Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It’s always the same shit. Deku bounding into danger like he’s some kind of indestructible motherfucker. They’ve been through the wringer enough times now, it shouldn’t panic Katsuki the way it does, but here he is clawing rubble out of the way like a fucking animal anyway. His throat is raw from yelling.

The villain’s strong, battering the city with an absolute deluge of rain, hail, lightning, thunder, even snow. His stupid cronies are commanding the winds, tearing down buildings and cackling like it’s a fucking movie. Tornados spin out of control and all Katsuki hears is the shatter of glass. Shit’s hitting the fan, hard, and he’s too cold now to break up a good sweat. He should be able to formulate some, for the love of God he’s not this weak, but they’ve already been out here for hours and his body is slick from the icy downpour. For once in his life he wishes Shoto were here to heat things up. That bastard’s on the other side of the country on some stupid mission with Iida.

“Deku!” He calls again, lugging an impressive chunk of concrete below.

The crumbling apartment complex below his feet had caved. It had started splintering only moments before and of course Deku had shot off like a rocket, shouting about civilians.

He was too fucking fast, there hadn’t been time for anyone to let him know this place had already been cleared. It had practically deteriorated in seconds. Deku had been too caught up in combat to keep tabs and then he was buried under the fucking parking garage.
He should be out by now. He should’ve blasted through the debris like a bat out of hell, eyes glowing green, snapping Blackwhip in the air. He’s not this weak, either.

But he hasn’t.

The earth shifts, runs muddy and mucky as water starts to swell. The streets are almost rivers now.

“Fuck, come on!” Katsuki snaps, jamming his boot into another narrow space and kicking as hard as he can. A tiny fissure opens, a gust of cool, wet air hits him in the face. Here’s his window.

“I’m going down there!” He yells into his earpiece.

“Wait a second—” Kirishima can’t finish his argument because a literal doorframe swings towards him. He punches it apart with ease, ducks at the next. “Jesus—be careful!”

“Uravity is on her way!” Kaminari informs, not even wincing when more lightning shoots through his arm and into the ground. He’s been at this a while, redirecting it from the others. “She can lift all that!”

No shit she can, but it won’t matter if Deku drowns in the meantime.

“Tell her—,” Katsuki grits his teeth as he slithers down into the crevice. The soles of his shoes skid on a slippery surface. It’s fucking freezing and the cement tears harshly at his arms. “Tell her to haul ass!”

He drops down below, suddenly waist-deep in water that swirls with fury. It’s pitch black but for a few lone light fixtures that dangle from sparking, haphazard wires. Fucking fantastic.

“Deku!” He cups his hands to amplify the sound. It’s a war zone outside, howling and raging. He can hear a few other heroes join the scene above. “Where the hell did you end up?!”

Katsuki wades further, shimmying around crushed cars and random broken furniture. The uneven building frame shakes every so often.

“Answer me, dumbass!”

Katsuki’s stomach is in knots. He’ll never fucking admit that but the increasing lack of reply makes him want to blow chunks. His heart slams against his ribcage, which definitely isn’t good for it, but.

No time to rest.

“Seriously, what the fuck?” He growls.

There are too many pathways, giant pieces of infrastructure mashed together in ways they shouldn’t be. He could be anywhere, under anything, and it’s so goddamn dark.

“If you’re dead I’ll kill you, I swear to God!”

Katsuki rubs his hands together, hoping for any kind of crackle. Maybe if he can light the place up more that’ll help.

But he’s frozen to the bone. It’s never been this bad.

Well, it has, but—

He sees a blip of green. Too bright, it’s not a house plant. Wedged in a corner, halfway underwater, it’s Deku’s head.

Katsuki’s body moves on instinct. He’s not thinking anymore, charging through the current like a bull in a china shop. He’s far across the way but gets there in seconds flat.

“Christ—you idiot!”

He yanks Deku up immediately. He’s got a pulse but his lungs are raspy. Blood gushes from an intense wound at the base of his skull. His head lolls, out like a light. The ceiling must’ve taken him by surprise.

“Wake up, dammit!” Katsuki rights him, presses a gloved hand to his cheek. His lips are purple, his eyelids blue. His four billion freckles make gloomy constellations against pale skin.

“Fuck.”

They need to get out of here, or at least to higher ground, out of the water.

Hastily, he pulls the yellow scarf from Deku’s neck and wraps it over the bloody mess at the back of his head. The fabric is waterlogged but it’s all he has right now. Then he scoops him up like a princess. It would be funny in any other scenario.

“I got Deku.” Katsuki relays. “He’s fucked up.”

