And She Cried When The Sun Came

And She Cried When The Sun Came

Fandom: Bnha / Mha

Pairing: Bakugo x Reader

Rating: 16+

Words: 951

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

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

Remastered: Aug.9 2022

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Y/n, we brought some food over.”

She didn’t move. She couldn’t move.

“Y/n?”

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

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

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

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

So she did what anyone would do.

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

And don't you dare blame her for it.

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

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

There was her line.

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

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

“How could you do this to him?” 

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

“What did I do?”

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

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

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

A moment of silence passed between them.

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

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

“What’s the matter with you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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“Brother Haruka,”

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

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

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

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

Four months ago, when her world changed.

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

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

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

“She’s just a girl, our little girl,”

“It’s a heathen!”

“She’s done nothing wrong,”

“It’s got horns god bless me!”

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re not in trouble, Y/l/n.”

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

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

“I see.”

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

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

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

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

For Y/n, this meant one thing.

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

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

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

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

“Was Iida right?”

Silence. 

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

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

“Kay.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A hush fell over the chapel.

She accepted the holy blade from her father.

She lifted it above her head. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Because you seem a little far away."

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

"I'm sorry, sensei."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It made her want to cry.

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

"I feel sometimes as if I wasn't made for this world. Like my brain was coded for a different place yet crammed into this foreign flesh and blood. I feel sometimes like I am not supposed to be here; then I remember how little that tends to matter."

Loving Is Nothing

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

“It wasn’t supposed to be like this.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Passing Of Time.

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summary: midoriya izuku has always pushed himself to his limits and still believes he could have done more. the world should have known not to give the anxious perfectionist an immortality quirk. cw: crude language and gestures, assault, violence with a minor, violence of a minor, minor character death, domestic violence, discrimination, manipulation, weapons, quirk-flighting, body gore, psychological horror, death (sometimes), alcohol, suggestive themes, morally ambiguous decisions an. okey forget the winter celebration, when have I ever followed through with those? Enjoy this piece of work instead :)

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Boku no hero academia. Think Of Loss And I Can Only Think Of You.

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They saw the world began with a bang and ended in silence. Izuku laid in his hospital bed, sterile but scented of pine. The soft lights only serving to dramatize the shadows on his face. The beeping of the heart-moniker was typically incredibly grounding, but the old hero could barely even hear it anymore.

He took a steadying breath as he rose his shaky hand. "You're such a kind girl."

They also say you shouldn't get hung up on your regrets when you're settling, and Izuku's lucky he didn't regret much. He spend his living desperate for more and never full, constantly giving his all so he'd know for sure he did all he could. He only regrets what he didn't know, and poor Eri having to face so much almost tore him apart.

"Nii-san?" A woman's voice chimed from the door, "I'm so sorry, there was so much traffic and then a crowd formed so I just started running and I, and I-"

"Eri?" He filled with confusion and horror, head snapping to the white-haired girl on his other side, is it Toga? But he only sees a nervous smile.

"Jiji," the girl calls him, crawling up against Izuku's solid frame. Eri's daughter, Shōtoki, so sweet and so kind, "I love you."

"I love you to, little one."

Eri sat by his bed and took his hand, squeezing gently and holding on while she joined the two in bed. He's glad he worked so hard, he wasn't sure if the big bed was a number-one-hero exclusive or not but he was grateful.

He was glad his girls could find comfort from him once more, and he prayed to whatever God was above that it would be enough.

"Thank you, Nii-san. For everything."

"Oh Eri, don't you see?" Izuku heaved a breath and stroked her hair to cover it. "It was all for you."

He took a breath in and it caught sharply in his chest, he went to cough but stopped himself. Shō-chan had fallen asleep against him. He shut his jaw and felt moisture gather in his eyes from the pressure beneath his chest.

Izuku closes his eyes and rests his arms around his girls. He thinks of the arms which would wrap around him, and he smiles. It's been a good life. He's warm, he feels his muscles relax in a way he hasn't known since he was far too young; he falls.

