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yalocalfanficaddict · 4 months

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TW; heres a prompt. Bokugo is having SH problems, and kiri catches him in the act. Then kiri ends up comforting bokugo and trying to help him get SH clean.

A little bit of angst for ya. ✨

Are you the same as the last Annon? I only ask because you spell Bakugou's name the same as the last Annon, haha! I don't have any ill-intent when I say that, only curious! Thank you for the angsty prompt, I hope I do it justice!! HOWEVER, THIS IS A SERIOUS ISSUE THAT I DO NOT WISH TO ROMANTICIZE!!! THIS WILL HAVE SH, HINTS OF ED ALONG WITH DISSOCIATION AND BLOOD!! PLEASE SKIP PAST IF YOU DON'T FEEL COMFORTABLE READING!!

Words: 4566

Katsuki knows he shouldn't do it. He actually hates it. He hates how the idea plagues his mind, disrupting his thoughts. He hates how his fingers twitch in consideration and temptation, succumbing to his mind and not following his body's request. He hates the feeling of satisfaction when he knows no regular person should. He hates the anxiety that chokes him when he changes in and out of his gym clothes. He hates it all.

Every. Single. Bit.

But he can't stop, no matter how hard he tries. He always finds himself locked in his private half-bathroom at least once a week, falling back onto his worst coping mechanism.

This time, Katsuki paces around his room, doing everything he can to break the cycle. Katsuki digs his fingers through his hair, a frustrated noise tickling the back of his throat. "God damn it. Why is this so hard? I'm going to be the next number-one hero for fucks sake!"

Slamming the side of his fist against his desk, Katsuki grits his teeth. Knowing he would cave by the end of today, he burns holes through his glare at the drawer. I won't open it, he tells himself.

The ache in his chest claws at him, yearning for it.

I won't open it.

The thoughts in his mind hound him, desperate for it.

I won't open it.

The shivers breathing against his neck and shoulders anticipate it.

I won't open it.

Shaking his head, his face skews. Katsuki squeezes his eyes shut and backs away with a sharp sigh. He's better than this, and he knows it. There's no need for him to harm himself. He's perfectly capable of doing other things, but the idle scratching and picking at his left arm begs to differ.

Knowing there's no way for him to stop, Katsuki caves. Jerking the desk drawer open, he grabs what he needs before slamming it shut. Katsuki huffs as he perches on the edge of his bed, twisting his pocket knife open. I might as well do it where it's not visible instead of picking my fucking arm raw.

The cool steel glints in the evening light, casting a silver glow onto his complexion. He sighs, hiking up his shorts and peeling his boxer briefs back. Red lines trace along his flesh, jumping out at him from the stark comparison of his skin tone. Most have healed and are a soft pink, but the rest that scatter throughout his thighs are either faded white scars or dark red scabs.

Gnawing on the dead skin along his lips and the inside of his cheek, Katsuki alines the blade. Ten marks per leg. That's the limit he set himself if he ever wants to stop this. He hopes to limit himself to nine by next week, but that might not be possible.

An awfully too familiar sensation sneaks upon him. It's almost like his mind detaches from his body. The focus in his eyes slips into a haze-like stare, like sheer curtains drawing over them. His fingers and wrists work in mechanic order, never faulting or hesitating. The blade works along his thighs and hips like a bow drawing on the delicate strings of a cello.

How deep can he go before drawing too much blood? Katsuki has drawn blood several times after he worked up the courage to go further than only leaving red marks behind. How deep can he go before it's too late? Katsuki knows there's a crucial artery buried deep beneath his skin, but he's never reached it. How deep can he go before someone finds out? Katsuki has all but laughed a handful of times when not even Deku could figure out his strange new behavior.

Warm red leaks onto his free thumb, and Katsuki reaches for the tissue on his nightstand. Swiping at the ruby beads with one hand, Katsuki wipes the rest off of his thumb. He grabs more tissues and begins dabbing at the other leg. Thankfully, the cuts aren't as deep as he thought, so Katsuki keeps the Kleenex pressed against his wounds for almost five minutes.