He hears Kirishima try to reply but it’s fuzzy with static. Uravity better be five fucking seconds away.

He hauls Deku on top of one of the mangled cars, setting him upright against the windshield. Waterfalls stream around them through every nook and cranny, ever-threatening. Tiny pebbles sprinkle down. Katsuki shakes Deku’s armored shoulder.

“C’mon, wake up. Do I need to slap you?!”

Wouldn’t hurt.

He rears back and does it, half-hearted, only wanting to startle him.

Deku’s eyelids twitch and his brows pull down with a wince. He makes a sound that’s part whimper and part cough, and then very suddenly folds in half and spews his guts onto the hood.

“Dizzy.” Is all he says between hacks. It’s all just the water he inhaled, nothing more, but it looks pathetic and sad and Katsuki kind of hates it. But he sighs in relief.

“At least you’re breathing.” Katsuki scrubs his face, heart finally slowing. They’re still in a shit situation but Deku’s awake. “Is it just your head?”

“Think so.” He answers, quiet, finally finished puking. Deku motions to touch the spot, but seemingly decides against it. “I’m really dizzy. And cold.”

He screws his eyes shut, probably keeping the vertigo at bay.

“Sorry to say Icy Hot isn’t fucking here.” Katsuki grumbles. “And my quirk is shot right now, I’m cold too. What were you thinking, stupid?! You could’ve died under here!”

Deku shrugs, then slumps. He’s slipping out of consciousness again.

“W-wait, don’t—don’t fucking sleep.” Katsuki shifts sideways to line their bodies up hip to hip. He wraps an arm over Deku’s shoulders and puts pressure on the head wound with his hand. There’s blood on his palm before long.

“Deku. Hey! I just said don’t sleep!”

Green eyelashes flutter. “Hm?”

“You’re one hundred and ten percent concussed right now, stay awake or you’re gonna give yourself even more brain damage than you already have.”

The water is roaring beside them now. It’s almost level with the hood and the bottom of the car windows.

“Don’t make me blast you in the temple.”

“Just said you can’t.” Deku slurs. His chin falls sideways and his nose digs into the crook of Katsuki’s shoulder. Deku curls into him, seeking what little body heat is left between them. His hands find purchase at Katsuki’s chest.

“Hey! No, don’t get fucking cozy!” Katsuki’s breath stalls and he feels a blush slide up his neck, through his cheeks, to the tips of his ears. Maybe he’ll finally start fucking sweating.

“‘M not asleep.” Deku mumbles against his throat. Katsuki feels the buzz of it against his skin and this really isn’t the fucking time.

“Keep—keep talking then. Tell me vocabulary or some shit. Or hero stats.” Katsuki forces his voice to stay level as he engulfs Deku in his arms. He ignores the way he fits there, just right. It’s to keep him from getting hypothermia, he justifies. Because obviously it is.

“Who’s number one right now, huh? Deku?”

A plop of water hits Katsuki in the forehead. He looks up to see a new leak, sprung right overhead. Maybe they’ll both fucking drown here. Again, fucking fantastic.

“Number one? Hello, Deku?” He prompts again.

When there isn’t a reply, Katsuki’s heart starts beating hard again.

“Deku. Izuku.” It feels strange, slipping from his lips. Soft and sacred, or something. “Hey.”

That gets a stir from the other. One tiny hum of a laugh. He’s either surprised at the use of his first name or delirious from head trauma.

“Me.” Against his collarbone.

“That’s right, so you’re sorry ass can’t fucking die under a parking garage. Me and Half-and-Half aren’t gonna fight over your rank after you choke out in such a lame way. Have some fucking self respect.”

Deku doesn’t respond, no playful comeback. His fingers had been clutching Katsuki’s top and now they’re lax.

“Hey! What did I just—”

What’s left of the roof explodes and a torrential rush of water washes over them both.

********

It’s not even close to the first time the beeping of a hospital monitor wakes Izuku, and it certainly won’t be the last. His limbs are stiff, his mouth is dry, and the back of his head feels like it was hit by a truck.

But he’s certainly been in worse shape.

“…awake!” A familiar voice coos. He blinks and suddenly Ochaco is there, leaning over the side of the shoddy hospital bed and squeezing his shoulder. She blocks out the gross fluorescent lights. “Took you long enough.”

Izuku hums quizzically and lifts a hand to rub his crusty eyes. An IV is stuck under his skin, feels itchy.

“Yes, the doctors said once they lowered the dosage he’d come around.” That’s Iida. He was supposed to be hours away?

“…enough morphine to knock out a horse.” And Shoto?

