Another vent fic? You bet! This one is based off some plotting done a while back with @sweatbombhands / @steelhardpecs
warnings: this contains some pretty heavy duty bullying, probably more explicit than anything i’ve ever written here before. So please tread with caution.
“Kacchan, please,” Voice already trembling with fear, although nothing has really happened yet. But it will, it always does. On days like these. Days were his classmates acknowledged his existence were never good.
And, given his current position, Izuku feels justified in his paranoia. Crowded against the wall of the now-empty classroom, nothing but the late afternoon light to illuminate the faces of his attackers (They don’t matter, the crowd changes every time. But one face remains the same. The Ring Leader.) hand scrabbling to find purchase on the solid wood only to find empty air.
They hadn’t forced him against the wall, after all, and Izuku was starting to get the feeling that he wasn’t in for an ordinary beating.
“Kacchan--” He begins to plead once more but is silenced by the crackling of an explosion against the window frame directly next to his head. And Izuku is sliding down further, his only direction for escaping those piercing red eyes downward. Trembling, although he can’t tell if that’s entirely fear or the cold autumn air pushing against his back.
“Shut up,” The command is growled, snarled, like a wolf cornering it’s prey. And the green haired boy can practically feel his hot breath against his face, a sharp contrast to the breeze coming from the open window.
“God, you piss me off. Always whining and crying, poor defenseless Izuku.” Katsuki continues, and for all he claims to be ‘pissed off’ he seems to be enjoying his target’s reaction; the way he moves towards that open window because it’s the only way away from the blonde.
Izuku doesn’t respond, knows better than that, worrying his bottom lip as he tries to figure a way out of this situation.
Katsuki pulls him from his thoughts, gripping onto his wrist tightly enough to bruise and hot enough to scorch. Lips pulled back over white teeth, displaying sharp canines.
“I can see those wheels turning, stupid Deku,” The tone is equal parts vitriolic and some measure of joyous, truly reveling in the moment, his peers cheering him on.
“I hate that look. Like you’re so much smarter than the rest of us. Like you know something I don’t.” His eyes narrow as he speaks, free hand outstretched in threat; letting the trapped boy know, should he resist, he’s going to get a blast to the face.
As if he doesn’t know that by now.
“I’m not, I don’t--” Izuku makes the mistake of speaking again, attempting to defend himself against Katsuki’s rising allegations. Because he knows what happens next, after the explosive boy gets him worked up, after he becomes truly pissed off. And it ends with burns and bruises, scrapes and and sore joints, tears and humiliation. And he can’t help it, trying to prevent that from happening, trying to say something to soothe the beast.
It doesn’t work. It never does.
Nails dig into his wrist as the grip tightens, tight enough that Izuku’s almost certain he hears a snap, and Katsuki looks absolutely livid. He jerks the smaller boy up easily by his wrist, forcing him to stand or risk dislocating his shoulder.
Izuku scrabbles back, instinctively, and slips halfway out the open window. Eyes widen as he freezes, stock still, ready to ask for help when he catches the expression of the one holding onto him and sees something absolutely predatory; and the words die in his throat.
He can’t be serious, right?
The free hand moves, pushing on Izuku’s chest--pushing him out the window, kept from falling only by the grip on his wrist. And he can’t help it, the absolute shriek of terror that escapes him at that moment.
It’s met with laughter, somehow. Pleading gaze receives no answer. Several students have their phones out. How long have they been recording this?
Making the grave error of glancing down and seeing first hand that they’re on the third floor. If falling from this distance didn’t kill him it would at the very least leave him with several broken bones. Chest heaves with panic, and he grips against the window frame; tries to drag himself back inside.
“Kacchan, please, stop it, stop it, i’ll fall!” The begging has turned hysterical at this point, tears big, gross, and salty pouring down his cheeks; much to the amusement of their audience.
“You’re so clever, why don’t you figure it out?” It’s not Katsuki who speaks this time, but one of the other students; who are met with a glare and a threatening pop of explosion for interrupting the ring leader’s fun.
“And what if you fall, hah? Who’s going to miss a nobody like you? I’d be doing you a favor,” and surely, he can’t be serious, but his eyes still look bloodthirsty and it sends another round of sobs through the dangling student.
“Please, please, stop it, this isn’t funny, you--you’ll get in trouble,” It’s a weak defense and likely untrue. No one ever cared what Katsuki did to him, Izuku was well aware of his own worthlessness. But it was the only plea he could think of that the blonde may actually care about.
“You threatening me, nerd?” he spits, but seems to be contemplating the possibility of repercussions. “Alright, how about this, i’ll let you in if you admit it.”
Admit what, Izuku wants to ask, though he already knows. Knows what they want him to say. He swallows down his fear and panic and quietly mutters; “You’re right.”
“What was that?”
“I said you’re right.”
That’s not enough. Of course it’s not. It’s too vague, the humiliation of it not clear enough. As a threat, Katsuki lifts one of his fingers. He doesn’t even have to say it’s not enough for Izuku to get the message. Legs dangling in mid air.
“You’re right. I can’t….I can’t be a hero”
Another finger is lifted, and Izuku feels like he may just vomit up the terror rising in his throat along with the bile in his stomach.
“I’m a useless, worthless, quirkless loser,” He repeats the words he so often hears and they quake with the fear in his voice but they have the same hatred behind them in echo as when they were spoken by his bullies. He hates this. Hates that he’s like this. That he’s so weak. That they’re right.
Finally relenting, satisfied with the results of their session, Katsuki pulls Izuku back in forcefully; releasing his wrist at such a moment that he falls face first against the hardwood. He doesn’t bother getting up, just lays there, still trembling; still chilled to the core from the wind and his own fear. He’s safe, but it doesn’t feel that way.
The other students are talking among themselves, but he doesn’t hear the words. He just wants to be left alone with his shattered pride and bruised wrist. They grant his wish, filtering out of the room now that their fun is over with.
Izuku rubs his raw wrist and puts this memory with the rest. Tries to forget.