Tossing the balls of bloody Kleenex in the trash bin, Katsuki comes back to his senses and off this strange high, realizing just how many marks he left on his body.

He sucks in a sharp breath, his clothes stinging the open flesh. "Holy shit. You fucking idiot," he hisses. Closed knife in his fist, Katsuki grips it until his whole hand begins to shake, pain shooting from his palm to his shoulder. Glancing down at his hand and the item inside, Katsuki raises his arm and chucks it across the room with a frustrated grunt. "God damn it all!"

The pocket knife strikes the wooden door with a sharp thwack! It clatters to the floor, leaving the room for Katsuki's agitated and labored breathing.

Slippers pad along the hardwood floor, and Katsuki instantly knows who it is on the other side.

"Damn," he whispers, realizing his mistake.

"Baku-bro...you good, man?"

He creeps over to the door and swoops down to retrieve the knife. Returning the knife to its original spot, Katsuki sighs before speaking up again. "Fine. A hundred percent good. Now go fuck off and go to bed."

Once he's positive that Kirishima has tucked himself back into his room, Katsuki curls up on his bed. Without much of a fight, he allows an all-too-familiar sense of shame to wash over him. Why should he be going to the extent of harming himself when he has it all? He has a proper family consisting of two parents, and his grades have never been better, not to mention that he's growing leaps and bounds with his quirk's potential. He even has Kirishima, someone he considers to be his closest friend.

Two faint knocks take him by surprise. That damn Kirishima just can't seem to leave him be. Katsuki gives one firm knock in return to assure that everything's okay. After that, it doesn't take long for sleep to claim him.

●•●•●•●

A shudder rips through his body as he steps into the showers. The warm water slips into the cracks and crevasses of broken skin, causing Katsuki to hiss at the sensation. "Fuck," he whispers. He clenches his teeth before any more sounds of pain can slip past.

Does he deserve the pain? The lines between yes and no are smudged like the dried blood along his body. He deserves it because of the foul, selfish desire growing enough to hurt himself over nothing. But he's tired, craving nothing more than to be held. Katsuki can't recall when such sweet and warm contact seeped through his skin and fizzled through his veins.

Tears nearly muddle with the water as unknown forces clench around his throat, making it a struggle to breathe. Wrapping his arms around his waist, Katsuki presses his back against the tile walls before his weak knees buckle, sliding to the pooling floor. His shuddering gasps echo through the showers, and no tear falls. He refuses. It doesn't matter how much the feeling suffocates him. Katsuki would blast his own arms off before shedding a tear.

And so he sits there, gritting his teeth, muttering profanities at himself, digging his nails into his sides.

He sets his plate down in front of Kirishima and almost gags at the food on his plate. Katsuki knows he must eat something, or his training and progress will be all for nothing. A fried egg and a single slice of toast fill half the plate.

"Hey man, how'd you sleep? It was nearly midnight when I knocked," Kirishima chuckles. A strange smile pulls at the corners of his lips. "I heard a clatter and thought it was weird to hear something from you so late—"

"I knocked over a book on my nightstand in my sleep,"

Kirishima hums before taking a bite out of his own breakfast. "Alright, bro," he says around a mouthful of sausage.

The two boys pick away at their breakfasts in silence. Peace finally settles over Katsuki like a familiar blanket he lost long ago. After battling with himself to the point of self-destruction, Kirishima silences it all. Kirishima mutes the thoughts that plague his psyche in hell-inducing, nightmarish ways. Kirishima shuts down the programming in his mind that encourages dangerous actions.

"Thank you," his voice cracks from how low he whispers.

"Huh? What for, dude?" Kirishima clears his plate with Katsuki hot on his heels.

Katsuki stays silent for a moment, contemplating his words. Why did he even say 'thank you' anyway? It doesn't matter. He needs an excuse to bring meaning to the rather hollow words. "You're the only shitty person in this world I would bother to call close."

"Aw, thank you, man! You're my best friend, too!"

"Yeah, yeah, whatever, you weirdo," Katsuki grumbles, but this time a hint of playfulness sneaks into his tone.