“Whas goin’ on?” Izuku mumbles. His memory is a little blurry. He just recalls a lot of bad weather, catty villains, and being smashed under a building like a soda can. He’s so thirsty.

Ochaco adjusts the collar of his hospital gown and wipes back his hair in a maternal way. She moves some tubes out of the way and pats his chest gently.

“You were crazy and went to save nonexistent citizens. The building had already been evacuated by some interns, but I guess you didn’t realize. You got hit pretty hard and Bakugou found you. But then the complex caved in even more. I made it just in time before you guys got washed away!”

A thread of panic wiggles through him at the idea of Kacchan in his own hospital bed, for the millionth time.

“Is he—?”

“He’s fine.” Shoto answers. “Just bruised. Probably his ego more than anything, he couldn’t get an explosion out with the weather. He was barking like a dog about it.”

Sounds like Kacchan.

“Wait, what are you guys doing here anyway? Weren’t you doing intel a few cities over?” Izuku takes in their appearances now. Everything is coming back, the room is forming in his peripherals. It’s a small recovery bunk at the agency. His visitors are in casual street clothes, they aren’t on duty.
Iida smiles softly and adjusts his glasses. “You’ve been out a few days, Midoriya. They know you’re too hard-headed to rest so they sort of forced it upon you.”

“Ah.” That explains the sore muscles, he hasn’t really moved. “Hah. Yeah, they’re probably right to do that, huh?”

“Absolutely.” A new voice joins the conversation and Izuku turns his head to see Hawks in the open doorway. He’s got a manilla folder in hand that’s stuffed full of paperwork. “Glad you’re awake, you’ve got a lot to do.”

“Huh?! What’s all that?”

His friends chime their greetings to Hawks as he enters the room. He’s dressed and ready for patrol, sunglasses pushed in his hair. His wings fold closely to his back so they don’t knock over the IV stand.

“Figured I’d drop this by on my way out. You’re backlogged on your reports, been Sleeping Beauty for a week.”

“A week?!” That was way more than he expected.

Hawks smirks. “You aren’t sixteen anymore, kid. Or even twenty. Your body won’t always bounce back like it used to, especially considering everything you’ve already put it through. And I’m sure as hell not sixteen or twenty either, so get better quick and I can stop covering your shifts.”

Izuku balks, feels the color drain from his face. A whole week? How was the city, how were the crime rates?!

“I-I’ll go out now, don’t even worry—”

He moves to tear off the thin blanket but Shoto puts a hand on his ankle.

Izuku halts.

“Uh.” Ochaco scratches her cheek.

“‘Uh’?” Izuku repeats, looking between the four of them. No one wants to meet his gaze. “What’s ‘uh’?”

Hawks drops the folder onto the mini bedside table. It falls with a loud thwap.

“You’re not cleared yet. You’re going on a short leave until you get medical authorization.”

“Wait, what? Hold on, I can’t just—”

“You need to rest, Midoriya.” Iida insists, always the voice of reason. “You gave us a scare.”

Izuku waves his hands back and forth as if to magically wipe the words away.

“I did rest! For a week apparently. I’m rested! All I need is a warm up.”

Hawks taps Izuku’s nose. “You’re not. You’re like two injuries away from losing your health insurance coverage—which is already pretty damn high, number-one-hero. Do you wanna foot this hospital bill?”

Izuku swallows. The overhead lights buzz loudly and the monitors continue to beep. He gets what Hawks is saying, but how long is this “leave”?!

“I’ll—”

“You’ll rest.” Hawks cuts in, final. He drums over the file folder, snaps the rubber band that’s wrapping it together. “And you’ll have this done by the end of the week.”

Izuku deflates. No more room for argument, apparently. He doesn’t wanna cry, but man, but his throat stings.

“Sorry, Izuku.” Ochaco frowns. “It’s for the best, you know.”

It actually feels like it’s for the worst, but—

“Why’s everybody so fucking quiet? Jesus, you guys give me the creeps, he isn’t dead.”

Izuku snaps up, relief blooming in his chest. The encroaching tears subside when Kacchan stomps through the threshold. He’s carrying a pack of strawberry Pop-Tarts and a venti coffee.

“Kacchan.” Izuku says, almost a whisper.

Kacchan actually stops mid-stride, apparently caught off guard that Izuku is awake. His Vans squeak on the floor, his crimson eyes widen in surprise, his breath catches. It’s minuscule to Izuku’s friends, they probably don’t even notice. He looks so handsome in that singular moment of pause that Izuku gets butterflies.

Despite the recent bad news, Izuku smiles. “Hi.”

