Archive of Our Own

Bakugou had remembered it plainly, the day Midnight died. 

She had been so overwhelmed by the battlefield at that point, by the way her city had become a warzone, razen to the ground as the villains made themselves known. They crawled out of the woodwork like insects, jaws snapping and mouths frothing for blood.  

Adrenaline pumping, just letting out explosions for so long made her skin rupture open with sores and blisters. The smell of her own singed skin was pungent in her nose as she leapt through the air, watching Midoriya’s body streak through the air. Shigaraki’s form was barely visible, the speed at which the fight was occurring was intense. 

The smell of rubble, the distant whine of screams, Bakugou could only breathe slowly and push herself more and more. 

Her plan unfolded, and as she took that hit for Midoriya, the hit spearing straight through her chest, the action had felt instinctual. 

Begrudgingly, it was clear that he was important, too important to die. 

And it was only after Midoriya had gone mad with rage, after she had been laid down to rest, her blood flowing between her fingertips, did she realize the other stretcher next to hers. 

She can never forget that sight. 

Midnight’s blank eyes, her prone form, it was clear that the influx of bodies was too much to manage, and they just laid everyone out on as many stretchers as possible. Dead amongst the injured, and Midnight was just another casualty to be processed. 

For hours, Bakugou had laid there, blood seeping slowly as the sounds of battle continued, staring at Midnight’s blank face. Her contorted expression, the painful twist of her body, the sight of her broken legs, it sunk in fully for Bakugou. 

The day after, Bakugou had watched them list off the dead on the hospital television, eyes blank as Midnight’s name and picture scrolled past. 

Aizawa and Present Mic still lived, Shigaraki still lived, Endeavor still lived-

Bakugou didn’t cry, she didn’t have the energy to. 

She didn’t want to acknowledge that feeling within her, that growing dread, that indignant spite. 

Burying it deep, she just justified it. 

Midnight was just another death in the mass of hundreds. 

The wound in her chest healed fully, but there was a scar. 

It criss-crossed her breasts, jagged and ugly as it stood out on her pale skin. Shigaraki had been careless and brutal, his spear attacking with full intent to maim and kill. 

Recovery Girl said she had been reckless and careless, but they didn’t chide her for taking the brunt of the attack. 

No one said anything. They were content just to wish her the best, and say that she was brave. 

Midoriya lived another day, and Bakugou saved him. 

In her time at the hospital, Jirou was one of the only ones to visit frequently. They weren’t close before that, but something about the injury made them closer. 

Jirou had lingered after the rest of their classmates trailed away, eager to visit their better liked classmates. Todoroki and Midoriya were more popular than her after all. They were kind, and considerate-

Bakugou sorely lacked those qualities. 

Her fingers were nimble and pale as they curled around that paring knife, face calm as she peeled apples for Bakugou. Jirou’s hair was choppy and short over her shoulders, face sharp as it was framed by her hair. 

She was quiet, unobtrusive, someone who never stood out. She was a wild contrast to Bakugou, who screamed to be seen and demanded to be known. 

Bakugou was all flashy theatrics, while Jirou was invisible. 

“Wouldn’t you rather see Todoroki?” Bakugou had stolen an apple slice off the plate, Jirou barely reacting in response. 

Eyes still trained on peeling the apple, Jirou had answered calmly. 

“He doesn’t need more of us to fawn over him.” Bakugou had snickered, the sound harsh in her own throat as she brought herself to sit up. Stretching her arms, she ignored the throbbing pain in her chest. 

“If you’re here out of pity, I’d rather you leave.” Bakugou had fixed her gaze on Jirou almost viciously, eyes narrowed slightly to face Jirou head on. 

Jirou had simply finished peeling, before setting the knife down on her bedside table. The apple was immaculate, and Jirou had just grinned before finally replying. 

“I don’t pity you. In fact, I’m here because I think what you did was stupid.” Bakugou had blinked, and Jirou had slid the plate of apple slices into her lap, before leaning on her elbow. 

Her sharp grin, her oozing sarcasm, Jirou levied her with playful derision. 

“As much as you dislike Midoriya, it’s ironic that you seemed so ready to die for him.” Bakugou bristled, frown deepening as she scowled. 

“I wasn’t going to die.” Jirou had only laughed. 

“That’s what you think. But a day will come when pushing him to safety will just kill you.” That had made Bakugou angry, fists clenching and unclenching as she glared at Jirou. Jirou only met her with a cool smile, body visibly relaxed. 

“I can do what I want.” Those words were spoken through gritted teeth, and Jirou had just laughed in response. 

“No one will say it to you because they’re all too logical, but I’ll say it to you right now.” And Bakugou wasn’t prepared for Jirou’s hand to close around her own, those soft and smooth hands brushing against her callused ones. 

“Don’t do that again. I don’t care if it’s to save Endeavor. Just don’t do it.” Her straining, keening voice echoed in Bakugou’s ears. Bakugou could only flex her fingers in Jirou’s grasp, and stare. 

She should’ve been angry, flown into a rage at being told what to do by someone she barely knew. 

And yet, Jirou had told her what she wanted to hear most. 

After that, they grew closer. 

Jirou confided in her, confessing her deepest worries and pettiest fears. Bakugou could only listen, too headstrong to admit her own insecurities. 

Listening was fine enough though, and they fell into those strange habits. 

In Midoriya’s absence, and in the ensuing warlike stretch of time that plagued their teenage years, Bakugou came to rely on Jirou much in the same way. 

Bakugou learned that Jirou had a difficult relationship with her doting, coddling parents. She learned that Jirou had a budding crush on Kaminari that was a source of constant disappointment for her. She learned that Jirou had been one of the only ones that defended her after her disastrous run at that first sports festival. 

Jirou didn’t mind her abrasiveness. In fact, she was just as abrasive back sometimes, her sarcasm laced with sharp jabs. Bakugou could only sputter back in rage, arms flying as Jirou laughed sharp and high. 

And as they eased themselves into the new battlefield, one that completely absorbed them and their lives, they grew closer for different reasons.

They shared a common fear after all. 

They couldn’t articulate it exactly, but it intensified everytime a casualty came back. 

Bakugou remembers scouting, and stumbling across Mirko’s body in the open, breasts carved off her body, and limbs strewn about. They had toyed with her before she died, torturing her until her face contorted into a death scream. 

Jirou had vomited at the sight, gagging and crying as she was forced to bag up what was left of her. Bakugou could only stare, lips pressed tight at the sight. 

She was supposed to be used to it, right? 

Female heroes died more gruesome, violent deaths. After all, they were women too. There’s more fun to be had in making women scream, compared to men.

Those parts had been cremated the next day, ashes scattered along one of the main rivers. There were too many dead bodies to process, and funeral processions had to be quick. Bakugou wasn’t even present, still busy on one of her many missions or patrols. 

Every time she came across a body like that though, it always made her chest ache and ache. It was a phantom pain, something that made her cripple over and grow lightheaded. It was a pulsing and growing blossom of searing pain that reminded her of that moment she was struck. 

It made her so infuriatingly weak, and the first time it happened, Jirou had been the one to hold her, her cold hands lacing around her shoulders as Bakugou choked on her own spit. The walls had closed in, and the body of yet another fallen comrade just spun in her vision. 

Mangled thighs, the woman had been strangled to the point of death while being raped. They cut her throat after the ordeal, but it was clear that she died like a dog. 

Every day began to bleed together, an endless cycle of recovering fallen bodies, and fighting in covert missions. Her fingers were always raw and bloodied from the constant use of her quirk, soothed only by ice water baths in the evening. 

In the evenings, those were the times when Bakugou was finally given time alone with her thoughts. 

She thought about many things. She thought about the state of the war, about Jirou, about their classmates, who were dispatched across the entirety of the nation at this point. She and Jirou were lucky to be stationed together, unlike other members of their class who were appointed elsewhere. 

And sometimes, in the dark of night, she would think of Midoriya. 

The boy who left them, who was their one chance of salvation. Bakugou just couldn’t connect those two things together. 

That sniveling and weak boy who trailed after her, and the glorious hero who was their secret weapon in this civil conflict, she couldn’t bring herself to see them as one. 

Maybe she was just stubborn, still too prideful to acknowledge Midoriya as an equal. 

She did see him as an equal perhaps, but to her, he was still Midoriya. He was still barely seventeen, with misguided ideals, and a dangerous willingness to do anything that was asked of him. 