Katsuki and Kirishima work their way back to the dorms, chattering away about their plans for the weekend. Well, it's more Kirishima nattering away while Katsuki listens in silence.

"—and Kaminari and Sero are planning another sleepover. Do you think I should go?"

He shrugs. "I'm not your damn mother,"

"Oh, right," Kirishima chortles. "I'm thinking of maybe going, but Ashido's going through another break-up with Uraraka, so I might have to hang with her again—you know how they get."

He nods.

"Well...whaddya think?" Kirishima asks as Katsuki clicks the button for the elevator. It doesn't take long for it to chime open, swallowing them in as Kirishima presses the button that leads to their floor. "Should I or should I not go?"

"Do whatever the hell you want. I don't care."

"Oh, right," Kirishima grins. "And uhm, do you want to watch a movie or something?"

The elevator's jaws open up and spit them out, leaving the boys to make their way back to their rooms. A movie would be...perfect, but Katsuki still hasn't taken out his trash. Removing any and all evidence from last night should be one of the first things he should do.

"No, I need to finish some more homework and tidy my room."

Kirishima raises a brow. They stop at Katsuki's room, and he watches him unlock the door. "You? Needing to tidy up your room? Who are you, and what have you done to Bakugou?"

He shakes his head with a low snicker. "At least my room is always cleaner than yours."

"Hey!"

"It's true,"

The silence only confirms what they both know.

Katsuki steps into his darkened room as Kirishima calls out, "I'll see you later, then. Right?"

"Sure," he grunts out.

Not bothering to switch on a light or open the curtains, Katsuki eyes the brimful trash bin under his desk. Despite eating his fill and spending time with his favorite person, his energy is somehow more limited. So he merely stands there, staring at it before drifting into space. What feels like TV static and muted chatter rustles in his ears, and for a moment, his world detaches.

Katsuki lets his head finally fall to gawk at his hands. They tremble as sweat begins to moisten his upturned palms. The same feeling of being strangled slips around Katsuki like an invisible rope hitching around his throat.

Sleep, he blinks back his trembling waterline as he wipes his hands on his pants. I need sleep. Maybe that's all it takes to feel better. God, I'm such a fool if I'm wrong. Scratch that. Delusional might be a better word...

He rips off his turtleneck and flops onto his bed. Curling up, he doesn't bother to throw on his messy covers.

This pain Katsuki's in is brain-numbing, chest hallowing pain. It's swallowing him up.

And he doesn't know how to escape it.

Katsuki wakes up to the sound of rapid knocking. Peeling his eyes open, he can't even register the slurred conversation he just had until a weight settles on the side of his bed.

"Hey man, y'good? It's nearly supper time, and you haven't come out since this morning," Kirishima's voice is warm and inviting. After a stammer pause, it quickly shifts to trembling, fearful. "Uhm, mind telling me what those red lines are on your hips there, bro?"

He's fully awake as he jolts to an awkward sitting position. Reaching for what blankets he can, he covers himself from the waist down. He must have cut himself a little too far up last night. "The fuck you staring down there for?"

Hands pull up in defense with a lowering head. "Sorry, I'm sorry, dude. It's just a bit concerning when you've been acting the way you've been for who knows how long."

"What the hell?" Katsuki feigns ignorance with a scoff. "You think I would want to hurt myself? Kirishima, let's be real here. Why would I do that?"

Kirishima bolts up and waves his arms in Katsuki's direction. An irritated noise rumbles the back of his throat. "You don't think that I wouldn't notice, Bakugou? I've seen how much you've cut back on your food and how you'd stare off into God knows where! I've seen how much more silent you've become, only flipping people off when they frustrate you. I've been waiting to see if this is just one big phase, but the idea of what you might be doing terrifies me. Bakugou, please tell me anything's wrong...don't suffer alone."

Words on the tip of his tongue swallow back into his gut. He's fine. He has a plan. A plan to limit himself week by week until he doesn't cut himself anymore. At least, that's what he tells himself. The notion of carving into his skin once more raises an excited feeling in his simmering veins while nausea churns, fuelling the civil war some might consider his mind.