“‘Hi’?!” Kacchan’s eyebrows shoot to his forehead with familiar rage. He almost crushes the plastic coffee cup. “You’ve been out cold for a week and just say, ‘Hi’?! Not, ‘Sorry I’m an idiot, thanks for saving my fucking life, Bakugou’?! You’re insane!”

He did save Izuku’s life. He would’ve drowned down there, surely. It’s not a rare thing, in their line of work, or with the two of them, but Izuku feels warm anyway. And he’s glad Kacchan does look totally unharmed.

“Chill, hothead, you’ll blow up the emergency room.” Hawks crosses his arms. “But glad you’re also back, I need to talk to you, too.”

Kacchan glares. He can look menacing even in a black hoodie and track pants. “I already filled out all your dumbass paperwork. Kirishima submitted it two days ago once he did his section.”

“Did you guys apprehend the villains?” Izuku asks. “Was anyone else hurt?”

Hawks nods. “Yes, they’ve been captured. And everyone’s fine but you, problem-child.” He probably would’ve ruffled Izuku’s hair, if the back of his head wasn’t padded with bandages.

“No, this isn’t that.” Hawks continues. He points lazily at Kacchan. “You’re gonna hate this, but you’re benched too, Bakugou.”

“What?!”

The Pop-Tarts hit the floor and Kacchan’s practically steaming.

“Yikes.” Shoto deadpans.

“Shut up!” Kacchan gripes at him and then whirls on Hawks. “Why?! I was barely even scratched, I’m not the one who busted my head open!”

Hawks checks his phone, like he really doesn’t have time for this conversation or care that Bakugou is snapping at his throat. It’s blinking with several notifications.

“Look, you know the rules we have now. No partner, no patrol. And your usual partner is still recovering, so. Just for a little bit. Help him with his, that.” Hawks gestures vaguely to the folder.

Kacchan aggressively sets his coffee on a chair and Iida offers him the fallen Pop-Tarts. He snatches them.

“This is stupid—who’s your partner, flyboy, huh? Have you been working solo all week?!”

Why wasn’t Kacchan Hawks’ partner all week? Worry snaked through Izuku’s gut. Maybe he was hurt, after all, and they weren’t telling him? Why hadn’t Kacchan been in the field this whole time?

Hawks pockets his phone. “Tokoyami filled your slots with me. Relax, pretend it’s a vacation. I dunno. I gotta go. Stay with Midoriya and keep him from running into walls or something.—Actually, wait, yeah, keep an eye on him, that’s your duty until he’s cleared.”

“Excuse me?!”

Shoto chuckles. “Aw, how polite.”

“Didn’t I tell you to shut your trap?!”

Izuku breathes deeply, trying to quell his anxiety. He picks at the tape holding down his IV. Are they hiding something?

Hawks shrugs and saunters to the door. He pointedly steps around Kacchan, ignoring the temper tantrum.

“I really do have to go. Get well soon, Deku.” He throws them a two-finger salute and leaves.

Izuku eyes Kacchan, his twitching jaw and grumpy forehead. He’s tearing into the Pop-Tarts like a bear who found trash at a campsite.

“It’ll go by quick!” Ochaco pipes up, trying to lighten the mood. She sends him a beaming smile. “And we’ll hang out as much as we can!”

Iida’s phone rings then, going off almost in time with Shoto’s. Ah, they’re on call. Izuku is quickly losing opportunities to ask more questions. Would they even answer about Kacchan being hurt, if he’s still in the room?

“Yeah, let us know when you’re home tomorrow and we’ll plan to come by soon.” Shoto nods. “We have to go, too, but, glad you’re doing better.”

The two bid him goodbye with half-hugs, careful to avoid the medical stuff wired to him.

“I have work with Tsu in a few hours myself.” Ochaco explains. “I was worried you’d be bored, but, well, I guess you have work to do.” She smiles again, but it’s sort of a grimace.

“I’ll text you later tonight, okay?” She kisses his cheek and makes her way to the door.

Izuku’s eyes graze the room when he turns to see her off. He notices a black backpack on the table near the foot of his bed…And actually, a crossword puzzle book, a phone charger, a sweater, and a little pouch of toiletries?

“Ochaco, you forgot your stuff!” He calls. It’s weirdly a lot of stuff for a short visit, but maybe she’s between shifts.

She spins back around to investigate and then waves her hands in front of her.

“Oh, no,” She explains casually. “That’s Bakugou’s stuff, he’s been here with you all week!”

Izuku blinks.

Huh?

Kacchan chokes on his Pop-Tart.