Back then, she still worried for him, even during his absence. 

It was a useless effort though. 

She had to admit eventually that Midoriya was beyond her. 

Months stretched into years, and the civil conflict that began with Shigaraki stretched into a full blown war. Bakugou became a full fledged hero, a battle-hardened veteran in the ranks. She still made contact with Jirou, albeit less often. 

And Midoriya, well, he was a full war hero at this point, a propagandized star for the public to place their trust in. His exploits were broadcasted far and wide, and Bakugou only caught glimpses of him from time to time. 

Bakugou had an incredibly powerful quirk after all, one that was desperately needed as their forces began to dwindle. They worked her to the bone, placing her with some of the top ranked heroes to complete their objectives. There was no time for niceties. 

She remembers the time they used her quirk to blow up the League’s main food supply, the way Todoroki had nearly burned her to death as they tried to collect as much of her sweat as possible. 

After that mission, the reports had let them know that many of civilians living with the League were starved out, and in a month's time, they wheeled those same emaciated bodies out to be disposed of. 

They didn’t know that the League were harboring refugees, harboring the relatives of their operatives, they simply didn’t know. 

But to see the sheer mass of women and children collected in those big piles of withered limbs and heads, it was enough to shock Bakugou. Even in the midst of war, she should’ve been numbed to the sight. 

Her chest had been struck with that familiar pain, and it took everything in her to just keep breathing. 

Months later, the League had retaliated in revenge, blowing up a mass housing complex in Tokyo, one of their remaining strongholds. Bakugou had been dispatched to provide immediate rescue assistance, to blow apart rubble to free as many people as needed. 

Jirou had been with her, tasked with providing communications support to every hero on ground. 

Of course, it was the same sight, and Bakugou’s chest burned again and again. 

Mangled bodies, mothers crawling to their children to provide cover, it was the same as before. These were the wives and spouses of heroes busy in the war. They were convinced of their safety, convinced that the protection that their government offered would be good enough. 

There wasn’t much to save when the entire building had been blown down to its very foundation. 

Jirou had comforted her as always, hands smooth and tight over her shoulders, fingers curling in her hair, lips pressing against the small of her neck. 

And Bakugou would always welcome it, trying her best to keep the pain from showing in her eyes, from letting the hurt spoil her expression. Even after all these years, Bakugou never shared her thoughts with Jirou through words. 

It was easier through touch. 

That night, after the commotion had died down, the two of them had curled together in the lobby of the hospital, awaiting commands from one of their higher-ups. 

“It’s getting worse.” Jirou’s lips were chapped and raw, eyes gazing distantly as her fingers tangled with Bakugou’s. 

Bakugou nodded, face buried in her elbow. 

“They say we’re winning in Osaka though. Todoroki has made leeway there with Momo.” Bakugou coughs, wiping at her mouth with her sleeve. 

“And they’re razing the entire countryside to do it. You’ve seen their plan, right? They’re torching everything in one big line, pushing the League closer and closer to the coast to make them surrender.” Jirou doesn’t reply, content to let Bakugou’s harsh words flow. 

“It means nothing when we’re losing so badly in our own home territory. The fact that they’re able to attack us here in Tokyo is a bad sign. The one stronghold we thought we had, is now vulnerable.” Jirou curls her fingers tightly in Bakugou’s grasp. 

“I’ve heard rumors.” Bakugou blinks, and Jirou’s gaze is sweet and sad. 

“What are you talking about?” Jirou’s eyes are blank. 

“They haven’t heard from Uraraka in weeks.” Bakugou grits her teeth, her mind pounding and pounding over and over again. It hurts, it hurts so much to think, and yet Jirou’s grip keeps her firmly grounded. 

Her scar itches. 

“We knew that they weren’t doing well in Fukuoka, but I didn’t know it was that bad.” Bakugou’s breath is raspy and harsh, and Jirou’s cool voice slips into her ears. 

“I’m being sent there to conduct recon.” Bakugou squeezes the other woman tight, hair slipping over her eyes as she tries to control herself. Everything is too loud, and too fast, and Jirou is petting her now. 

“I’ll be fine, but we should be prepared for the worst.” 

They always had to be prepared for the worst. 

And that was when Jirou had placed a gentle hand underneath Bakugou’s chin, tilting her face up to stare. Bakugou had only stared back, watching the other woman’s sharp features. Those cool and calm eyes, that unwavering demeanor, Jirou had always been so much more controlled than her. 

“I love you, and I will come back.” Those words were met with no response, but Jirou knew she didn’t need a response. 

Bakugou just let herself be hugged, and after all the time they’d spent together, that was as good as it got. 

My most ardent admirer, 

I feel as if I’m your husband who’s gone off to war, sending letters to assure you of my safety and wellbeing. But that would make you my doting housewife, and even though that image is appealing, I’m sure you would hate it. It doesn’t help that you’re literally an amazing cook, and someone who is obsessed with cleanliness. 

I’m already tired of the food, of the cold, and of the stupid recruits around me. They keep asking me about Midoriya, and I’m convinced now that they’ve deified him. Apparently, he can reverse the turn of the Earth, and I’m too amused to correct them. 

I could go on and on about how dumb they are, but they’re still children in the end. Kids should allowed to be stupid. 

Things are bad here, but they’re not as bad as we think. The League has blown up a lot of the supplies, but there’s still enough heroes here to keep the frontline intact. The civilians have at least all been evacuated, but there are still many who refuse to leave their homes. 

I tried getting this old couple to leave behind their house, but the granny literally bit me to stop me from helping them move! Should I get tested for rabies? I swear she was frothing at the mouth. 

Jokes aside, I’m doing as fine as I can. 

The thing is, Uraraka still can’t be found. She was conducting rescue operations during one of the League’s raids, and her squad got split off. They were last seen in one of the most contested zones. 

I’m sure they’re fine though, and I’ll be searching for them. They sure know how to get themselves lost though. How did they manage to get lost behind enemy lines? How the hell can you get so deep into their territory, and just disappear? 

That girl is crazy, but I’m sure that craziness is keeping them going though. Remember when she fought you? She took all those hits from you, and just kept grinning through it all. She’s an actual wackjob. 

Ugh, this letter is getting long. 

I know you hate sappiness, but I’m missing you more and more by the day. It’s so uncharacteristic of me to say things like this, hell I hated it when Kaminari tried saying them to me, but it’s uncontrollable!

Every day apart from you, the more gross I get. By the end of my mission, I’ll be waxing sonnets to you in these letters I’m sure. 

Anyways, that’s all for now, and I’m sure my next letter will get to you in a few days. I’ve been writing them like crazy, and I think the carrier birds hate me. 

- Your increasingly mad friend, Jirou

After Jirou’s departure, she sent letters often. 

Bakugou kept them on her at all times, folding and refolding them constantly to read her words. They were all sarcastic and biting, but it was comforting. 

They were a sign that Jirou was alive, that she held that same paper in her hands, and penned those words for Bakugou herself. 

And after days of nonstop violence, of harrowing battle, they were a refuge. She could pull them out anytime she wanted, and let herself feel just a bit calmer. 

It was an embarrassing crutch, but no one had to know. 

Without Jirou though, it was clear that Bakugou felt an emptiness that she hadn’t felt in awhile. 

She had no one by her side, and all the classmates she had known were spread across Japan. All she had were those young recruits, trembling little things who knew about her temper, but admired her nonetheless. 

They depended on her for protection, for comfort, and as aloof as Bakugou was, she still put everything she had into protecting them when they went out. 

Sometimes, she didn’t understand why they put her in charge of a squad. It really wasn’t her thing. She’s not like Todoroki, who commanded respect simply because of his sheer strength and stoicism, or Uraraka, who was kind and sociable. 

She was still that incendiary hothead, who managed to piss everyone off. She yelled at her squad constantly, cuffing them when they didn’t listen, or did something stupid. 

Bakugou still remembers the time one of their youngest, a fresh-faced sixteen year old named Toushiro, went diving in the midst of enemy fire to save an injured soldier. The soldier was as good as dead, and somehow the boy thought he could escape unscathed. 

He ended up riddled with bullets, with a fractured femur. Bakugou kicked up a cloud of dust with her explosions to hide them, before leaping in to drag them to safety. The boy left a long smear of blood across the dirt path, legs dragging uselessly as he squirmed and screamed. 