.

"What about you, Midoriya-Chan?"

He looked up and saw a young women smiling encouragingly down at him. "Excuse-me?"

"Have you gotten your quirk yet?"

He quickly glanced around and took in his criss-crossed form sitting on a colorful carpet around eleven or so small children. Probably five or six if he's guessing.

He's in a classroom he guesses, a warm one filled with windows displaying the green court-yard. "Why am I here?" Because honest to God he couldn't remember. It reminds him of when he was in his eighties and began to forget how to get places. He remembers how terrified Shoto was when he found him. He wished Shoto was still alive to find him again.

Wait.

Alive?

Izuku was pretty sure that boat had sailed in a warm hospital bed with the first person who ever made him feel like a hero, and his lovely grand daughter. How the fuck is he here?

"It's okay if you haven't, Izuku. If you didn't hear, many of your classmates haven't gotten their quirks yet either."

As if remembering himself, he managed out an "A-ah."

"Katsuki-kun?"

"Not yet," a little boy grumbled behind him.

Midoriya snapped fully behind him to face the boy. "Kaachan?"

"What the fuck did you call me?!" There he was, in an orange t-shirt and blue denim shorts. Wide eyes he hasn't grown out of and an innocence of sorts shines in his anger.

"Kaachan?" He couldn't believe it. Right there, sat behind him, is a very very young Bakugou Katsuki. How is this possible? "I'm so fucking confused."

"Huuh?!" The boy cried, looking incredulously at the teacher as if waiting for her support.

"Boys!" She scolded instead. "That language is entirely inappropriate!"

Izuku watched her face flush red and he thinks Oh, she's laughing.

"Now go stand in the hall while I have the secretary call your mothers!"

Izuku looks at her and looks back at super-young Kaachan, and realizes he isn't really looking down at super-young Kaachan. In fact, when the blond stands he's significantly taller than him.

Izuku shoots up onto his feet and immediately wants to curl up into a ball and die on the spot. He's super-young Izuku.

He watches the other boy take him in- obviously pissed at being two inches shorter- and dismisses him. He stares when young-Kaachan roll his eyes and walk past him.

"What the fuck."

"Midoriya Izuku!" The teacher gasped, "Outside, right now."

Izuku looked over to her and sighed. "Alright."

He hears Bakugou quickly shuffle away from the door when he gets closer. He rounds the corner and it's insane. He can't understand it. He walks to the opposite side of Bakugou and slides down the wall to the floor.

"You have to crouch dipshit." The angry boy scoffed.

Izuku looked up but only saw the boy glaring down at nothing in the hall. "What year is it?"

"What?"

"What year are we in?"

He watches the boy burn a bright scarlet. "I don't fucking know!"

Izuku watches the boy and begins to smile. How many times had 'angry Kaachan' really been 'embarrassed Kacchan'?

"That's alright. How old are you?"

"Why are you asking so many questions?" He whined.

"Do you not know?"

"I'm six, asshole!"

"Bakugou Katsuki! I sent you out here because of your language! Nd I come out here just to hear that; what are you thinking?"

"Oh no, I'm sorry," Midoriya turned towards the teacher, "I provoked him that time. My apologize."

"That time?" He outraged.

"Thank you, Midoriya-kun, but that's besides the point. Your mothers will be here after school so come back in and join the rest of the class.

Bakugou scurried in and Izuku managed to spot the tips of his ears being to redden. What on earth am I going to do?

With little else to do Izuku spent his time thinking. In that time he realized he had a few choices. He's obviously back in his five year old body, small and fragile and quirkless. Only he has no clue how.

It makes no sense. Izuku's around ninety eight percent sure he died- not a hundred because he's never done it before. But now he's back, and he's younger than he remembers.

He's gone over the options: he thought first he may have been victim to a quirk attack and he just hadn't noticed, but Deku is old now. A monument for history, of course, but beyond his years in more ways than one. After he turned ninety five the attacks stopped coming. It's been a while since then, Izuku mused sparing a glance at the boy in front of him.