********

“Oh, Kacchan, are you okay?!” Deku asks, like he’s not the one laying in a damn hospital bed. Katsuki slams a fist to his chest and knocks the crumbs loose.

“Fine, nerd.” He coughs.

“Bye, guys!” Uraraka slips out the door, like she didn’t just drop a fucking bomb. Deku didn’t need to know Katsuki had been at his bedside for seven fucking days.

So sue him for worrying.

“That’s…So you…You’re…,” He can hear Deku making mental calculations. It quickly disintegrates into unintelligible muttering.

“I’m fine, like I said. Quit doing that.” Katsuki wads the Pop-Tart wrapper and lobs it into the trash can. His coffee is lukewarm now, which he hates. He plops into the uncomfortable chair that his ass has become way too accustomed to. Thing’s hard as a rock and not in a good way.

“Like Hawks said, I’m supposed to watch you or whatever.”

Deku tilts his head like a puppy. “I thought he just assigned you that?”

“He—,” Fucking Christ, perceptive bitch, “He told me to here, and he just assigned me to do it after here, too. Fucking annoying.”

Katsuki puts his boot against the footboard and leans back against the wall. He sips his drink, looking away.

“Right.” Deku sighs. “Sorry about that.”

His voice draws Katsuki’s eyes back. Deku’s pitiful in the bed, wrapped up in shit and wearing that ugly hospital gown. He’s been unconscious for a week but looks tired somehow. His green hair is mussed up from the gauze, curling over itself in every which way.

It’s nice to see some color back in his face, though. He’s not so blue and lifeless.

Katsuki shakes off the dread of the memory and growls.

“You should be! Almost died again, stupid.”

Izuku takes a deep breath. Then a wry smile forms. “Right. What was it? ‘Sorry I’m an idiot, thanks for saving my fucking life, Bakugou.’”

Calling him something other than “Kacchan” is jarring and Katsuki almost chokes again. He almost throws the coffee at Deku’s head, but it would probably seep into the dumb wound.

“Smug, ungrateful asshole.” Katsuki rolls his eyes.

They’re quiet for a minute, and when he looks up, Deku is watching him. Katsuki swallows, forcing it down, for fuck’s sake. Now’s not the time, it’s never the goddamn time. There will never be a time. Even if Deku’s eyes are so, so green.

“Still sky-high on morphine?” He teases. “You’re like a space case.”

Deku laughs a little, and Katsuki begrudgingly aches at how much he missed it.

“I am grateful, Kacchan. Thanks for saving me...Like you always do.”

Katsuki’s hand twitches on the cup. He bites his tongue, holds it an extra second before something stupid bubbles out uncontrollably. Staring at these four walls for days, mostly alone with Deku, has made him weird, sort of sappy, undeniably weaker. Not physically, but metaphorically. Like, in the knees or something. He can’t imagine more of this. He has to be fucking careful. He draws a wobbly line in the sand and tells himself not to cross it.

“That’s right.” He digs into his pocket to pull out his phone for a distraction. He can feel Deku’s eyes on him, still, probably paired with a mushy, ridiculous smile. “Gonna start charging you for it.”

Chapter Text

Izuku is discharged the following morning. He’s finally gauze-free, but feels like his movements are rigid. One of the newer interns escorts him home, under agency direction, and asks for Izuku’s autograph at his doorstep.

“Thanks, Deku!” The kid grins after he stows the trading card in his pocket. “I was hoping to get Dynamight’s too but he said he had to leave when they took you to get your stitches out.—Well, he more yelled at me to get out of the way, but, still cool to talk to him!”

Izuku laughs, not surprised. “Yeah, sorry, he’s just like that. You’ll see him around. Thanks for helping me, I’ve got it from here.”

The bright-eyed teenager hands Izuku his duffel bag, bows lightly, and then heads back down the hallway. He hopes that wasn’t too dismissive, the guy’s nice, but he really doesn’t need to be monitored twenty-four-seven.

The lock to Izuku’s apartment is a little jammed after a week without use. He bumps it with extra force and heads inside. It’s musty, smells too sweet like an old banana. He frowns at the bruised bushel left on the kitchen counter. Makes sense.

He spends a few minutes tidying up, doesn’t take long in the small space, and then loafs onto the couch.

This is what he gets to do now? Sit? Just sit? There’s that overwhelming pile of paperwork, but. Ugh. He drums his fingers on the armrest.

He figures he could meet All Might for lunch, it’s been a few weeks. Maybe Aizawa. Maybe they’d even offer a guest lecture at UA. He should at least do something while he has to sit around and do nothing.