The soldier he tried to save laid deceased in his arms, too far gone. 

Bakugou’s dread was overcome by her anger, her voice shrill as she slapped the boy across the face, the rest of her squadron looking on as their medic tried their best to stop the bleeding. 

The boy had just stared blankly at her, face too pale. 

“You wouldn’t do it too?” The question was plainly uttered, and Bakugou could only breathe heavily, letting her thoughts steam in her brain. He looked impossibly young, looking up at her like that. 

But his question was simple enough, and Bakugou knew she couldn’t say anything. 

In a way, he was right. She would risk her life, she would risk her life again and again just to prevent another funeral.

But she was their captain, and they were just stupid kids. They didn’t know what death was yet. They haven’t come to terms with death, haven’t tasted enough of it to understand what dying actually meant. 

And as Toshirou let himself be carried away on a stretcher, the rest of the team silently watching on, Bakugou just shouted her reply. 

“Fools get themselves killed, and I don’t want to be the one to tell your mother you died a useless death.” No one answered, and Bakugou could only stomp away after that, mind buzzing as the unfairness of the whole situation dawned on her yet again. 

When did she become the oldest member of her team? When did all the recruits start looking so young? 

When did they start recruiting not from colleges, but from high schools? 

It started during her time, but they had their hero licenses at least. These kids were barely trained, just warm bodies to add to the battlefield. 

When Toushirou came back, fully healed, he bowed before her deeply, hands cradling a package that he gave to Bakugou. She had only watched him grin at her, eyes bright and sparkling as he regarded her with a tentative warmth. 

“My mother wanted to send you a gift for saving me. Thank you, Captain.” The aching in her chest was different this time, and all Bakugou could do was clap him on his shoulder before gruffly dismissing him. 

She shared the apples with the rest of the squadron later, peeling them the same way Jirou did. Her letters burned in her breath pocket as she cut them, watching on as her soldiers lounged around, faces looser than she remembered. 

She enjoyed those momentary stretches of peace, those periods in the night where they could simply rest. 

The distraction was good enough. 

Dear my worst friend, 

Yet another week of work. I’m starting to get tired of listening in on League operations, and writing boring reports. It’s always much of the same. They plan some kind of big raid, we plan around it, and a big fight ensues where we lose more than we gain. 

In the meantime, I’ve taken up charcoal sketches. I’ve attached one to this letter. It's you!

I tried to get your scowl just right. I feel like that’s just your default expression at this point. I still can’t forget that time we tried surprising you for your birthday at school, and all you could do was scowl at us, and then set fire to the confetti we threw at you. 

Todoroki ended up taking care of it though. He was always so useful. At least he could take care of the messes he made, unlike a certain someone… 

I’ll be honest, with all the free time I have just sitting around conducting recon, all I can think about is the good old days. Don’t you remember the summer we went to the beach? Or the time we had the school festival, and you played a kickass drum? 

Looking back, it makes me sad I didn’t try getting closer to you. We always thought you were hostile, that it was a hassle to even try talking with you. 

Partly it was your fault though. You did pull that scary shit at the sports festival. Ok, it was half-scary, half badass. I still can’t forget the way you blew Kirishima away! We knew you were strong, but somehow we always thought you were bluffing. 

But to see you take on the strongest in our class, to see the way you collared that snotty ass Todoroki boy and screamed at him, I couldn’t help but admire you. 

Maybe that’s why I got so scared after you took that hit for Midoriya. 

I saw the way you willingly got in front of him, the look on your face, you were willing to die for him, and that scared the shit out of me. 

I can’t explain it, but I just thought that if you died, what would we have left? What would I have left? How would I ever feel strong again, without looking towards you? 

I was right when I said I would get sappier with each letter, right? Well, you’re going to have to suffer through it, because I’m going to keep writing to you. I’m not stopping, you fucker! You have to come and kill me to get me to stop!!

I love you, and I miss you. 

- Your nostalgic friend Jirou

Bakugou remembers it so clearly, the day her first soldier died. 

He was young, but he was one of the older members of her squad. His name was Takeshi, and he had entered her squad when she was first appointed captain. He was a stoic, serious guy, someone who respected Bakugou even though she was a good head below him, and barely experienced. 

She was appointed captain because her own captain had died in an air raid, and she was the one with the most experience after him. She had been on the battlefield for only 2 years at that point. 

Takeshi had been strong, someone scouted right out of Yuuei because he had a quirk that allowed him to manipulate earth. He was incredibly tall and broad for a seventeen year old, a veritable tree among her ragtag crew. 

Bakugou was still the same back then, a demanding dictator with a bloated eho. She was gruff towards everyone, but even she couldn’t help being just the slightest bit kinder towards Takeshi. 

He respected her when no one else would, and after she earned their respect by saving their asses multiple times, he didn’t treat her any differently. He was the same silent giant, completing his objectives the way he was instructed to, and filing the best reports in their division. 

During the nights when they would huddle around a fire, he would take up whittling, carving the most beautiful little wooden statuettes. By the end of his time with her, he had carved a number of animals ranging from bears, to tigers, to wolves. 

They never shared more words than needed, but during those nights, Bakugou would just sit by his side, watching intently as he carved away. She would make some strong coffee for the both of them, keeping watch as the younger ones rested. 

She was fond of him. 

Two years into his service with her, her squad had been stationed at a small city to defend against an impending raid. She had been on edge, nerves frayed as she noticed the structural instability of the already besieged city. 

They moved silently, trying their best to evacuate as many remaining civilians while avoiding any League operatives. 

Of course, they were ambushed. 

Bakugou remembers the clouds and clouds of dust, the way the debris clogged up her lungs as rubble fell over them. The enemy had blown up a series of high rise buildings to collapse on them, and Bakugou had been proactive in shielding as many of her crew as she could, hands outstretched to grind as much concrete as she could into gravel. 

She doesn’t remember exactly what happened, she only remembers the way some men had clung to her legs, hiding beneath her as she continued blasting. 

Once the onslaught ended, she heard a low pitched wail. 

Turning slowly, she caught sight of Takeshi’s head and arm, just barely peeking out from under a massive slab of concrete. 

The falling rubble had loosened the foundations of the other smaller buildings around them, and the walls had collapsed. She hadn’t been paying attention, much too focused on the sky. 

Takeshi had been caught, but not before pushing the soldiers near him away, his quirk sparking to life to knock them back. 

Bakugou had silently instructed them to lift the slab up, her own arms coming up to cradle his body, to pull him away. 

His legs were a bloodied mess, crushed to a pulp. His breathing was labored and heavy, the telltale signs of a punctured lung that was quickly filling with blood. Takeshi’s eyes were barely open, and Bakugou could only bring him into her chest, face still as she held his hand. 

His warm hands were callused and rough. Takeshi’s grip had been weak, and Bakugou knew at that point that the injuries were too serious to be resolved. He would suffocate in a matter of minutes, and all she could do was comfort him in these last moments. 

With her soldiers shuffling around her nervously, she had gestured for them to leave.  

Takeshi’s grip had loosened slowly, his pupils focusing as best as they could on her face. He knew he was dying, and Bakugou’s chest had ached at the growing fear in his expression. 

Of course he was scared. He was too young to die. 

“U-uh.” Hand lifting to his breast pocket, he had gripped something before shoving it towards Bakugou. She took it, nodding slowly to let him know she understood. 

Takeshi died like that, in the warmth of her arms, eyes blankly open and body limp as he tried to draw one last ragged and slow breath. Bakugou had gripped him tighter and tighter with each dying moment, wanting him to know that someone was there. 

No one wants to die alone. 

But in the war, no one dies the way they expect to. 

Everyone will die a slow and painful death, a death that they fear until the very last second, and in the midst of that pain, Bakugou knows that nothing will help. 

But at least the warmth of someone else will ease the process. 

In her hand, she had gripped a small unfinished statuette of a wolf, Takeshi’s last project. 

At his funeral months later, Bakugou had bowed before his parents, kneeling as her forehead touched the ground. She apologized over and over again, tears barely kept in her eyes. The mother had wept, and Takeshi’s father didn’t have the strength to speak to her, simply turning away. 

They knew the pain of war, they knew it was a possibility, but everyone convinces themselves that it won’t happen to them. 

For months, Takeshi’s death had plagued her. Her chest had ached again with that phantom pain night by night, crippling her as she thrashed in her cot. His blank stare, his gurgling mouth, it was so vivid in her vision. 