Then he considered that this was another trick of one-for-all; another underlying quirk. Izuku's lips quirked up into a smile when his brain whispered that it may be the first users quirk which remained undiscovered. That idea was let go of; he knew all the users and their quirks.

Izuku sat in the empty hallway, contemplating the surreal nature of his current predicament. The memories of a life fully lived, of battles fought, and of loved ones lost weighed heavily on his mind. How could he be back in his younger body? Was this a second chance, a cosmic glitch, or something else entirely?

"What is going on?" he wondered, rubbing his temples as he tried to make sense of the situation. His thoughts drifted to the last moments of his previous life, the hospital room, and the quiet acceptance of a life well-lived. This new beginning, in the body of a child, left him with more questions than answers.

As he sat in the hallway, Izuku observed the bustling school life around him. The vibrant energy of children, the sound of laughter, and the scent of freshly cleaned classrooms—all were familiar yet distant. There was this sweetness in the air.

He noticed the younger versions of familiar faces, like the fiery Katsuki Bakugou who was now just a child, unaware of all that came, all that would come.

"How can I navigate this world again, knowing what I know now?" His eyes traced the movements of the children, soft and clumsy.

"If you're done with the disruptions, your classmates are waiting for you to join them."

"Yes ma'am," Izuku replied diligently, smiling softly when Kaachan scoffed and walked right past her, muttering a small "Yes, Ms. Teacher," when he entered.

Walking to his seat, Izuku couldn't stop stealing glances at himself every chance he got. In the windows, his calculator, the screen's reflection, it was addicting. The small, innocent version of Izuku, oblivious to the complexities of the future, sat there like an unblemished canvas.

He couldn't help but recal the issues he faced as a kid, the fragility he was treated with when first diagnosed. The thought of reliving those formative years brought a mix of nostalgia and uncertainty.

As the day unfolded, Izuku found himself daydreaming. How could he best navigate this second chance at childhood? What choices could he make to ensure a positive impact on those around him? What choices could he make from a moral stand point? The idea of molding the future subtly crossed his mind.

"Maybe I can influence them for the better without altering the course of history too much," he considered. Images of bright red eyes flashed in his mind, followed quickly by many more. The responsibility of knowing the potential outcomes of his actions weighed on him, but it also presented an opportunity to shape a brighter future.

A pencil fell and Izuku picked it up, placing it on the desk next to him. Kacchan nodded a thank you at him and his resolve hardened- I'm going to do everything I can.

.

As the school bell rang, Izuku stepped out into the warm afternoon sunlight, his small backpack slung over one shoulder. The familiar sights and sounds of children playing filled the air, and he couldn't help but marvel at the simplicity of this childhood world; he didn't remember feeling care-free even at this age, but he wished he did. It was pretty here.

As he walked toward the school gate, his gaze drifted across the crowd of parents waiting to pick up their children. And then, his eyes caught on a figure that made his heart skip a beat—there she was.

She stood there, youthful and vibrant, a smile on her face as she chatted while scanning the crowd of children. Izuku's breath caught in his throat. It was her, unmistakably, but she was so much younger than he remembered. The grief he had carried from her tragic death in his previous life surged back, an unexpected wave of sorrow that threatened to overwhelm him.

His steps faltered for a moment, the weight of something pushing down hard on him. The reality of seeing his mother alive and well, after witnessing her death in his first life, was something he really should have predicted.

It made him feel like a bad son, to be brough back in time and not immediately think of his mom; the one who has been with him through everything.

Izuku approached her cautiously, unsure of how to begin. Would she recognize him in this younger form? Could he find the courage to tell her who he really was? The conflicting emotions swirled within him as he neared Inko.

His mother's eyes met his, and for a moment, there was a flicker of recognition. Her smile faltered slightly, as if sensing something familiar in the depths of those young eyes. Izuku felt a lump forming in his throat as he struggled to find the right words.