He’ll burn through that quickly though. That’s like, three activities. And all of his friends are still working, they’re not going to be able to come by as much as they say they will. It’s been literally thirty-four minutes of him being back home and he already feels claustrophobic.

His place isn’t small, he pooled his first few Number One paychecks to find somewhere nice to rent. The walls are soft yellow, the sunlight streams nicely through the curtains. It’s quiet, he almost never sees his neighbors. The appliances and countertops are updated, everything works great. In-unit laundry! He’s lined the walls with Pro Hero posters and photos of his friends, but their smiling faces aren’t helping right now. They only make him feel lonelier. He’s stuck in this box and the walls are quickly closing in.

Relaxing on a weekend is amazing, but relaxing when you’re forced to is not.

Maybe he could do some vigilante work again. No one would know if he didn’t wear his costume. But, well, his quirks are pretty recognizable now and—

A fist slams on his door repeatedly, making him jump. Danger Sense didn’t alert him, so it isn’t malicious, just obnoxious.

“Open up, doofus!” Calls a familiar voice.

Kacchan?

Izuku answers the door with a quizzical look. “Oh, hey. What are you—?”

“You gonna invite me in or make me stand here all day?”

Kacchan has his own duffel bag thrown over his shoulder, a shock of bright orange in the gray hallway. He’s wearing a new set of clothes, not the hoodie and track pants from last night/this morning. His hair is wet but still spiky, like gravity can’t keep it down.

“Ah, come in?” Izuku steps aside.

Kacchan shoves past him and tosses his bag on the floor beside the couch. Izuku catches a whiff of his soap, something rich and heavy that you definitely wouldn’t find at Bath and Body Works. Expensive stuff, exfoliating stuff. And the burnt end of a sparkler.

That last part is Kacchan’s sweat. How fast did he walk here to break a sweat? It isn’t that hot today.

“What are you…doing here, Kacchan?” Izuku asks.

Kacchan dumps himself into the spot Izuku had been sitting, against the All Might throw pillows and everything. He picks up the remote and flicks on the TV.

“Have you just been, like, sitting in silence, you fucking weirdo?” Kacchan throws his (really muscular, toned, ripped) arm behind his head and puts his socked feet on the coffee table. (Izuku really shouldn’t think about biting his bicep.)

Kacchan doesn’t look at him. “I’m here to watch you, obviously.”

“‘Watch me’?”

Kacchan rolls his eyes, forcefully sets the remote on the tray table beside the couch. He finally swings sideways to face him. “Yes, dumb shit. Like Hawks told me to. Wasting a perfectly good day keeping your sorry ass from falling off the balcony.”

Oh. Izuku actually laughs at that. His chest feels a little lighter with company.

“I definitely don’t think I’m going to fall off the balcony, but, sure, okay.”

Kacchan scoffs at that. “I dunno, man, you got your shit rocked. How’s your head?”

Izuku shrugs. It feels okay, but he hasn’t looked at it. They offered a mirror after they pulled out the stitches but he didn’t really want to. It just frustrated him. “Fine, I guess.”

“Lemme see.”

Izuku blinks. “Huh?”

“Come sit and lemme see how it is!”

“All right, all right.”

Izuku plops beside him on the couch, turning to the wall so Kacchan can check it out. He sure can throw a punch, but Kacchan’s fingers are surprisingly gentle carding through Izuku’s hair. He carefully finds the incision and hums. It reminds Izuku of being a kid, his mom scratching his scalp to help him take a nap. It smells even more like fireworks, right next to him, and Izuku is lulled into a bubble of calm.

“They did fine on the needlework. Probably won’t be a big scar. And I don’t think any brain matter fell out ‘cause you don’t have one.”

“Asshole.” Izuku smiles, slumping sideways into the couch cushions.

“And you have a bald spot. Your hair covers it, but I’m gonna tell everyone you’re aging prematurely.”

Izuku falls into the crevice between seats and lets his ear hit the headrest. His back is supported by Kacchan’s left shoulder, it’s like a little cocoon.

“Wouldn’t surprise me.” He yawns deeply. This is way better than a hospital bed, even if it’s the couch.

“Hey, lazy, didn’t you get enough sleep?!” Kacchan flicks his spine hard.

“Hm…Guess not.”

Kacchan grumbles but doesn’t say anything else, surprisingly. Izuku can hear him pick up the remote again and channel surf. The audio keeps changing abruptly, but it doesn’t really bother him after living in a loud dorm for so long. It’s comforting, actually, and Kacchan’s arm is warm and sturdy. He’s shocked he isn’t being shoved off, but, they’re physically close in combat all the time, and maybe he’s just comfy too. That hospital chair looked unforgiving.

