Chapter Text
Some people are born with no quirk drawbacks. Others are born with extreme, and terrible ones. Bakugo wouldn't say he's on either end of the spectrum, but hes pretty damn fucking close to one end, and it's not the 'no drawbacks' one.
It's fine! This just means that his quirk is on the stronger end.
Today, he deals with one of the consequences of simply being better! His arm is throbbing, all way up to his neck and back. The problem with this, is that the pain is constant. If he were to rate the pain, he wouldn't say it's a ten, nor an an emergency, but god fuck if it isn't irritating.
It's there, all fucking day.
Bakugo may not be the best at caring for his body, he overworks and exhausts it too much sometimes, but his body learns to adapt, mostly. He's aware that his quirk has limitations, major ones at that. However, after anytime he's done too much, he always treats his body accordingly. Warm baths, ice packs, pain killers, massages. Whatever's needed, that he can do himself.
This week, though, was just a little too long and full. They had their mid term exams, and because they're third years, they're very physically demanding. So, by the time they are over, he's reminded of why he has to care for his body so much in the first place
This means that his already thin patience, is running even thinner.
So excuse him if he yells a little louder during breakfast; or forgets the eggs he was making for himself, and the two others that rely on him to feed them, which– why the fuck is he feeding them in the first place?!
So when they make a face at the plates they're handed, maybe Bakugo loses it a little bit.
"Don't fucking complain if you fucks can't feed yourselves!" he says, and it comes out harsh.
"We didn't-" Kaminari begins, at the same time round face goes, "it's burnt."
They turn to eachother, making weird faces that Bakugo is not in the mood to translate right now. He's reminded of his arms with every movement he makes, and it was panging while he was making the damn food. (Hence, the maybe burnt eggs).
They start talking about some shit, he tries to listen in and focus, but he's too out of it. He hums back occasionally, but the neck pain is now a growing headache, and the noise is just adding insult to injury. He's scowling at his plate, arms resting on the table while numbing pains pass through them.
It's not normally this bad. He's regretting a lot of choices he's made this week.
He takes two spoonfuls before his arms give up, he bites down a groan. He might be irritable but hes not a pussy, some joint pain isn't worth complaining about— out loud that is. He can whine about it all he wants in his mind.
He tries not to move, just indulging in the menial conversation Kaminari and Uraraka were having, nodding here and there, mostly to whatever round face says.
"You're not eating?" Uraraka asks, eyebrow raised, "what, are your taste buds not used to the taste of freshly burnt eggs?"
He stares at her, brows furrowed, "yeah actually."
"Entitled little fuck," Kaminari teases. He flips his own fork around, "open up!"
"Absolutely fucking not?" he responds, eyeing the spoonful (forkful?) of eggs. Was he hungry? Certainly. But he was not about to get fed in the middle of the common room.
"Open up," he says again, no reaction to Bakugo's response.
He squeezes his mouth shut, unable to really use his hands as a protective measure. "No."
He's growing more impatient by the minute; he's hungry, in pain and currently fighting the force of Kaminari pushing food into his mouth.
"Come oonnn, just eat," Uraraka begins, "here, look!" she eggs him on. She faces Kaminari, fork in hand and feeds him. Who in turn smiles cheekily, hand tapping his stomach satisfactorily.
This felt like watching sad, shitty parents try to convince their child to eat their veggies. He was both amused at the act, and angered at the fact that he's the fucking child in this situation?
They repeat this twice or so, switching out whoever's feeding who, and he caves in. Not because the little play worked, if anything he's requestioning their friendship; but because the longer he stays here, the more he needs to get to his room, get some painkillers and a heat bag, and just not move.
So yeah, he caves in. He sits there, letting dunce face feed him, only because he wants to leave.
So, when a couple bites later he sees Uraraka snap a photo and giggle, he instinctively sets off an explosion. He swears it's a really fucking small one, not like he's aiming to actually harm her, but god fuck. It did not feel like a small one. Not with the current state of his arms.
That flared up his— everything, even more. He might have winced, maybe. Just a little bit. The pain was not a ten, but it was pretty fucking close.
He, embarrassingly, absolutely fails to swallow what he was chewing.
He needs his painkillers now.
He pushes his chair back, loud screech tailing the movement. He turns around and walks off. Kaminari tries to say something, but he hears Uraraka cut him off.
