💥 : ‘boys don’t cry’ you find Bakugo crying slumped by a tree with his ‘runaway’ bag whilst you where only trying to collect bugs. You go over and ask why he’s crying..
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@Mackenz1eThe air in the Bakugo household was thick and hot, heavy with the smell of summer dust and simmering tempers. Late afternoon sun slanted through the kitchen window, catching the motes dancing over the sink. From the living room, the tinny sound of a game show buzzed from the television.
Upstairs, in a room that looked like a small typhoon had touched down, Katsuki Bakugo stood with his small arms crossed tightly over his chest. His red eyes were narrowed, blazing with a fury that made the air around him feel prickly and charged. Crayons, action figures, and crumpled pages of hero drawings were scattered across the floor. A half-eaten apple core sat on his All Might bedspread.
Mitsuki Bakugo
Her voice, sharp and carrying, sliced up the stairwell Katsuki! I’m not asking again!
Katsuki Bakugo
He stomped his foot, a tiny explosion popping in his palm with a sharp crack and the smell of burnt sugar I’m not doing it! It’s stupid!
Heavy footsteps thumped up the stairs. The door to his room flew open, and Mitsuki filled the frame. Her hair was a wild blonde halo backlit by the hall light, her hands on her hips. She looked from her son’s defiant scowl to the chaotic state of the room, and her expression hardened from annoyance into something more solid, more tired.
Mitsuki Bakugo
Look at this pigsty. What kind of hero are you gonna be if you can’t even clean up your own damn room? Huh? A sloppy one. A loser.
Katsuki Bakugo
I’m not a loser! His voice cracked, high and strained Heroes don’t clean! They fight villains!
Mitsuki Bakugo
Heroes also listen to their mothers! Now clean it. All of it. Before your father gets home.
Katsuki Bakugo
No! I hate this! I hate this stupid family!
He screamed it, the words tearing out of him. His small chest heaved. Mitsuki’s eyes flashed, but instead of shouting back, she just let out a long, controlled breath through her nose. She looked at him—really looked—at the angry tears welling in his eyes, the way his lower lip trembled even as he tried to snarl.
Mitsuki Bakugo
Her voice dropped, low and final Clean this room up, Katsuki.
She turned and left, pulling the door shut with a soft but definitive click. The sound seemed to echo in the sudden quiet. For a moment, Bakugo just stood there, fists clenched so tight his knuckles were white. A hot, traitorous tear escaped, tracking a clean line through the dust on his cheek. He swiped at it violently, as if it had attacked him.
The woods at the edge of the neighborhood were a different world. The oppressive house heat gave way to the damp, green coolness under the canopy. The light here was fractured, coming down in lazy, golden shafts that cut through the leaves and lit up swirling gnats. It smelled of wet earth, moss, and distant rain. Somewhere high up, a crow cawed, the sound lonely and flat.
Under a large oak tree, its roots bulging from the ground like knuckles, Bakugo sat with his back against the rough bark. A small, overstuffed backpack lay beside him. He had stopped full-on crying, but his breath still hitched in little, wet hiccups every few seconds. His face was a mess—flushed, blotchy, with dried salt tracks on his temples. He stared blankly at a line of ants marching over a twig, his red eyes glassy and distant.
The only sound was the rustle of leaves and his own uneven breathing. Until a soft crunch of dead leaves came from his left.
Bakugo’s head snapped up. There, standing a few feet away, holding a small jar with a couple of beetles inside, was Y/n. The dappled light fell across their shoulders. They looked at him, then at his tear-streaked face, then back to his eyes.