Izuku’s anxiety swirls down the drain and he slowly falls asleep.

**********

The next day or so is full of sleep and easy lounging. Katsuki had allowed Deku to lean on him that one time, just for a bit, but now he’s extra careful to keep his distance. He slept on the couch, threw a pillow at Deku when he offered to share his bed last night.

It would be too easy to get too fuckin’ cuddly and then—

He shakes his head to clear it.

Deku’s playing video games while Katsuki roots around in his kitchen. There’s barely any real food here, just frozen lasagna and a crapton of Gatorade. A few packets of Taco Bell sauce litter the refrigerator and an old onion rolls around in the bottom drawer.

“What the hell do you eat, man?” Katsuki calls over his shoulder. “You have like seventy-five protein bars and that’s it. I had one last night and this morning and I’m already sick of them. Taste like dirt.”

The TV blasts with imaginary gunfire.

“A lot of stuff went bad while I was gone.” Deku explains, eyes glued to the game, but Katsuki doubts that to be fully true. He opens the cabinet above the stove and frowns at the single, isolated bottle of soy sauce.

“Jesus.” He slams the cupboard shut. “Get dressed, my stomach’s fucking consuming itself.”

Deku sets down the controller. “Wait, I can leave?”

His head cocks to the side again like a Labrador Retriever. But instead of floppy ears he’s got fluffy hair. And it’s not cute, it’s not.

“Pfft, yeah? You’re not under house arrest, you imbecile. You just can’t patrol and shit.”

“Oh.” Deku says dumbly, while Katsuki tugs on his shoes.

“Yeah, ‘oh.’ C’mon, hurry up. I just said I’m starving.”

Deku turns off the TV and putters to his room. The door doesn’t close all the way and a sliver of light falls onto the rug. Katsuki can hear him shuffling around, clothes hangers sliding in the closet. He stares down at his shoelaces. A drawer audibly opens and closes. Katsuki wonders what his clothes look like in there, does Deku fold them before putting them away? It would drive him crazy if he didn’t.

It would drive him crazy to find out.

Ridiculous. He doesn’t need to know that stupid detail. He doesn’t need to know the goddamn intricacies of Deku’s bedroom. He taps his foot and waits. He glares at his duffle bag. Katsuki would love to blow off some steam. He’s too cooped up after a week at this dork’s bedside and two more days in his living room.

When Deku finally emerges he’s wearing basketball shorts and a blue U.A. crewneck. His hair is brushed but still unruly.

“Okay, I’m ready!” Deku says, stuffing his phone and wallet into his pockets. His smile is a beam of sunshine, makes Katsuki want to squint.

Katsuki pushes to stand and loops his bag over his shoulder. “We’ll hit the gym after. Kiri’s been asking me to spar lately.”

“Aw, man!” Deku crosses his arms. “C’mon. Rub it in my face, why don’t you?”

A blinding, irrational, white-hot, spark zaps through Katsuki’s brain as he thinks, God, I’d love to.

He coughs and mentally punches himself in the head. Katsuki turns before he can say something fucking embarrassing and grabs the manilla folder off the coffee table. He drops it heavily into Deku’s waiting hands.

“Keep yourself busy with this shit.”

“Ughhhhhh.”

They eat relatively quickly at a cheap place down the street. It pisses him off when Deku pays for his food, but Deku insists because he’s “stuck with him right now.” Katsuki texts Kirishima to ignore the weird feeling in his gut.

Gym in 30?

Quick response.

Cant rn too busy fucking ur bitch

He receives a blurry picture of Kaminari eating noodles and flipping the bird. Another text pings in right after.

Jk sure see ya there. Denki coming too. Kickin ur ass followed by an incomprehensible string of emojis.

They walk to Endeavor and Hawks’ combined agency building and Deku talks non-stop the entire way about a new movie he just saw, a comic book he bought, a cringey Pro Hero interview that went viral, somebody irrelevant from high school. It’s kind of annoying as hell.

Kind of.

They sign two autographs on the way and Deku brushes off his injury, assures the small child that he’ll be back soon! New Symbol of Peace and all that junk. Katsuki doesn’t doubt him. He’s resilient.

The elevator flies up, and up, and up, smoothly halting at the nineteenth floor. It opens up to a gigantic gym lined with weights, exercise machines, treadmills. A wide sparring circle is roped off on the corner, only room for close-combat. (“And please stop blowing gaping holes in the ceiling, Bakugou.”)