Unfortunately, neither the heat bag nor the meds are in his room, and he has to physically restrain himself from marching across the hall to round face's room and taking that shit back from her.
Although it doesn't really take much restraint. His arms are pounding numbly, and his neck just won't give it a rest. He can really only lay there until a minute arrives where the flare up calms down
Plus, it's not like it's her fault, he literally gave them to her. When she had asked him for painkillers for her cramps, his dumbass gave her the the whole box he has dedicated for times like this; inlcuding the heat bag, and some massager thingies he's honestly never used. It's not like he could massage his arms with his fucking feet, now could he?
So he lays there for a minute, or five, until he hears his door open. Lights flicker; one, two.
"My aids are on, Uraraka," he says, indicating there's no need for the lights for now. He was too out of it, arms too tired to even remove his hearing aids when he walked in.
"That's a first," she states. Bakugou usually takes them off once he's in the comfort of his own room, it's not like he gets much use of them in here. Sometimes, he'll get the occasional visitor, but if they're close enough to walk in without the fear of an explosion or two– then they know what to do. If he can't see them, they'll flicker the lights for his attention.
Now however, he couldn't gather enough arm-power to even attempt to pull them off.
"You okay?" she asks.
"Great," he grunts, sitting up. Uraraka's pouting at the doorway, hands on her hips– god fuck. She spends way too much fucking time with Pikachu.
Speaking of Kaminari.
He's right behind her, leaning against the door, a box in hand.
"Oh yeah, I'm sure sitting up takes that much effort for you," he chimes in. His hair's pulled back into a low pony, free strands cupping his face. One arm's holding the box resting on his hip, other crossed over his chest so he can lean on it. Hm.
"As if it takes that much effort for anyone else," he says, commenting on the 'for you' part.
"Mm," Kaminari eyes him, "definitely not you."
Bakugou's saved from responding to that, by Uraraka's yelling of, "so you do admit something's wrong!"
He sighs, leaning on the wall behind him– far too cold for his aching back, "fucking whatever pink cheeks," he begins, "just the usual muscle pain shit, nothing new."
"Yeah yeah," they make their way to his bed, "next time, can you just say that instead of burning our breakfast?" Uraraka says.
"Oh god, yes, please don't put us through the agony of starting our day with burnt food again," Kaminari adds.
"It's not that different to anything you guys make yourselves," he, tries to, shrug.
Dunce face raises the box theatrically, "be nice, or you don't get the box of magical pain-free shit."
"It's mine!"
"Can you reach out and grab it?"
"You little fucking–"
"Your insults mean nothing to me with no real threat of bodily harm." Kaminari smiles, reaching over and pinching his cheek, "wow, 'Chako, did you see that? I touched his face, came out with zero bitten fingers!"
"You're a brave one Denki," she plays along, "very few have gone through that feat and lived."
"You should try it, his face is so soft?" He questions, turning to face him, giggly and eyes bright– and Bakugou's so sure he could feel little sparks left over from him on his cheeks, "what the hell do you use?"
"Could try my foot in your face sparks," he says, "see if that works."
He rolls his eyes, smiling, "no real threat of bodily harm," he whispers to Round face, who grins.
He turns, facing Bakugou, round eyes examining him. "Where does it hurt?" he asks, his crossed legs pushing against Bakugou's own.
The abrupt softness of his voice throws Bakugo off, just for a second. And then the softness of his face throws him off again, for more than just for a second.
Bakugo doesn't do soft. He could deal with caring disguised as jokes, mean comments, hell even a poke or smack! Gentleness, however, he was not equipped to deal with. Kaminari was always so damn tender, and every time Bakugo feels even more like a deer caught in headlights.
He's never prepared for it when it comes.
The firm hand around his back whenever he'd be fighting a fainting spell– which he only started telling Sparks about because he was made to promise, at gunpoint, to let him know after what happened that one time.
The lax fingers pushing his hair back while he cooked. Bakugo doesn't even remember ever complaining, but he'd be a fucking liar if he said it doesn't feel heavenly, almost.
And now, his warm, warm hands rubbing at his arms, "Here?"
Bakugo learning that Denki Kaminari ran warmer than most because of his quirk, was not something he thought about, ever.
He returns that thought back to whatever mental drawer it wiggled out of for now. He can just muster up the breath– energy. Muster up the energy, to nod.