"Mom," he whispered, the word catching on the mix of emotions swelling inside him. The atmosphere around them seemed to shift, as if time itself were holding its breath.

His mother looked at him, a mixture of surprise and concern in her eyes. "Are you okay, dear? You look a bit... lost."

Izuku hesitated, his mind racing with the weight of the unspoken truth. How could he explain the complexities of his existence, the memories of a life that should have ended long ago? Instead, he opted for a simpler response.

"Yeah, just... a bit lost. It's been a strange day," he managed to say, forcing a small smile.

His mother's expression softened, and she reached out to gently touch his cheek. "Well, you're safe now. Let's head home, and maybe you can tell me all about your day."

As they walked away from the school grounds, Midoriya couldn't shake the haunting sense of déjà vu. He glanced back at the school, at the children playing, and at the woman beside him—the mother he thought he had lost forever. The mysteries of his second chance at life unfolded before him, and he knew that the journey ahead would be filled with challenges, revelations, and the opportunity to rewrite the narrative of his existence.

.

As Izuku stepped through the familiar doorway of the apartment he once called home, a flood of memories washed over him. The layout, the scent, the creak of the floorboards—all carried echoes of a life he had lived, died, and now found himself reliving.

"I'm home," he called lightly as he took off his shoes.

He took a moment in the entrance hall, surveying the surroundings with a mix of nostalgia and disorientation. The furniture looked smaller than he remembered, and the colors seemed brighter. The weight of the past pressed on him as he observed the framed photographs on the walls—a younger version of himself smiling with Inko, moments frozen in time.

Speaking of his mother, she quickly passed him and made her way into the kitchen, unaware of the complex emotions welling up within him. The clatter of pots and the aroma of a familiar dish being prepared filled the air. He hesitated before venturing further.

Gathering his courage, he entered the kitchen. Inko turned, her eyes lighting up with a warm smile. "Do you want to talk about your day while I get dinner ready to be put in the slow-cooker?" she asked, genuinely interested.

Izuku managed a smile, the weight of unspoken truths lingering beneath the surface. "It was... interesting," he replied, choosing his words carefully. He didn't want to burden her with everything, not yet.

Inko, always perceptive, studied his expression. "If anything's on your mind, you know you can talk to me, right?"

He nodded, appreciating the unconditional support that had been a constant in both of his lives. "Yeah, Mom. Thanks."

It was nice that some things would never change.

Throughout the evening, Izuku explored the house, retracing the familiar spaces that held so many memories. He glanced at the living room where family gatherings had taken place and the small garden on the patio where he had planted herbs with his mom as a child; only there was no garden when he looked.

"Where'd the garden go?" He muttered, stepping back inside.

"Y'know what? A little garden sounds lovely. We'll grow our own tomatoes and beans, and you'll help mama water them, won't you?"

Izuku looked up at her, startled. "Of course," he said with no hesitation.

He was rewarded with a gentle pat and an even softer smile. "My good boy."

In his bedroom, he found traces of the person he used to be—a collection of hero merchandise, sketches of his favorite characters, and the desk where he once dreamed of becoming a hero. It was a surreal experience, like stepping into a time capsule. In another way it was like those moments-before-a-disaster clips. It was harrowing.

The out-of-place feeling lingered, so Izuku figured there was nothing to do but put on his pajamas and go to sleep.

.

"Izu, dinners ready," Inko knocked lightly before opening the door. She smiled, seeing her little boy in his Allmight onesie all curled up under the covers.

"You must have really had a hard first day, huh kiddo."

She nudged his shoulder lightly, "Time to eat, baby."

"Mm," he murmured before snapping his eyes open. "I'm up!"

"Ha!" Inko called, "Slow down, love. No where to be but the kitchen table."

She watched his wide little eyes as he nodded, but still her stomach churned just the slightest bit when the pools of green looked back. "I'll meet you out there."

Once Inko left the room, Izuku finally stood. He'd thought he'd be more comfortable after a nap, but waking up to his mom set off his 'something's wrong' alarm. The nausea would pass.