Jirou had been the one to comfort her when she could, telling her that it was inevitable. After all, Bakugou did the best she could, and the fact that she was grieving was sign enough that his death wasn’t in vain. 

He was important. 

For every death after that, for every casualty in her squad that left her aching and breathless, she promised she would never stop mourning them. 

Grief was proof, and Bakugou was content to let herself be filled with grief. 

Midoriya returned to her the same way he surprised her on their first day at Yuuei, face beaming and eyes burning with confidence as he burst through the enemy’s line of defense, smiling carefree and easy as he shielded one of her squad members from someone’s quirk. 

Bakugou had practically screamed at the sight of him, convinced she had seen a ghost rather than the man himself. Her squad had been frozen at the sight of him as well, shocked that a hero like him would grace their battlefield. 

She pretended not to notice the cameras that followed after him, filming his every heroic action. 

Midoriya had saved the day from that point on, dashing through the enemy and defeating them soundly. Bakugou would only watch and offer support, rallying her soldiers into a frenzy. 

After the battle, pushing the League back into their trenches, Midoriya had walked up to her like an old friend, face easy and smooth as he grinned at her. 

She had felt hopelessly grimy and dirty, blood crusted under her fingernails as she stared at his outstretched hand. 

“It’s good to see you again.” And Bakugou couldn’t help it. 

Her squad had fallen into a hush after she punched him across the face, eyes wide as she tried pushing him. He had stumbled a bit, rubbing his cheek before smiling sheepishly. The camera crew around him had immediately stopped filming, faces grim as they watched Midoriya. 

“You have the nerve to cut us all off, and just waltz back in because you’re a fucking hotshot now.” An eruption of whispers, her soldiers knew she was affiliated with some of the most elite heroes of this generation, but they didn’t know how deeply she knew them. 

Ground Zero was certainly somewhat of a household name, but for her to know Deku… 

“Where were you when we lost Fukuoka to them? Where were you when Hokkaido fell, and we lost Tsuyu? Tell me Deku, or has the press gotten to your fucking head? Are you too good to die with the rest of us now?” Midoriya’s eyes had been blank, and Bakugou didn’t flinch when his hand came to brace her shoulder. His grip was strong. 

“Let’s talk somewhere else-” And Bakugou shook him off, anger boiling and boiling as she continued to speak. 

“No, I don’t think I will. I have nothing to say to you.” Midoriya’s face had been weak, an indescribable expression that Bakugou took some pleasure in seeing. 

Some things remain the same, and Bakugou was content to see that her words still impacted him. 

Her soldiers were still lingering around, and Bakugou had raised a fist threateningly at them, causing them to scatter. Midoriya followed silently after her, his persistence irritating her with every step she took. 

By the time she got back to their camp, Midoriya was still following her. Bakugou could only bristle at the sight, head pounding as she reached instinctively for Jirou’s letters. 

It was the only thing that could calm her at this point. 

As night continued to fall, Bakugou busied herself with prepping reports, trying her best to ignore the way her soldiers fawned over Midoriya. Their questions, their raucous laughs, Bakugou always hated how easily Midoriya gained the favor of others. 

Stepping out of her tent for a bit of fresh air, she had eyed the group of them, speaking to Midoirya animatedly as he fielded their questions. 

“Did you really take out 150 soldiers all by yourself?” Midoirya had just laughed at that, and Bakugou wanted to snort. 

“I think that’s an exaggeration.” The boy had deflated a bit, and Bakugou had wandered over, eyes sharp as her soldiers immediately stood to attention. She sneered at them, and that one expression was enough to send them running. 

“You guys better be getting dinner ready! I told you to prep an hour ago!” Her yell was piercing, and she was met with a cacophony of apologies. Midoriya had snickered from below, and Bakugou was sharp in glaring at him. 

He stopped smiling. 

Sighing, Bakugou had sat herself down. Midoriya’s face was lit by the glow of the fire, and Bakugou crossed her arms before speaking. 

“I’m not going to apologize for what I said. But I do recognize it hasn’t been easy for you either.” Midoriya was silent, but his smile was slow and wide. 

“You’ve changed so much.” Bakugou scoffed, before sliding down onto the ground to sit next to Midoriya. She crossed her arms. 

“Don’t try to flatter me. I’m the same bitch from high school.” Midoriya shook his head, head craning to stare at her. He’d gotten older, wrinkles gathering at the side of his mouth. His eyes were warm and soft, and he drew closer to her side. 

“I’m sorry though. They never want me out on the real battlefield, so I haven’t been there for any of you.” Bakugou didn’t say anything in return, content to cross her legs and stare at the embers of the fire. 

“You’re right to be angry, Bakugou. It feels like I abandoned all of you. I should’ve been there for Tsuyu during the funeral, I should’ve been at Tokyo for that bombing-” Bakugou cut him off with a sigh, shaking her head. 

“Shut up, I get it. You’re too important right now to be risked. I’ve always known it, but I just didn’t want to acknowledge it.” Midoriya fell silent, and Bakugou buried her face in her hands. 

“Your squad really admires you.” Bakugo blinked, and Midoriya gestured towards the group of them huddled behind a tent, trying their best to creep in on their conversation. Bakugou smiled bleakly at them. 

“They’re young, aren’t they?” Bakugou tilted her head in agreement. 

“Everyone who’s fighting out here is young. There aren’t many left of our generation to be honest. We’re lucky.” Midoriya nodded, as if he understood. 

Bakugou turned to face him finally, levying him with a careful gaze before asking her question. 

“I know you didn’t come here just for a visit. What do you want?” Midoriya’s expression shifted the slightest bit. 

He’s regretful now, and Bakugou’s heart spiked with dread.

Tilting his head forward, he spoke slowly and calmly, a kind of seriousness imbued in his voice that made Bakugou’s blood freeze. 

“We’re in the process of launching a final major attack on Shigaraki. We’ve located him, and All Might is convinced we can kill him this time around.” Bakugou blinked slowly, arms drawing tighter around herself as she listened to him. 

“It’s serious this time, Bakugou. We need everyone on board for this.” The way he scratched his head, the way he nervously bit his lip, Bakugou geared herself. 

“In order to even get this operation off the ground, some sacrifices have to be made.” Bakugou breathed slowly, in and out, in and out. 

“Your squad has been marked to be in the very front lines for a diversion attack in Fukuoka. By holding a long skirmish there, we’ll draw their attention away from where Shigaraki is hiding.” Bakugou hand darted out, gripping Midoriya’s wrist. She twisted as hard as she could, and Midoriya let her. He didn’t squirm, didn't make a sound, content to let Bakugou hurt him. 

Her anger boiled over, but she didn't yell. 

“We’re going to be fodder then? We’re going to be sacrifices for the cause?” She wanted to break his wrist, she wanted to hurt him, she wanted to make him scream. 

It’s unfair, it’s unfair, it’s unfair. 

“I know how awful it is, but we need someone to do it.” Midoriya’s voice cracked, and Bakugou threw down his wrist, watching the imprint of her fingers leave red marks in his flesh. Jirou’s letters were burning in her pocket, and Bakugou wished she was here. 

“Are you telling me this because you want me to be prepared for death? You want me to break it to them? You always left the dirty work for me. It’s better for you to appear like a good cop, isn’t it? I have to be the bad one.” Her words came out jumbled and scrambled, frantic. 

Midoriya was the one to grab her then, warm hands closing around her shoulders as she tried flinching away. 

Bakugou couldn’t move away, he held her so tightly she felt like she was going to split. 

“No, no you can’t die.” His pupils were blown so wide that Bakugou had to look away. 

“I’m here to take you away.” Bakugou bashed her head forward, knocking her forehead against his. Midoriya cursed under his breath, letting go of her. Bakugou took the opportunity to get to her feet, spitting on the other man. 

“You want me to abandon them?” Her voice was a soft hiss, and Midoriya stared up at her. 

“You’re not abandoning them. We just need you elsewhere. You’re strong, Bakugou. We need you there for Shigaraki.” Bakugou bristled, and Midoriya rose to his feet as well. He towered over her, face dark as he watched her. 

He considered her slowly, pupils drawing slow over her face, her body. 

“You want me to appoint a new captain so I can come with you.” She felt hysterical, watching as Midoriya slowly nodded. 

