off. He didn’t like alcohol that much but right now it was addictive. He couldn’t get enough. He groaned against your mouth, completely surrendering to you. After what felt an eternity too short, you pulled away, a string of saliva still connecting your lips.
You eyed up where the creep that had been harassing you half the night was supposed to be. You didn’t see him anywhere. You sighed in relief but remembered you just kissed a poor random guy you had grabbed as a dissuasion. Which of who seemed so sweetly flustered at the moment.
“Your lips aren’t too bad, firecracker.” You said as you turned back to him and sent him a wink. He was left stunned. You were one cheeky little minx. “Firecracker-what?” He babbled through confusion, his lips still tingly from the kiss. You chuckled and you put a hand on his chest. You could feel how his heart was racing. How cute. “I have to go, but thanks for the kiss firecracker.” You trailed off as you walked past him, your hand making a suggestive lingering trail in his chest.
He was left stunned. And a few seconds later, realization came back. He just had his first kiss. With a stranger. One hell of a kiss at that. But he didn’t even know your name. He turned around and tried calling out to you but you had already disappeared through the crowd.
He stumbled back, the scene going through his head like a broken record. What just happened… Without noticing he strode his way back to where his friends still were.
"Hey, where's my drink?" Denki teased and he had to wait for a few seconds before Katsuki go tout of his daze. "Huh ? Oh they didn't make any drinks for idiots." usually his tone would be snarkier, which made his friend confused. "Hey, you okay man ?" Kirishima asked as his friend let himself fall in the seat beside him with a sigh. "Yeah yeah..."
"Oh my- is that...lipgloss ?” Mina interjected, grabbing the attention of everyone. They eyed up their friend who had a reddish trail all over his lips. He tried to wipe the evidence, to no avail, his cheeks speeding in a light reddish hue. Suddenly he was assaulted by questions. Did you make out ? You know her ? Is that why you disappeared? How did that happen ? Was she hot ? How ? When ? What ??? He was about to blast them in annoyance when he caught a glimpse of you. He couldn’t let you slip away this time. He hurriedly got back up and tried to follow you, under the confused protests of his friends.
He tried pushing through the crowd, barely excusing himself as he tried to grab you attention. He was about to reach you when a movement of crowd brought him away from your oblivious face. He tried to make them move, being blocked as most of them here danced. It wasn’t easy to be big Dynamight. He tried swerving through the people but couldn’t see you anymore. He scanned the room lighten with lights of every vibrant colors and caught a glimpse of the emergency exit closing. With difficulty he reached it and was met with the cold air of the midnight streets. He looked around and saw you. You were about to enter your taxi.
He strode in your direction. “Hey !” He shouted, grabbing your attention as you looked up in surprise. You smirked when you noticed who was heading your way. You just winked at him and got in your taxi, it leaving seconds after.
“Damnit!” He watched as the taxi disappeared around the corner. How did he manage to loose for the third time in one night…
He just wanted a name. A name on the girl who stole his first true act of love. The one who is feared, waited, fantasied, depicted in all languages and every timelines. That bond who now was tied to you and for some unknown reason made him drawn to you like a magnet.
He licks his lips, the strawberry taste of your lipgloss giving him one reminder of the kiss you shared. The sole proof that it was not a fantasy his brain had built.
But one thing he knows, he must absolutely find out who you are. One way or another...
Husband!Bakugou with his 8 year old daughter, Miyuki Bakugou. Which he loves more than there’s stars in the sky. The moment he held her, gravity stopped working because his whole world started to revolve around her. Some would say she's his copy, but in reality, while she has his eyes and blond hair, he finds in her little quirks he knows are yours.
She has the same smile he fell in love with so many years ago. And he watched her grow into that strong and mischivious little girl who loves to annoy him to no end.
Lately, she has seen a few things on her ipad that made her laugh. You let her experiment with it but she obviously has a screen time and no access to any social media. One day, she's having fun on a new app that has many filters. She likes to film herself while trying them, giggling to herslef has her face morphs into diffrent shapes and things.
That's when she finds that one filter. One that makes people age while seeing their age go by above their heads. Basically of how they would look when they get older. That's when the little blond gets a wicked idea. She knows her father, like most, hates to see some aspect of himself grow old.
So she waits for him to come home after work. She's coloring something on the dinner table while you're busy with the stove when she hears the door click. She immediately looks up to see her father trudging in tiredly, rubbing his sore neck as he appears in the door way. She watches as you greet him softly from your spot and he grunts back with a kiss on your cheek.
As everynight he approches Miyuki and ruffles her hair, knowing she doesn't like it. "What are you coloring, brat?", earning a glare from you. He only smirks and sits next to his daughter while telling you about his day. Miyuki knows it's not the right moment for her prank, so she waits patiently.
After dinner, Katsuki and you watch the few news that appear on the tv. He's more relaxed, showered and sinking into the couch. Miyuki is supposed to be in bed, so she knows she has to wait for you to leave because her father won't have the energy to ground her. Just at that moment, you get up to make some camomille.
Miyuki sneaks on the couch and her father notices her, straightening up. "What the hell are you still doing up? It's pas your damn bedtime. If your mom catches you…" But his tone has no bite in it as she lifts the ipad and smirks. "I just wanted to show you something I found today." He lifts a brow and after a few seconds he gestures her closer. Her plan is working.
She crawls next to him and opens her app. He hesitates but she shushes him. She quickly finds the filter and starts filming. "Look, we can see into the future.” She lets him take the tablet into his hands, the poor man confused as she peeks from above his shoulder, grinning when knowing what's coming next.
He appears on the screen and the filter activates, slowly making the years go by, his features hardening and the blond of his hair fading. Katsuki stared blankly, watching the filter work on him, understanding it was once more one of her little tricks.
It should've been fun, it's what she had planned. But looking at her father growing old, even if not realistically, made her tiny heart twist. Simply because she couldn't bare to see her favorite person weakened by time and someday leaving her. She couldn't handle the image of her strong and invicible father shatterings by the simple aspect of aging. Without preventing it she bursts into heavy sobs. And Katsuki turned even more confused, turning to her as she cried on top of his shoulder. He immediately put the device down, pulling her into a hug. He wasn’t used to such sudden tears from his firstborn daughter and the sight of her so distraught crushed him into pieces.
The pro-hero was trying to understand what in the world made her so devastated in a matter of seconds. He rocked her against his chest as sobs racked through her tiny body. You appeared back in the room equally confused as to why your daughter wasn't in bed and now crying in your husband's arms. You mouthed : “Nightmare ?” To Katsuki and he shook his head, trying to get her to calm down and explain this explosion of tears.
It took a lot of time and reassurance to calm her down that night. Safe to say she wasn't going to try more pranks like these. Katsuki had to prove to her that her dad wasn't growing that old anytime soon, and that no matter what, he would always protect her. Even at 90 years old.
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