"I'm fine, Shitty Hair. I was training a while ago and scrapped myself—there's nothing to worry about."

Kirishima sighs, squaring his jaw. "Fine, but please come down to eat something tonight. Everyone else is done, and the food's almost cold."

Katsuki nods, "Yeah, yeah. Sure."

He leaves the room, and Katsuki immediately swings himself out of bed. Fingers curling around his army knife, he creeps into the bathroom with a strange buzz of giddiness. Kirishima almost discovered the slashes on his legs and hips, so what if he ventures out further to see if he can get away with more. Just a little more, nothing too serious.

With the weather growing colder, everybody has been wearing long sleeves and jackets. If Katsuki treats the self-inflicted wounds just right and cuts just shallow enough, they'll be healed with close to no scarring by spring.

Locking the knife into place, Katsuki lifts his forearm up and bends it to face him. The seamless and unblemished skin stares back at him, practically challenging him to do it. Can he actually commit to it? He twists his wrist up and down, then left to right, observing how each artery, vein, and tendon sink in and jut out against the wall of flesh. An itch only a blade could satisfy burrows through the base of his wrist that connects to his palm. He refuses the urge and slides the knife lower to where the middle of his forearm is. Gently applying pressure to the blade, Katsuki slides it down. Memorized by the trail of red—blood oozing much more compared to the other places on his body—Katsuki glides the knife to another spot on his arm. Does he dare to go further? The last incision only takes a quarter of his forearm, so he goes again, dragging the blade halfway before stopping.

"Bakugou..? I—oh, shit. I fucking knew it. Holy fuck," a voice warbles and rasps.

His head snaps up, and his arms fall. With wide eyes, Katsuki stares into Kirishima's reflection, petrified to turn around and find him standing behind him.

Tears well up in their eyes, but only Kirishima's fall. He stretches his arm out, palm up. "Bakugou," he nearly whispers. When Katsuki doesn't move, Kirishima takes a half step and straightens his fingers more. "Please, Bakugou. Hand me the pocket knife."

Warm beads of blood trail down to his knuckles before splattering onto the cool tile in dramatic dollops.

Another step forward forces Katuski back, and the right side of his hip digs into the counter. "Go away, Kirishima. I just—I'm fine, honestly," his voice is meek, not even a shadow of his regular boisterous self. "I'll be down to eat in a bit, just...don't tell anybody, please."

"No. You lied—"

"Because I had to!"

Silence freezes over them until the scratching sound of Kirishima's slippers charges at him. Before Katsuki can react, Kirishima has both hands in a fist, pulling them above his head. "Drop the damn knife, Bakugou. I'm going to see you hurt yourself anymore."

Katsuki tries to fight back, but it's a struggle with how the small of his back presses flush against the counter, borderline arching towards the sink faucet. His arm burns, blood trickling down his elbow and seeping into Kirishima's black long-sleeve muscle shirt. Kirishima must have finished a workout before waking Katsuki because the scent of salty sweat tickles his nose. "Just let me go, God damn it! Then you don't have to watch, idiot," he spits, some flying and landing on Kirishima's cheek.

"But you're my friend, I can't...I can't just sit back and let you do this to yourself!" Kirishima grunts as he struggles with Katsuki. "Would you do the same for me? Just gawk, frozen in place as my own fucking blood stains me? Bakugou, you're going to kill yourself if you keep this up, and I refuse to let you go through with it!"

He falters at the words, unable to process how Kirishima spins them, pushing him against a wall with his wrists pinning on each side of his head.

"You might be in your own personal bubble, but we care about you—I fucking care for you! You're my best friend, my partner. You're my favorite person in the whole damn world, Bakugou..." Kirishima's weeping now, but the sound drowns in his ears as TV static crackles in the back of his mind.

Katsuki turns away to stare at the doorway. It stands a few inches away from them, laughing at their—his—struggle. Don't look at me like that, he wants to say to Kirishima. I'm not doing anything wrong... I'm just not in the right headspace right now.

But he stays silent, cheeks and ears hot with embarrassment. Everything blurs, so he stares up at the tile ceiling, to not let a single tear shed nor look at his distressed friend. 'Sorry' is all he can mouth, but Kirishima either doesn't notice or cares.