As soon as the question was posed, Bakugou already had an answer. Eyes staring straight into Midoriya’s, her gaze was steady and sure. 

Her answer was simple. 

“I’d rather die in Fukuoka, than go with you.” The truth was plain enough to her, but Midoriya’s eyes narrowed, and Bakugou tried not to be surprised by his sudden change in demeanor. 

If there’s one thing about Midoriya that will not change, it was his persistence. 

“I should’ve expected this..” Slow, thoughtful words, and Bakugou growled. 

“The woman I knew wouldn’t have spared a thought about the people around her. She understood the greater good.” Bakugou dug her nails deeper and deeper into her own palm. 

“I never forgot what you did, Bakugou. I never forgot the way you jumped in front of me. You could’ve died, but that didn’t stop you.” Midoriya’s hair covered his eyes, and he staggered closer and closer to Bakugou. 

She didn’t move, didn't give an inch. 

“Don’t you want to kill Shigaraki? End this for good?” Bakugou shook with anger, shook with anger at the fact that Midoriya would choose to weaponize her one act of good will like this. 

“You’re fucked up, Deku. I don’t know what happened to you, but the last thing I want to fucking do is send seventeen year olds to die and call myself a hero.” And Midoriya had grabbed her, shaking as he forced her to stumble back. Bakugou yelled, and there was a rustle of twigs and leaves. 

Sprawled across the ground, Midoriya stared down at her, face impassive and strong. 

“But this is for us, for Japan!” Bakugou kicked him back, getting to her feet quickly. Her soldiers slowly came to her defense, eyes trained on Midoriya as they drew to her side. Midoriya slowly got up from the ground, his chest rising slowly as he examined her again. 

“It doesn’t matter then. If you want your squad away from Fukuoka, you’ll be coming with me. If you refuse, then you can all die together.” Her soldiers were silent, and Bakugou couldn't believe it. 

Midoriya stretched his hand out, and Bakugou stared at it in disgust. 

She remembered then, she remembered Takeshi, and she remembered Tsuyu. 

She remembered every name, every person who died under her care, whose funeral she attended. Those names cluttered her mind, and lastly, she came upon the oldest name in the list. 

Midnight’s blank stare, her torn body and uniform, it echoed in the recesses of her mind, striking pain in that damn scar. Midoriya put it there, it was his unerasable mark. 

She will be tied to him until she dies, because her life is his. 

“You’re awful, Deku.” And she tore past him, stomping to enter her tent. He knew it was his victory. 

That night, Bakugou had received orders to report to their headquarters in Tokyo. She appointed a new captain, and her squad was assigned orders to guard Tokyo. They all got a cushy job in the capital, and Bakugou knew that they would be well-protected. 

She tries not to think about the squad that would be assigned to take their place. 

Dear my loveliest and ugliest friend, 

Big things are underway, aren’t they? I’m sure Fukuoka will be busy these next few months. I’m almost done with my recon mission, and I can’t wait to see you again. I’m sure we can share a few beers, and talk about it. You’re treating me, by the way.  

By the way, I heard from a little birdie that you met Midoriya again. 

I don’t want to pry, but I hope you’re civil with him at least. He’s a war hero now, Bakugou! Do you know how much you can take advantage of that? It helps that he’s obsessed with you too.

Yeah, I’ve known about that. He’s crazy for you, you witch! I thought you were leading him on for the longest time, especially after that late night fight that one time, and those months you were both on probation. It stirred up so much speculation, because think about it! What else can two horny teenagers get up to? 

Of course, I then learned you were an oblivious, ignorant, and sexless being. Poor Midoriya… 

God, if you heard any of that gossip in the class, you would’ve blown your shit. Everyone thought there was something between the two of you. Hell, Iida and Uraraka were planning to help him confess to you, I’m pretty sure. 

Of course, that was before the war really kicked off. He got whisked away to do his professional duties, and you got enlisted. Sad, really. We were sure you guys would shack up at some point, and have some kind of shotgun wedding. 

Ok, enough of the teasing. I’m sure you guys are fighting like cats and dogs as we speak. I know you don’t exactly harbor the best feelings for him after all these years, and I don’t want to make you too mad. 

Just be gentle on the guy, ok? He’s probably a little cuckoo from everything. 

Plus, I don’t want you to talk about my love life either. I was whipped for fucking Kaminari, and even when we dated, I was head over fucking heels. The things that I did will haunt me until the day I die…

Looking back, it wasn’t a real relationship. It was built off of expectations, fantasies, visions of a different reality. I couldn’t conceive anything outside of the bubble I built, outside of the bubble of our classroom and our classmates. Kaminari was an idea to me, a boy who I fantasized about because I felt like I had to be attracted to him. 

I thought there was a meaning to our attraction. I felt the expectation, and embraced it against my own desires. 

Kaminari may have been flawed for expecting a doting and complacent girlfriend, but I was just as flawed for pursuing someone who I didn’t understand, someone I knew I could never have a connection with. 

Maybe I’m telling you this as a warning, I’m not sure. But I do want you to know that there’s no shame in admitting things to yourself. There’s no shame in realization, in perceiving yourself fully. 

Midoriya is something you can deny, just like I’m something you can embrace. 

Anyways, I’m as fine as I can be. Just a few more weeks, and I’ll be back by your side. I’m sure we can chat about this later. 

As always, I love and miss you. 

- Your bestest friend, Jirou

Bakugou wasn’t used to it at first. She wasn’t used to all the camera attention, all the constant questioning from reporters, or the preening. Now that she was designated as Midoriya’s coworker, they focused on her intently. 

She was framed as one of Midoriya’s best allies, a formidable woman both on and off the battlefield. 

They posted photos of her and Midoriya side by side, inspecting the wreckage of a blast, or surveying some kind of battle plan. It was all so tedious and staged.

Midoriya had shrugged at it. He was used to it, but Bakugou was not. She had hated the media ever since she debuted as a hero. 

They liked dramatizing everything about her, creating cat fights between her and other female heroes, or linking her with her male classmates. It was just a mass of rumours, and Bakugou had nearly gone crazy from it. 

Jirou had always said it was because she was powerful. She was eye candy, who brushed elbows with the strongest. That was enough to draw attention. 

As Bakugou spent her days in Tokyo, the more and more useless she felt. Instead of fighting, instead of drawing up actual concrete war plans, she spent almost all her time by Midoriya’s side, posing for propaganda. 

Midoriya assured her it was to boost morale, but Bakugou was convinced it was just to distract from the worsening state of the war. 

“You’re telling me that I’m more useful wearing fucking dresses and meeting with dignitaries, rather than fighting?” Kicking her high heels off her feet, she collapsed in her hotel bed before staring at Midoriya. 

The other man had loosened his tie, letting it drape over his broad shoulder. Running his fingers through his hair, he sat down in an armchair, watching Bakugou closely. 

“It’s all for appearance, Kacchan. If Shigaraki sees how confident we are, and the fact we have so many international ties, he’ll understand the upper hand we have.” Bakugou had just groaned, twisting out of her dress. Clad in just her bra and spandex, she had tossed the thing onto the ground. 

Midoriya watched her like a hawk. 

“How long are we fucking prepping for this attack? Shouldn’t you be calling other people to help us? I’m sure we’ll need Todoroki, and Iida.” Sitting up on the bed, she crossed her legs to consider the other man.

Midoriya avoids the question, content to point at her scar. 

“That was from him.” Bakugou sighs before nodding. 

Midoriya draws closer to her, hands reaching out as if to touch it. Bakugou is quick to kick him in the chest though. She hates it when he gets like this, all bug-eyed and disgusting. 

“Stay the fuck away. I’m not sure why you’re so fixated, but it’s healed. I feel fine.” Midoriya remained silent, and Bakugou had gotten up to get a sweatshirt from her suitcase. Slipping it over her head, she had turned to stare at Midoriya, still sprawled on the floor. 

“How is my squad?” Midoriya answered quickly. 

“They’re all fine. They’re just doing scouting missions along the Tokyo border. I’m having Kirishima watch over them for you.” Bakugou’s eyes softened, and she settled back onto the bed. She perched her head on her hand. 

Seeing Midoriya like that made it hard to actively despise him. 

“Do you know who’s still alive from our class?” Her question was met with a moment of silence, and Bakugou kept her eyes narrowed. 

Midoriya shook his head. 

Bakugou just laughed, high and sharp. 