 +        *   ⊹   　 °.         * ✧        + * 　 ⊹ 　  °.    * ✧       + *     ⊹  °    . *  ✧ 

a.n.

I hope you all liked it! This is not my typical beat but it just seemed to flow, y'know? Ttyl <3

What I Said When The Sun Set

Fandom: Bnha, Mha

Pairing: Todoroki x Reader

Rating: E

Words: .6k85

Warnings: Angst, Breakup

A/n: He might not be with her, but he’s always in her heart- aka - Y/n still loves him, even after he left.

 “He’s an idiot. He can't be– Sho's the smartest guy I know."

Y/n sat on the pier of the silent beach, leaning back on her hands as she stared at the yellow sky which glowed onto her skin. 

A sigh passed her lips, "You're right, maybe he's just stupid."

Her eyes were shut as the smile danced on her lips, swaying with her memories. “He used to say the best was yet to come. All the time, whether something bad or good happened he’d take my hand and lock eyes with me. In the softest voice he’d whisper the best is yet to come, and I never really knew if it was a promise or a threat.”

The wind blew through her toes, making Y/n sigh with a degree of content she hadn’t felt in a while.

The sky had turned pink while she laid there, and she started laughing. Her cheeks were sore and her eyes watered from the smile. Y/n turned hysterical, her stomach shaking with every semi-melodic burst of humor. And then, she just didn’t feel like laughing anymore.

“Do you think...” she paused, thoughts about her life passing through her brain. He’d left so suddenly, with no warning he just decided she wasn’t enough. She thinks about her flower shop, the one she runs by herself in a nice part of town. She thinks about the smiles people send her way as she walks down the street and her small apartment that has everything she needs. “Do you think he’d be happy for me?”

Then she thinks of that night. Remembers the tears on his face and the shifting of his attitude. How he swayed between burning with anger and cool indifference. She remembered what he told her, that he needed more- needed something different. 

Her lips pulled to the side of her face- “I can understand that. But-” she breathed out, “Why did I need to go?”

The sky shifted colors to answer her, the pink turning to a purple gradient. The water sparkled in tribute to her tears, letting her know she wasn’t alone. Even in the depths of the sea there can always be company found in misery.

“Is he happy now?” 

She’d seen him on the news- fighting along side some of the other heroes she’d met while they were dating. Y/n was proud, of course, to see him being successful. She just hated that she hadn’t been there to see him through it. 

That’s the point, she had to remind herself, he couldn’t succeed with you ruining it for him. 

For a second she considered putting her hand in the water, in hopes it would feel like him. She didn’t- just thought about it. 

Her empty gaze looked out to the sky, as the darkness began to swallow the glowing light. Her eyes stung. “I love you.”

Her throat felt stuck, like everything she couldn’t say since he left had waited for this moment. “I miss you.” 

“Please come back,”

“I’m sorry,”

“I’ll do better,”

“Don’t leave me,”

“Please just,”

“Please don’t go.”

“I can’t do this without you.”

“I need you here with me,”

“What happened?”

“I’m so sorry,”

“I need you,”

“I thought you loved me,”

“I love you.”

The sun was a capricious god. It held her hand during the day but did nothing to curb the agony she fell into. The sun was hateful and loving- a pillar of everything she can do and everything she failed at. 

The moon is consistent. Always listening but never taking action. She offers no solace, no comfort. She just comes and listens, watches, and leaves. Maybe that’s why the darkness made her feel better. She had no expectation from the black sky, no thoughts that she’d be happier when it came. So she cried and cried until her throat was sore and eyes turned bloodshot. 

Then, when there were no traces of the sun in the sky, Y/n picked herself up from the pieces she fell into. Gathering her pride and stitching the shreds of her dignity back together, she walked away from the pier to go home. Each step reminded her that she was still alive, taking her further away from the past. With each step she moved forward, trying to forget what she said when the sun set.