"Please, Bakugou...just drop the knife, alright? I'm not mad, but scared," he whispers the last word as if taboo. When Katsuki brings his gaze back to Kirishima, he finds his head hung and grip weakening. They both tremble and shake as tears swirl with blood on the floor. In some strange way, Katsuki finds it funny how it's almost a literal, physical statement of blood versus water. Which will stand tall and persevere? Only time and the fates know, and it's up to them to find out.

"I'm so damn scared that I'll lose you. Listen, I won't do the whole stupid 'Quit For Me' speech because that's probably the last thing you want to hear, but please stop for your own sake—"

"If you think this is all for stupid attention, it's not. I fucking swear on it, Kirishima."

Tears fall harder as both of them start sniffling. Kirishima shakes his head again, sealing his eyes tight, his face scrunches in hurt. "I would never. But please think of your parents if something worse happens to you. Think of Midoriya. Think of your goals, Bakugou. Who else will be number one? I have no clue because, at Midoriya's rate, he might not make it past thirty with how much he's been trashing his body through his quirk. There's no way in hell that Todoroki will be number one after all the beef he's had with his dad—he wouldn't allow it. So I'm begging, Bakugou—I'll get on my knees if I must—but please, please, please drop the knife. We can work through this together. You aren't alone...don't suffer alone."

Silence steals them away, leaving them with just their heaving breaths and solemn thoughts. He gasps when hot wetness trails down his cheeks. His first reaction is to swipe it away, but his injured arm screams at him when Kirishima stiffens his grip.

"Shit," he mutters. As the uncontrollable flow of tears slips down his face like waterfalls, a strange sense of vulnerability squeezes at his chest. Like he's been stripped naked for all the world to see, Katsuki wants to curl up under his bed and hide until Kirishima forgets this event. Katsuki sighs and looks everywhere but his direction. "Kiri, in my bedroom...I wanted you to know. But I didn't want to tell you. I was so close, too. What I've been doing to myself is much more complex than you think. I don't even know why I fucking do it. Shit, Kirishima, I sit here and try to limit myself each week. But...but..."

The dam breaks, and Katsuki's knees buckle again. A clatter is audible from the fallen knife, but nobody pays attention to it. Kirishima eases him to the floor before Katsuki wraps his arms around him like he's dangling from the highest point of a skyscraper. "Fucking hell, Kirishima. You," he's interrupted by a hiccup in his choking sob. "You're right. I swear I w-was getting better. I had a plan. I had precautions. It just went all to sh-shit today. God, I'm so tired of it all. Please make it stop—I want this to st-stop. I'm sorry, so so sorry. Okay? Give m-me a chance, and I'll change. Fuck everything so hurts damn badly..." Katsuki sniffs before another shattering gasp wracks through his body. "I'm so embarrassed that you see me like this now. Don't treat me like I'm some stupid fucking toy needing to be fixed now. Don't treat me like a doll in need of stitches. I don't need the pity."

More inconsistent and nonsensical rambles slip past his lips, but Kirishima doesn't pull away. Kirishima only cradles him closer, not bothering to acknowledge the blood staining his shirt. Carding fingers through Katsuki's choppy hair, Kirishima rocks him softly. Almost as if engaging in a slow dance of comfort and stability, leaving Katsuki no chance but to comply with his sobbing babbles. "Don't be sorry. It'll be okay, Bakugou, I can feel it. You have me to lean on and wipe your tears. You have me to guide you away from those dark paths and thoughts. You have me for everything and anything. I promise I won't leave you."

His cold hands link with Kirishima's warm ones when they pull away. Kirishima helps him to his feet before stooping down to rummage in the cabinet under the sink. "Now let's get you cleaned up, yeah?"

●•●•●•●

About two weeks later, Katsuki slowly but steadily returns to a new normal version of himself. Sure, the first two days were messy, consisting of yelling and negative remarks from Katsuki; however, Kirishima gladly picked up his pieces and glued him together. For that, Katsuki has been forever thankful. Whenever he can, he leaves behind small gestures of kindness, whether it's cooking a meal, helping Kirishima tidy up, or slipping him the answers to their quizzes instead of lecturing about studying after getting their grades back.