“The first death was Tsuyu. She was caught in a quirk-created storm in Hokkaido, and drowned in the ocean while trying to conduct search and rescue. All of us went to the funeral, except for you.” Midoriya stood again, moving to sit in the arm chair across from her. Bakugou leaned back on the bed, content to rest on her hands. 

They studied each other, and Bakugou continued speaking. 

“The second death was Mina. They dispatched her to Osaka, and during an ambush, they captured her. We tried negotiating for a release, and we eventually settled on an exchange of hostages.” Bakugou’s voice was hollow in her own ears. 

“She came to us in a box of pieces. They strangled her before dismembering her post-mortem. We killed the other hostage at that point, and sent him back the same way.” Cocking her head, Bakugou had watched Midoriya’s still expression. 

“We cremated her, and I remember the way her family cried. We didn’t tell them how they mutilated her. I still don’t know if that was the right decision or not.” Breathing in slowly, Bakugou had closed her eyes. 

“The most recent one, I’m sure you heard.” She kept her eyes closed. 

“Uraraka went missing on the battlefield, and after months of searching for her, we found her remains after we finally uncovered a hideout in Fukuoka.” Bakugou grit her teeth. 

“She was tortured to death. She died a week before we finally breached them.” Midoriya rose from the chair, the legs screeching against the wooden floor. Bakugou didn’t flinch at the sound. 

Opening her eyes, she had levied him with her own gaze, judging his expression. 

“Why are you telling me this?” His voice had been gruff, and Bakugou watched as he drew closer and closer to her. He was menacing at that point, an indescribable emotion coming off him in waves. 

“So you know what it’s actually like outside of this, so you understand how much blood that has been shed that isn’t yours.” His breath had been hot and heavy against her cheek. 

“We’ve withstood everything, and accepted that your life was worth more than ours. I’ve had tens of hundreds of people die in my care, and every single one of them died believing you would one day bring this to an end.”  Midoriya’s hand reached up to grope at her, to pull at her shirt. Bakugou had let him, eyes blankly focused on the ceiling. 

“I’m not telling you this because I hate you, because I want to cause you pain. I’m telling you this so you understand what we have all done for you.” It’s unfair, she had wanted to utter that. She had wanted to scream at him, scream at the fact that for every photo he took, for every meeting he had in the safety of Tokyo, for every precious hour he spent training himself, there were people who died to gain him that time. 

And all of them had died foolishly believing in him. 

Bakugou was convinced two generations of heroes had sacrificed themselves at that point. There was an entire generation of women who have been lost, an entire generation of men who have been slaughtered. 

Midnight’s death had been the first. Then it was Tsuyu, then it was Mina, and now it was Uraraka. Every death was like a quick boost, a quick little prick of pain to keep them awake enough to keep going. 

Women were the best martyrs, weren’t they?

He had pulled off her sweatshirt, staring blankly at that scar. Bakugou could only let him, eyes burning as she continued to watch him. 

“I know that I will have to die for you some day, and that knowledge pisses me off so much.” He didn’t answer. Perhaps he’d known that from the start. 

“Whether I become a hostage, whether I have to sacrifice myself for you, I’m not content just to be forgotten.” Gripping his hair, Bakugou had stared into his eyes, burning and bubbling over with spite. 

“I’m going to burn myself into you, I’m going to make it so that you’ll never forget me. The moment I die, you’ll mourn me for the rest of your fucking life. You’ll close your eyes, and my dead face will be etched there for as long as you live.” Midoriya had just gaped at her, and Bakugou had gripped his head so hard, she hoped to see his brain bleed out from his ears. 

And after that, she had let go, content to let him stumble back onto the bed. She had then laid down, face impassive as she considered her own confession. 

Curling into herself, Bakugou had wanted to weep. She had come to terms with the situation, but it was still startling. 

Then, Midoriya had laid down next to her, his hands closing around her shoulders and waist. His voice had been like a wisp in her ear, dry and withered. 

“I want that. I want that very much.” Bakugou could only close her eyes at the sound of those words, letting them pass over her like a wave. 

She fell asleep thinking of nothing. 

My love, 

I love you very much, and knowing that you are apart from me makes my heart ache more and more by the day. 

I’ve always feared waking up and hearing news of your death. I’ve always feared the day when you come back to me as ashes. And as strong as I know you are, I can’t help but be afraid. Of course, I’m sure you have that same fear for me. 

I’m sorry, dear. 

You’ve been everything to me from the moment I knew you. You were the one I admired the most, the one person I wanted to desperately be. You were hope personified, a sign that I could dare to be something more. 

I was always scared, always telling myself I shouldn’t even try, because what was the point? What was the point when I would always be weaker than everyone else around me? But seeing you, seeing you defy every odd known to man, I threw away my weakness. 

I couldn’t have come this far without you, and I’m sure everyone we’ve known would say the same. Mina, Tsuyu, Uraraka, we all grew because we knew you. You were so unbelievably strong, and we wanted that for ourselves. You gave us so much hope. 

I’m not scared, I refuse to be. I refuse to ever be cowed again, because I have you in my thoughts. 

Fukuoka will fall, but I’m sure that I’ll come out unscathed for you. I will see you, and we will meet again. 

I love you more and more by the day. 

- Your Jirou

You can’t let their deaths be in vain. 

Bakugou knows that mentality is the only thing that keeps her going. She knows that each additional name etched into the folds of her brain is another reason to keep herself moving. 

So as she poses for another propaganda piece, as she trains for the final onslaught, she does so while remembering every face she left behind. 

At the same time, she wants to scream at the farce of it all. 

What use is it to keep going, when death is all that awaits them? Why does she have to desecrate their images, and use them as mental fodder to keep fighting? 

When she receives the last of Jirou’s remains, she collapses right then and there. She sobs for what seems like hours, shaking as she clutches her head. It wasn’t like the other times. The grief should’ve made her angrier, more willing. 

But this grief strikes her deep in the core, it shakes her bones, it chatters her teeth, and drops her heart into her stomach. She can’t breathe, she can’t see, she can’t speak. 

All she can do is cry, Jirou’s voice echoing over and over again in her mind. Her letters are still in her pocket, burning a hole into her chest as they always do. 

She never wants to stand again, she never wants to breathe again. Jirou’s death is enough for her. 

Of course, Midoriya is there to try and comfort her. He tries holding her by her arm, mouth murmuring against her ear to bring her somewhere more appropriate. Bakugou just acquiesces at that point, falling limp as he drags her away. 

When she’s tucked away safely into her room, she is grabbing Midoriya's hair and arm. She is pulling him close, trying to find any kind of familiar warmth. He lets himself be grabbed, and Bakugou doesn’t even have the strength to feel ashamed. 

What would they think of her now? What happened to the toughest woman in Japan? 

“I’m hurting so bad.” She sobs into his ear, and all Midoriya can do is breathe with her. 

“I can’t fucking believe it. I can’t believe this is happening to me.” Midoriya tightens his grip, and Bakugou rocks with him. 

“I can’t even feel angry. All I can feel is fucking pain.” Another cry, and Midoriya forces her into his chest. 

“I won’t forgive them, I won’t forgive them…” Midoriya’s whispers are like thunder in her ear, and Bakugou just continues to scream. She’s going insane, she’s going to go crazy. 

Bakugou feels manic, like her skin is going to break apart at the seams, and Midoriya can’t even help contain her. 

“I promise you, Bakugou. I promise I’ll crush them for you.” A quiet promise, and Bakugou just wants to scream and kick him away. That’s not what I meant, she wants to scream. 

Of course, that falls onto deaf ears. 

Bakugou spends the rest of the night being held, Midoriya’s arm keeping her folded against him. She leaks tears all night, scrabbling at his chest and struggling in his grasp. He keeps her grounded nonetheless, and by the next day, Bakugou feels somewhat coherent enough. 

Her eyes are sore, and she pulls away from Midoriya’s weak grasp. Struggling to her feet, she reaches for Jirou’s letters. 

Unfolding them, and folding them, she repeats it over and over again until the paper feels thin and weak. Bakugou slips them away at that point, sitting at the foot of the bed. 

Staring vacantly at the ceiling, she speaks quietly. 

“I killed her.” Midoriya rustles from under the covers, eyes widening. 

