bnha oneshots (vol 1)

011 ⋆ sticks and stones 🖤

ship: none

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"Watch me!"

Bakugou tears away from Kirishima before the redhead could get another word in. They had no time to argue nor plan for this; their villain was getting away too quick for comfort, and there'd be hell to pay if this guy slipped through the ashen blond's grasp. They didn't know what his quirk was, only that whenever the guy's hand made contact with someone's face, they collapsed and didn't wake up. It wasn't death nor was it a coma, but it was something Bakugou didn't want nor need to find out about.

Or at least that's what he originally planned.

Five fingers obscure his vision, and everything fades to back as his eyes forcefully roll back into his head. He feels himself falling backwards, the pressure of fingertips against his sticky, sweaty skin dissolving into a dull throb on his face. He lands with a thud, air knocked out of his lungs. He blinks his eyes back into their correct alignment and now he's looking up at the sky.

It's nearly cloudless, a picturesque landscape of tapered whites and cerulean. Bakugou gasps at the surprising beauty of it all, and for a second, he figured this was why his comrades collapsed and didn't wake up.

That was until a swift kick came flying right into his ribcage. Bakugou lets out a sharp hiss and curls in on himself, elbow pinching into his bruising side and fuck that was going to leave a nasty ass mark. He opens his mouth to speak, but before he could get a word out, another foot is sent flying, this time targeting his hip.

"Ow, what the--" His voice is foreign. Pubescent . He slams his mouth shut at the oddity. What the fuck was going on?

"Not so tough now, are ya, Bakugou ?" That voice was so familiar to him. Who the hell did it belong to? Before he could align a face to the voice, someone else speaks up. "We're tired of following you around all the time! We're not your goddamn lackeys!"

His arm is grabbed and now he's being pushed over on his side, a foot pressing forcefully at the center of his back. His cheek is pressing into patchy grass and mud, and all he could see at first was the soles of scuffed up sneakers until the teen crouched down to look him in the eye, and it was only then that Bakugou recognized the uniform and pinned him as one of his old friends from middle school.

Okay, maybe not his friend, per se. Maybe not at all.

Especially not right now.

"You're probably the most childish person I know," he spits, and Bakugou could feel the venom laced in his tone as fingers curled into his hair and yanked his head up at an uncomfortable angle. "All you do is bitch and whine and fucking yell and threaten us; I bet you act like that to cover up the fact that you're actually an insecure baby who lashes out at everyone to feel like a big guy."

Bakugou chuffs, hardly able to get a proper breath in with the way the other teen boy was pulling onto his arm. The one in front of him shoves his head away from his hand and stands up, nose upturned as he shoved his fists into his pocket. "You think you're the shit when in actuality you're mediocre at best and constantly on the brink of a fuckin' temper tantrum."

"Yeah!" the one behind him agrees, yanking on Bakugou's arm for emphasis. God it felt like it was about to be ripped out its fucking socket. Bakugou didn't fully grasp what was going on; he didn't know why they were so angry at him to the point they wanted to hurt him in more ways than one, but regardless of their reasoning, Bakugou would be sporting bruises in more places than what was visible.

The teen behind him finally releases him, but the blond barely got a breath of relief when the one in front of him kicked him onto his back again. Heaven above was obscured by a dark looming figure; Bakugou could hardly recall what his middle school friends looked like, so all that was left of their likeness were echoes of their voices and colorless husks of who they once were.

He's back to wheezing again when one of them steps on his chest. "I'd be happier to see gum stuck to the bottom of my shoe than you anywhere near me."

Okay, fair. A lot of people felt that way about him; it was nothing new. It hurt, yes, but it was the next hurled insult that sent him over the edge.

One of them--he couldn't tell who--leaned down until his lips just barely grazed his ear, and in a harsh whisper, slammed him with, "You'll probably never be the number one hero, but you'll always be the number one waste of air."

And then they leave him there, bruised and bloodied on two different levels. He's back to gazing up at the sky, untainted, thin rafts of white drifting solemnly across a cerulean expanse. His mouth was the first to wobble, what first started out as a slight twitch of his lips quickly turning into an uncontrollable fit of twists and coils. He sniffs hard, vision clouding as warmth rushed to his face. His skin tingled and his heart throbbed painfully in his chest, and when he finally squeezes his eyes to hopefully will away the impending tears, he opens them to see the scenery had changed entirely.

He's in a hospital room and Kirishima is at his bedside, arms folded beneath his head. His spikes have since fallen, and there were fresh cuts and bruises littering his skin that weren't there when Bakugou had went whenever the hell he went. He looked so peaceful sleeping with his cheek pressed against his forearm, like not a thought of doubt was plaguing his unconscious mind. But for Bakugou, the poison of words uttered--real or not--rain deep through his veins and boiled him alive from the inside out.

His face is still hot, he sniffles harder, bites down on his thumb, and cries.