💚🧡Bakudeku & Kirikami One Shots❤️💛

not The End

💚🧡

An animatic that had me bawling it was so well done.

Man... I need to think of more Kirikami angst...

AU:
Normal
Warnings:
TRIGGER WARNING!

Reader's discretion please.

[Katsuki's POV]

It started with me.

I was the one who started the insults. The one who started a disease destined to kill.

I planted the bomb, and now I have to commit to exploding with it.

Because I decided to bully Deku.

Izuku is his real name, but no one cared enough to know anyway.

At least, that's what I made them believe. That Deku was his name.

Izuku was dead to everyone.

We started out as friends. He was a loyal friend, and I enjoyed spending time with him, and looking out for him. Always keeping him safe from the monsters, be it the bullies and mockery from the upper years to those under his bed. It made me happy, because it made me feel strong, and depended on. Just like a hero.

Then he was quirkless.

'Why would you be friends with such a powerless nobody?'

I dared to let that thought sever our relationship.

As if what we had meant nothing to me.

Because then I started the teasing and the mocking, the bullying and the beating, pushing him further and further away. The memories from before were burning away, and it no longer mattered to me how I felt, because it was too late for me to look back. I was jeered on by others, glued to a pedestal, and I could no longer question what I was doing.

That is my excuse.

The truth was that I was too weak to back down.

Maybe that was why things spiralled, and I had no way of knowing that the boy I had once cared for was suffering.

No, he was dying.

As if he were breathing borrowed air, or his heart saw no purpose in beating, or the solitude was wrapping its icy fingers around his neck, making him suffocate in silence.

I was foolish to think this really was all okay. I knew better than to think continuous bullying for seven whole years would allow me to escape without consequence.

Izuku's funeral was two weeks before his fifteenth birthday.

And there was no one to blame but myself.

It's quite ironic, really. How the amazing wannabe hero told their ex-best friend to commit fucking suicide. Even more ironic that the wannabe who told an innocent boy to kill himself now wants to jump off the roof of that same building.

I thought it would heal overtime, managing to scrape a place at UA high school and then managing to hide my pain with a smile.

A mask.

Maybe I was dying away. Instead of slapping me straight and hard, the self-hate eats at my insides, making me empty, and feel like shit every day. I can barely muster the energy to get up, and do it all again, the weight of a mountain on my shoulders. I dread doing it all again, smiling and pretending to be okay to all my friends. They don't really care about me, because they don't really know me.