“If I didn’t befriend her, if I didn’t tell her those stupid things, maybe she wouldn’t have been dispatched there. Maybe she would’ve just lived a happy life as a civilian, gone back home to her parents and moved away to another country to take refuge.” Midoriya rises, hands coming forward to touch her gently. 

“Maybe I shouldn’t have told her to break up with Kaminari. He was right when he told her not to enlist. He was right when he tried to get her to stay home. She would’ve been safer there.” Bakugou stares at her hands. 

They’re callused over, but not as raw as they normally are. They’re taking great care of her here, trying their best to keep her in her best condition. 

“I’m ready, Midoriya.” The other man is silent. 

Bakugou stares at him, trying her best not to flinch at the sight of his eyes. 

“I’m ready to do everything I can to win this fucking war.” The other man continues to be silent, and Bakugou crawls forward to sit on his lap. He stares at her, memorizing the lines of her face, and the creases of her eyes. 

She’s as beautiful as ever, and Midoriya feels the burning low in his gullet. 

He doesn’t have the heart to break it to her, to tell her exactly what he plans. 

So he doesn’t, he just tugs her closer and closer, pressing a pair of lips on her ear, and on her neck. She accepts it limply, and Midoriya doesn’t mind. 

Bakugou has finally accepted it all. 

Todoroki arrives three days before the final attack. He regards her with a nod, and Bakugou just nods back. 

Him and Midoriya busy themselves with separate meetings, ones that Bakugou are barred from because she’s not stable enough. Bakugou wants to roar at the unfairness of it, her mind is as clear as ever. 

Of course, Momo is the one to draw her away, telling her that they’ll let her in soon enough. Bakugou lets herself be calmed to avoid being too much of a disruption, but the whole thing leaves a horrible taste in her mouth. 

Bakugou spends her days training relentlessly. She has to be dragged out of the training room by Midoriya, who fawns over her hands and tells her not to push herself too much. 

She knows how worried he is for her, and it’s not a good sign. She thought Midoriya knew she could handle herself, but his new coddling is worrying. 

At night, her attempts to assure him go unheard. He talks about the weather, he talks about the dreams he has for rebuilding Japan, he talks about the future. It’s all so messy and unbelievable, and the noise only makes Bakugou ache with pain at the thought of it. 

She never thought about a future after the war, it seemed so unrealistic that she simply never bothered to fantasize about it. 

“I want to live in Tokyo, I think. I want a nice high rise for my mom, a place where she’ll never want for anything again.” Bakugou lays next to him, head tilted to the side as her hair draws long over her shoulders. She hasn’t been cutting it for months now. 

The photographers and stylists say she’s prettier this way, more appealing to the eyes of the public. They love attractive and sexy heroes, they boost morale like no other. 

Bakugou’s body is a hot topic nowadays, her farce of a uniform designed to streamline her curves and breasts. Midoriya tells her it’s a necessary task, something to raise public appreciation with. Bakugou just listens, mind blank. 

Some things are inevitable. She’ll degrade herself to bring them the slightest bit closer to victory. She’ll do anything she can to realize the end of the war. 

Midoriya is over her, body pressing against hers as she lets herself be pushed into the mattress. 

“I want a nice and warm place for us, somewhere where you’ll never have to feel scared again. I want a beach house, a cottage tucked away somewhere…” Bakugou thinks of Jirou, of the way she would place her cool hands on her neck during the nights they spent together. 

Midoriya does the same to her now, and Bakugou compares it. It’s not the same. 

“After I win, we won’t ever have to feel pain again. We’ll be so happy. I’ll be the strongest hero, and you’ll be by my side.” Soft promises, Bakugou feels them pressed into her ear, whispered like mantras. 

She’s dizzy as he kisses her, lips molding and pressing into hers. 

It’s a necessary step, something that will stabilize Midoriya for the incoming battle. She’ll be the warm body for him to take refuge in, the rock that will keep him grounded. With every touch, she winds him closer and closer to her, fashioning him in her image. 

He touches her gently, and Bakugou feels it. It’s so light, and she grasps his broad shoulders. Pulling, pushing, she lets herself be maneuvered the way he wants. She lets him grope her breasts, she lets him finger his way down her waist and hips, she lets the touch roll over her like a breeze. 

Midoriya fucks her with conviction, he fucks her like she’s his victory. She smells the confidence on him, and it reeks in her nose. But he’s self-assured, living on a high, and Bakugou wants it as much as she wants Shigaraki to die. 

She drinks his kiss greedily, while thinking and dreaming of what life would be like after all of this. 

Midoriya dreams of warm cottages and doting hands, but Bakugou longs for something else. 

She longs for Jirou’s smooth hands, and soft hair. She longs to feel the press of her lips against her own neck, to touch Jirou’s glossy hair and bony ribs. She still remembers the soft swell of her breasts, the sharp jut of the pelvic bone, these details are a flurry in her mind even as Midoriya gropes his way down her body.

After Shigaraki dies, after everything returns to normal, after everything is finished and done, Bakugou doesn’t know what other happiness she can hope to derive from life. 

Herodom seems empty to her now, just an empty promise. 

When Midoriya finishes in her, gasping and moaning in her ear, she relaxes into his touch as best as she can. This is what he wants, and Bakugou will let it pass. He rolls off of her, drawing her close to hug her tight. 

Jirou’s hands were colder. 

She is counting down the seconds until the invasion, and as she lulls herself to sleep, she continues to count. With every increment, she feels her eyes slowly droop closed. She’s so unbelievably tired. 

With the windows drawn just the slightest bit, the sweat evaporates off her skin. It’s comfortable and warm, and Midoriya holds her the way a lover would. 

And just like every night, her thoughts continue to stray back to Jirou. 

Dear my most annoying friend, 

Do you remember the summer we spent between our first enlistments? I took you to a beach, and you told me you’d never been to one before. I thought you were joking, but it was true. 

You never had friends to go to a beach with, and when I learned that, I took it upon myself to take you. I remember the way you looked, sputtering around in the ocean with your hair all wet. The line of guys waiting to hit on you was a meter long, but the moment you blew one up, they all went running. 

I remember laughing so hard, I coughed my lungs out. 

We had watermelon, we listened to bad music, and made out in the changing rooms. Tsuyu managed to fish up some crazy shit from the sea, and Uraraka ended up floating away our towels into the sky. It was a mess, but I loved it. 

Seeing you laugh like that, with the sun hitting your hair just right, it made my heart ache. 

I like to think I tried my best to get to know you. I like to think I managed to understand you, and make myself trustworthy enough for you to accept. 

You’re probably laughing at me right now. I can accept that. These are the worries of a stupid old lady after all. I’m dumb, Bakugou. You can’t change that. 

At night, we watched the fireworks in the sky. You were so focused on the sky, it was easy for me to watch you instead. You looked like a whole painting, the lights coloring your face with glitter and color. 

I think I realized I loved you right then and there. 

Sappy, I know. Again, I can’t help it. I’m delirious. 

- Your stupid, stupid friend Jirou

“You’re serious.” Bakugou tries not to scream. 

Midoriya stares back at her, face apologetic. He’s by the door, hands clutching the handle of the door. Bakugou stares at him, before trying to bolt for the entrance. 

He’s quick though, and he ends up caging her away anyways. She pushes and struggles, releasing explosions into the air to try and confuse him. Midoriya doesn’t fall for it, his black-whip quirk releasing to properly restrain her. 

She’s thrashing on the ground. 

“You’re really doing this? Are you fucking kidding me?” She screams and screams, and she catches the guilt swirl in Midoriya’s eyes. He’s genuinely sorry, but he’s convinced. 

He’s convinced that this will be better for her, and even though she’s been so polite to him these past few months, this is the straw. 

“I’m not your fucking wife to protect. I’m not a fucking civilian who can’t take care of themself. I’m a fucking hero, Deku!” Midoriya leans forward to cradle her face, face smooth and unmarred. He studies her with love, adoration, and it’s all so suffocating. 

“You understand, don’t you?” Midoriya presses his lips to her cheek. 

Her breath is heavy in her own ear as she thrashes back and forth. 

“When you said you would die for me, I didn’t know what to make of it at first.” Midoriya’s hands clutch her arms, lightly stroking her skin with his thumbs.  

“I’ve always understood that sacrifices had to be made. I’ve known that people have died for me. This path I’m taking is paved with the death of our comrades. But to know you were just as willing, it broke me to think that way.” Midoriya shakes, and Bakugou finally stops struggling. 