Being in pain was taxing.
He's still looking down at Denki's hands working their way around his arms, scars scattered all over his fingers. Lichtenberg figures cover his arms, constantly changing given the fact that they disappear after a day or two, and that Kaminari doesn't exactly stop using his quirk.
The pressure was euphoric. Sparks is probably kneading with more pressure than he means to, lack of sensation taken into account, but it's exactly what Bakugou fucking needs.
"Can you feel that?" he asks, before he could actually think before he speaks.
"Hm?" Soft. So soft.
Denki's face shifts, he assumes it's to look at him, but his eyes are still plastered to his hands.
"My arms, like, can you feel what you're doing?"
His fingers twitch minutely. He takes half a second too long to answer, and Bakugou's already starting to regret asking. He has no idea what expression he's wearing, he's still watching how his hands move– or currently, don't move.
"Oh yeah, don't worry I can feel everything," he starts, "biceps and allll," he gives them a hard squeeze at that, and he can practically hear him beam as he answers.
"Oh fuck off," he scoffs.
Kaminari laughs at that, holding onto Bakugou's arms for balance as he almost topples over.
A couple beats later, and they're back to sitting in silence, their breaths syncing up. Denki now switched to his other arm, focused– and Bakugou's eyes switched with him, focused.
"Not really though," he hears.
"Hm?" He swears he can feel small, miniscule, sparks wherever he was touched.
"I can't really feel much, some parts of my palms maybe, but they're very little," he says, soft.
Soft, soft, soft, so fucking soft.
He doesn't know what the fuck comes over him during these few minutes— his current prognosis is brain damage from the headache, because he reaches out and rests his hand on Kaminari's.
Yes, his shoulder throbs at him with the sudden movement, but he puts that sensation on the back burner.
He raises his brows, communicating his question.
"Nothing," Kaminari chuckles. Bakugou slowly, softly, moves his hand from his fingers to his palm. Eyebrow's raised. "Barely," he whispers.
He can feel electricity zap across him, tickling.
He goes higher, and at his wrist he repeats. He does this–wrist, forearms, elbows, until he's reached the other's arms. He slides his fingers under the hem of his sleeve, just barely covering his nails. He doesn't know why Kaminari's been so patient, answering the same question over and over. He doesn't understand how he still hasn't been pushed off.
He stares down, Kaminari's arms under his hands, toned and covered in almost-white coloured lines, branching everywhere; connected. Contrasting his own darker scars, explosive; blotches and patches instead.
"Well, I can actually feel shit with my hands, so," Bakugou begins. He presses down, soft hands meeting hard muscle. "I mean it," he says simply, opting to leave the obvious unsaid.
Kaminari's muscles relax under Bakugou's hands as he laughs, breezy and light. His gaze flickers up to his face, eyes crinkled.
"I don't really need to feel with you, I mean..." he shrugs, dropping any further explanation he had thought out.
"Here," he feels Round Face jump onto his bed, (wasn't she already there?) pushing a pill into his mouth, water right after. He swallows.
"Okay, I filled the heating bag," she begins.
When did she leave to do that?
"I'll put it on your shoulder to take some pain off of there," She's sat with Bakugou through a couple of these, albeit less severe, but she knows the drill.
He lets her do what she needs to do, resting his eyes for a bit as she does. He feels them maneuver him, pulling him down so he's laid down horizontally on his bed, with each of them to a side.
See now, if Bakugo was at his best, they never would've gotten the balls to sit so close to him– or at least, he'd have gotten an insult or two in, maybe a Dunce Face here, and a Pink Cheeks there. Couple of fucks and shit too.
But now, he's just laying there, eyes closed. Heat bag at Uraraka's side to help with the lack of heat, and Kaminari on the other side doing the job of a life-sized heat bag. His head's on his shoulder, arms mashed right into his.
The fucking sparks, he's so certain they're there. He feels electric.
He wonders if Kaminari could feel his arms now, remembering his whispered, 'almost fully,' once Bakugou's hand reached up there.
"Better?" he hears– practically feels. Vibrations travelling through him.
His eyes open, meeting Denki's staring up at him. The soft sun light seeping through his sheer curtains, hitting just the right spots. Eyes glowing; golden, and intense.
He hums, "little bit."
"Good."