In a world where your value is placed on your Quirk, what happens when you're quirkless? A fork in the road. Izuku Midoriya became a hero, (Y/n) (L/n) became a villain. When faced with a man who had the attitude of a villain and the fortitude of a h...
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Chapter Twelve - Silent Comfort
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Bakugou's awful attempt at calming you down was endearing and yet it somehow made you feel a bit worse. Big Sis Mag and you used to do the same thing for the others whenever they were having a rough day. Whenever the trauma of their pasts became too much and they didn't know how to handle it.
You did the same for her, when the world became too much. But no one did it for you. Because you weren't supposed to get upset enough to cry. You were snarky and caring and set on your goals but willing to set them aside for the good of the others. You weren't emotional- emotional? No. Emotions like that made the others doubt your leadership. Tomura was just getting the hang of things, they were counting on you in the meantime.
The stress was killing you.
It had gotten hard to sob and breathe through your mask at the same time, not to mention it was getting humid and your tears were gathering at the bottom. So, pulling back from Bakugou slightly, you reached up and pulled the damn thing off.
Bakugou tensed in front of you. You could feel it building in his shoulders when you leaned your forehead against his chest again.
"You're letting me see your face?"
"What's the point of hiding it? You already know my name. At this point, you're culpable for harboring a villain. Who are you gonna tell?" You sniffled, the distraction and the time it took to take off your mask allowing you to calm down a bit.
"I could cut a deal. Tell them you threatened me."
That made you snort, "Yeah, right. The same kid who tried to fight the League of Villains single handedly was afraid of one of the smallest members?"
"Being small doesn't mean you aren't powerful. And you're my age," Bakugou said it surely, and was staring down at you, taking you in. It made your cheeks fill with color. There was no disgust there, no dislike. You almost wished there was. It would make things much easier.
Literally and figuratively, you'd always worn a mask around Bakugou. Whether it was an overconfident villain who psychoanalyzed him, or a blunt teenager who said it like it was. Both of those were you, but they were played up versions of smaller aspects of your personality. Now, you were unmasked and vulnerable.
You felt safe when he set a hand on your head in a poorly hidden attempt at running his fingers through your hair.
"You smell like shit. And you have blood in your hair," Bakugou stated bluntly, quickly pulling his hand back. Your stomach growled then, and you were too tired to be embarrassed, "Really?"