But there's still this hollow, achy feeling nestling in the base of his chest. Katsuki doesn't know when it'll go away, but hopefully, it will be soon.

They curl up on Kirishima's bed, watching something on his laptop. Subtitles follow the screen's events as they watch an animated movie about wizards and moving castles. With almost his complete attention dedicated to the screen, he doesn't even understand what his body is doing to him until Kirishima points it out.

"Please don't pick at your bandage," Eijirou prompts, running his hand in a soothing motion along Katsuki's left arm and gently squeezing his shoulder.

Katsuki quickly threads his fingers together to stop the mindless action. He grunts in acknowledgment, resting deeper onto Kirishima's chest. Eventually, Kirishima found out about how touch-starved Katsuki is. So they've entered a silent agreement that whenever alone, Kirishima is allowed to hold him unless told otherwise, and the same applies to Katsuki.

"I'm so glad you're doing better now, Kats," Kirishima grins, shifting the computer with his free hand. "Do you...feel better? I can get you some ice cubes if you'd like."

Katsuki hums to himself before answering. "No, m'good."

If it gets worse, then I might hold some to distract myself, Katsuki sighs. But I have all that I need right here.

When the movie ends, the credits start to slide across the screen, and Kirishima closes the laptop and slides it off his lap. "I uh...got you something to celebrate."

Katsuki sits up, criss-crossing his legs, and faces Kirishima. His brows knit together as his nose scrunches ever so slightly. "Whatcha mean by that? It's nobody's birthday, and no holidays are coming up."

Kirishima turns to grab something in his bag from beside the bed. "Well, because what we're dealing with is a total beast, I thought after each milestone, I'd get you something to congratulate!"

'What we're dealing with.' That thought echoes against every corner of Katsuki's brain, warming him to his core. That's right, I'm not alone.

With the back of his unbandaged arm, he uses the back of his wrist to swipe away at the tears that well up along his waterline. That's another thing Kirishima has been trying to teach him. He can cry, and it's okay to do so. Nobody will make fun of him. Nobody will look down on him.

Kirishima holds up a book and a paper bag with the label of their favorite bakery's logo, a proud beam plastering his face. "Ta-da! Oh, jeez, was it the wrong one? Is that why you're crying? I think I still have the receipt somewhere..."

"No! No, it's fine, Kiri," Katsuki's lips turn up into the faintest of smiles. "You're just too kind to me, and I really don't deserve it. I just don't know where I'd be if you didn't come to check up on me that day."

They've checked in on each other several times before, but there's no need to elaborate on which day he's talking about.

Kirishima sets the items aside and pulls Katsuki into another warm hug. "Shhh, it's okay, Kats."

The pair stay like that for a moment. Katsuki doesn't know where he starts, and Kirishima begins, but he doesn't mind. In fact, Katsuki actually enjoys it. He enjoys how the idea of silk-smooth possibilities settles his thoughts. He enjoys how his fingers twitch in consideration and the temptation to hold Kirishima at any moment. He enjoys the feeling of satisfaction when he knows he is, in fact, getting better with each baby step. He enjoys the pride that swells in his chest on how he did and will survive. He enjoys it all.

Every. Single. Bit.

I'm so sorry for any inconsistencies towards the characters!! I hope you enjoyed reading this chapter even with it being more on the darker side of things. I was planning to have more of the comfort aspect come in, but then it would've been too long, so I had to cut it off short, sorry! Below this is the link for if you wish to read this on AO3!! Also, if you would like to have this fic gifted to you, please @ yourself the next time you request! Thank you~!

#bnha #mha #my hero academia #boku no hero acedamia #bnha fanfiction #katsuki bakugou #eijirou kirishima #kiribaku #fanfic #angst with a happy ending #hurt/comfort #blood #mentions of ED #mentions of dissociation #Self-Harm #sh recovery #one shot #Annon Delights!#ao3 kiribaku

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