Chapter Text
Growing up, Bakugou had felt the back of his mothers hand more than he had felt her warm embrace, the feeling becoming as familiar as his own quirk.
His mother’s idea of discipline had been taking away things that would make him happy, yelling at him until he cried and belittling him until he questioned his entire self worth. His mother’s idea of love was one thing on paper and another thing in practice. For his father, she would make him lunch for work, spend hours helping him with designs when he came home and watch movies with him well into the A.M.. For Bakugou, she would tell him to stop being such an ass or he’d never have any friends, tell him to keep his grades up or he’d never make it into U.A., hammering rigid routines into him from a young age so he would study hard, train hard, do everything at 100% or not at all.
Tough love, she called it. A load of bullshit, he thought.
Now, in his first year at U.A., he can say in full confidence that the way she loved him was a way nobody else should be loved. Funnily enough, loving his friends in a way that didn’t hurt them came more naturally to him than he would’ve ever expected.
Love, for Bakugou Katsuki, was just like using his quirk. It took some practice, some time to learn how to deal with others' wants and needs after years of only thinking about his own, but once that period passed, he didn’t have to think twice about it.
Bakugou loved with his entire being, trusting his life in the hands of his friends and in turn he would give them everything he had to offer.
He would give them all the food they asked for, complaining to keep up appearances while making them breakfast so they wouldn’t go hungry. He would force them to study, smacking them over the back of the head with rolled up papers, but adjusting his teaching style to suit every single one of them. He would give them tips in training, pointing out their weak spots by taking them down swiftly, then telling them how to fix it.
He would put up with all the hugs Ashido threw his way, kisses smacked on his cheek in excitement, high fives and fist bumps and piggyback rides, rough housing in the common room, cuddling during movie nights—all of it. He would put up with the endless presents Sero left at his door, tags removed and receipts discarded so they could never be returned, offering to pay him back for particularly expensive ones, but not pressing to the point where he would feel like he had done something wrong. He would put up with Kirishima’s praises, the way his eyes followed him everywhere he went, a hand clasped onto his shoulder like he could protect Bakugou from every negative comment sent his way with a smile and some nice words (and he could, most of the time). He would even put up with Kaminari’s incessant need to hangout day after day, even when Bakugou’s social battery was truly built for anything but that.
He would even put up with Yaoyorozu’s endless supply of teas that took up way too much cupboard space, Todoroki’s lack of social awareness (really, who could blame him?), Tokoyami’s gothic flare, Aoyama’s dramatics, Jirou’s unfounded self doubt, Kouda’s animals wandering the dorm, Iida’s chastising, Asui's bluntness that even gave him a run for his money, Shouji's accidental eaves dropping, the way Uraraka would always call him out on his bullshit, the way Ojiro never did the fucking dishes, the way Satou could out bake him any day of the week, the way Hagakure would always sneak up on him—he could even put up with Deku’s obnoxious muttering from time to time.
Maybe he was closer with some of those people than others—friend might be a stretch, but what else could you call somebody who you know would save you from death time and time again?—but in the end it was all the same.
Because now, Bakugou could easily admit, at least to himself, that he knew what tough love was and he knew he dished it out pretty damn well if his classmates' reactions were anything to go off of.
And he knew his mother still loved him regardless of how much she fucked up—hell, she had even been right all those years ago, when she had said it was important to listen, be patient, have empathy and always, always spend time with them, even when you had no energy left to give. Especially now that he was a hero. Now that he had been kidnapped and attacked and seen people around him nearly die, heard Kirishima sob when Nighteye did die—he never wanted to let these people out of his fucking sight.
Sometimes it scared him, to love so hard, so fast, all at once and without any warning. But he knows deep down that he needs this, that this is the only thing that will keep him together, keep him going through all the trauma he already has and all the trauma that has yet to come.
And thank fucking god for that.