“If your life is mine, then I’m willing to keep it.” His touch gathers everywhere, and Bakugou can only stare at his pained eyes. It’s as if he’s grieving, driven mad by Bakugou’s own words. 

She’s always driven him crazy, hasn’t she? 

“Anything that causes you pain, anything that threatens you, I’ll save you from it.” He grins, and slowly gets up off of Bakugou. She can only stare at him, rising up on her arms to watch him leave. 

“I’ll bring back Shigaraki’s body for you, and you’ll never have to hurt again. I promise you that.” She’s on her knees when Midoriya leaves, locking the door behind him. 

She’s still, so perfectly still. 

Somehow, she expected Midoriya to do this, to cage her away from the fighting. Now, she’s protected and safe, and no threat could ever reach her here.  

Midoriya protects her in the way she failed to protect Jirou, stripping Bakugou of her autonomy for her own good. He pulled rank to isolate her from the fighting, to slowly ice her out of the final battle plans before luring her into this fortified base. 

Clutching her head, the betrayal feels like a brick being dropped on her head. 

In her quickness to trust Midoriya, she forgot. She forgot how calculating he could be. 

“You think you know what’s best for me.” Her words echo in the emptiness of the chamber. It’s luxurious, outfitted with all the necessary amenities and supplies. Bakugou knows he catered everything to fit her, to make everything as comfortable for her as the days pass. 

Perhaps she’s still in shock, but as she crawls to sit on the couch in the room, she starts to fold and unfold Jirou’s letters again. The paper is so fragile at this point, but Bakugou takes care in keeping it intact as she repeats the motion over and over again. 

Midoriya stored her away like a precious thing, hiding her away from anything that could tarnish her. 

His obsession and possession, she never understood the depths of it. At the same time, she was the one to cultivate it, wasn’t she? 

Bakugou sets the letters down, contemplating to herself softly, before barreling towards the door.  Explosions rock the entire room as she tries blasting her way through the walls, fists pounding against solid material. Nothing happens, the wallpaper only getting a bit singed as she tries breaking through. 

It takes her a moment to notice the bolted down furniture, and the titanium doors. It’s a full on fortified shelter. 

It should make her feel safe, but it makes her feel trapped instead. 

Midoriya has been preparing for this. 

Bakugou shivers, and her nerves start to fray. The realization is slow and sick, and she grasps her mouth. Her mind is dizzy, and she settles back onto the couch while clutching her head. 

Midoriya has been preparing and designing this bunker to house her for years. It’s too well furnished, too well prepared to make her believe this was done in a matter of months. 

No, Midoriya was prepared to keep her from the frontlines from the start. 

The fact is sickening, and Bakugou does all she can to stop her mind from spinning. She’s horrified, yet angry. She’s furious at him, furious at the sheer audacity of Midoriya to decide for her. 

She screams, arms covering her face as she continues to yell. No one will hear her, she’s too well protected, too well isolated. 

In the depths of the earth, away from the battle she needed to have fought, Bakugou can only writhe on the floor, screaming and screaming for release. 

My Katsuki, 

Why is it that I always think about the past? 

From the start, I convinced myself that I did this out of duty. My actions were puzzle pieces to the bigger picture of peace, and yet, that makes no sense to me at all. At what point will the violence escalate to a stop? At what point will the line be drawn? 

When Tsuyu died, her waterlogged body dragged onto the sand like a piece of trash, I had looked into her glassy eyes, and wondered what the reason was for it. 

At the funeral, they told us to keep her in our hearts, to remember her legacy, to keep fighting for what she wanted. We didn’t realize it at the time, but that one death just justified it for us. We had to keep going, we had to keep doing what we did. After all, see what they did to Tsuyu? 

You shouldn’t forgive that. Her pain cannot go unpunished.

Looking back, I regret that all. 

We used her. We used her pain to fuel our selfishness, turned her death into a justification, tarnished every piece of her memory. How would she react? Knowing that it was her death that led us to poison Sendai’s groundwater? Don’t you remember the way those bodies had shriveled in the sun? 

But every time, we reacted the same way. Every death was a rallying cry for us to continue and escalate. The things I’ve done in memory of my friends, they would be horrified.  

I’m scared, Bakugou. I’m scared for the war to end, and for me to remember every single thing I’ve done to get to that point. I’m scared to finally see the light at the end of the tunnel, and come to grips with the reality of what we’ve done.

I’m crippled with a weight that is heavier than grief. My lifetime of mourning will never compare to this feeling that will continue to plague me until I die. 

When I die, I don’t want to die a hero’s death. I want everyone to know I died shamefully, fearing every second of the end. I want to die with a whimper. 

God knows it’s what I deserve. 

- Jirou

Midoriya returns to her 25 hours later, chest puffed and standing tall. He looks worse for wear, with his limping leg, and his mangled arm. It’s clear he needs to visit the hospital as quickly as possible, and yet, Bakugou watches without care as he crosses through the doorway. 

The room is trashed, things strewn across the floor as she lies limp on the floor. She’s torn the light fixtures from the falls, tossed lamps across the room, and the bunker is dismantled as best as she can. 

Midoriya is amused by the sight. 

“We’ve won.” Bakugou doesn’t reply, eyes rolling back into her head as she watches Midoriya. 

“We couldn’t have done it without you.” He’s truthful, and that’s what makes Bakugou so furious. Midoriya is ignorant to her true feelings, convinced of his own perception of her. 

Staring blankly, Bakugou tips her head to the side, allowing the other hand to touch her neck. He’s gentle as always, content to treat her carefully and delicately. 

“Shigaraki’s body has been strung up in the streets. The League will be handed over to the courts and dealt with. The entirety of Japan is finally at peace.” Lies, so many lies. Bakugou lets her hair be brushed, tangles of blonde locks slipping between marred fingers. 

“I did it for you.” And Bakugou continues to stare at the weary creases in Midoriya’s face, the way his face twists with pain. They should be happy, shouldn’t they? Japan will finally be at peace. 

Yet, it goes unsaid that there will never be rest for them. 

“I’ve suffered for you.” Bakugou’s words are bitten out against Midoriya’s fingers, a low and rolling hush. She draws them out plainly, watching as Midoriya regards her with uncomfortable fondness. 

“I was fully prepared to die, and you’ve taken that away from me.” Midoriya doesn’t smile. 

“I’ve lived an eternity of suffering to give you the strength to end this war, and you still won’t let me go.” Midoriya still doesn’t answer, hands calmly rolling up and down her body. He’s careful, and light. 

“What did you think about when you killed him?” Bakugou’s chin tips to the side, and Midoriya leans down. His lips brush against her forehead, against her cheek. 

“I thought about that time.” Bakugou closes her eyes. 

“I thought about the time he pierced your chest. As you fell, he had said your spilled blood had been meaningless.” Midoriya kisses her lips softly, and Bakugou doesn’t react. 

“That rage has followed me until now.” It’s as she expected. 

“You’re fucking insane, aren’t you? You’re just as misguided as the rest of us.” Her hand comes up to draw around Midoriya’s jaw. She doesn’t bother activating her quirk. 

She’s had a lifetime’s worth of causing pain. 

“And now, after all this has happened, what do you think we do?” Midoriya is silent again, and she knows he’s slowly coming to that realization. 

“You feel it now, don’t you? It bubbles inside of you, it’s eating away at your very core.” Midoriya falls on top of her, and Bakugou smells his blood, smells the rubble and grit on him. 

“You’ve used me to get this far, and now that you’ve reached your prize, it’s useless, isn’t it?” Midoriya grunts into her ear, and somehow she feels so giddy and light. Her words flow out of her, and knowing that the war is finally over leaves no lingering impression. She’s not relieved, she’s not happy, she’s simply cognizant of the fact. 

“What’s the point of having this, when there’s no one left to share it with? Our friends have passed ahead of us, and we’re entering an era we will never understand.” Bakugou is screaming at this point, her voice deafening and loud as she yells. 

Midoriya does not flinch.

“Can you become a hero again after knowing what it’s like to crush a man’s skull? Can we even show our faces in public, knowing that their fathers, brothers, and mothers have died under our care?” She grabs his chest, pulling and ripping. He doesn’t wince, and Bakugou’s breath rains hot on his neck. 

They’re silent from that point on, and Bakugou grips her head. It feels like her head is going to split. 

Chest burning, Midoriya kisses his way down her scar.