Yoga mats are rolled out along one wall, jump ropes hang off a coat rack, bubbling water coolers constantly refill from big, flowing tubes. The whole place smells like sweat, disinfectant, rubber, and grease.

Katsuki rolls his shoulders out, at home already. He’d been a bird with clipped wings for the last nine days.

A few heroes and interns flock to Deku, eager to say hello and see how he’s doing. He laughs with them and recounts the tale. Dumbass.

Katsuki tosses his bag down and is wrapping his sore wrist when a rock-hard hand slaps him on the back.

“Oi!” He yelps, spinning to glare daggers at Kirishima.

“Hi, honey.” He grins cheekily, dressed down in a wifebeater. (“We should call them wifelovers,” Kaminari had said once.)

That idiot waves from behind Kiri’s fiery hair. “Hey Bakubro.”

“How’s the misses?” Kirishima jokes, jabbing a thumb at Deku in jest. He doesn’t know the fucking half of it.

“Shut the hell up! He’s fine, isn’t he? You’ve got eyes!”

Kirishima bats his eyelashes while he fumbles out of his shoes. Looks stupid. “I do and Mina tells me they’re real pretty ones.”

“Hmph.”

The two of them warm up and Kaminari steals the aux cord for the central speakers. They boom with some generic radio pop. Nobody says anything because he always charges their phones, their AirPods, their FitBits, and that gives him a weird sort of respect, on top of his other skills. A top twenty ranking isn’t exactly something to scoff at. Katsuki wouldn’t keep shitty company.

It’s nice for Katsuki to get his mind off the close proximity of Deku. Off the way his hair was all matted with blood while water pooled around them. The way he looked extra small in a hospital bed.

The way his couch has barely enough room for two people.

Instead, Katsuki’s mind goes kind of blank when he fights. Fuzzy static on a television screen. The golden burst of a grenade, the way it fizzles out into shimmers between his fingers.

They’re toe-to-toe, pretty evenly matched. Slaps, blocks, knee kicks, elbow jabs, playing dirty, anything goes. Katsuki appreciates the way he can fight hard with Kiri, won’t fuck him up too bad. A few bystanders crowd to watch as the battle goes on for more than fifteen minutes. Kirishima slams into him from behind, all stone edges, but Katsuki pops up, flips backwards midair, and blasts an explosion into his spine. Kirishima face plants with a groan.

“Fuck offffff.” He says into the mat, relaxing back into his normal skin texture. The surrounding bubble reeks of nitroglycerin.

Katsuki breathes hard and puts a hand on his hip. He flicks his wet hair out of his face and boasts aloud, “Who’s fuckin’ next?”

Kaminari’s already slapping on a headband and dragging Kiri out of the ring. “Me, me, me!”

Katsuki smirks and puffs out his chest. Week off, his ass, he hasn’t lost touch. It’s like riding a bike. Deku’ll be the same, he’ll recover fine and be back to himself in—where’s he at anyway?

Katsuki scans the room. He’s not at any of the machines or working out (good, he’s not supposed to be, dammit), but is instead sitting against the mirror on the floor. The manilla folder in his lap, though the damn thing hasn’t been opened yet. When Katsuki catches his green gaze, Deku flips to the first page.

Even if it’s boring as hell, that dumbass is gonna get in a lot of trouble with Hawks if he doesn’t get that paperwork done. Katsuki rolls his eyes.

A sharp bolt hits him in the back of the neck.

“Hey!” He snarls. “I wasn’t ready, motherfucker!”

Fists already lit up, he lunges at Kaminari.

**********

It’s been a long time since Izuku has watched anyone fight. He’s been so involved in battles the last few years that all his notebooks of observations remain untouched. When in the thick of it, it’s more fueled by adrenaline and quick study than careful, pinpoint scrutiny.

That’s what he hasn’t even begun his work. He sat down with every intention to knock a chunk of this out, but.

Katcchan’s too graceful not to stare at. He’s like an animal in combat; dangerous, sly, predatory. Lithe and springy. He throws every motion all out, shouting and huffing. There’s no hesitation. The harder he goes, the more he sweats, and the more firepower he has.

Explosions sparkle under his palms. His teeth snap. His arms (those arms again) whirl on Kaminari like a torpedo.

Kaminari’s definitely holding his own, meeting him right in the middle, but Izuku doesn’t seem to watch him as much.

His eyes follow Kacchan’s form as it twists and bends. He’s wearing a thin t-shirt and black track pants. Sweat runs in rivulets down his neck, his muscled back, over his veiny forearms. A tiny wet patch blossoms in the middle of his chest where it bleeds through the fabric.

The whole gym smells like him now. Fireworks, Pop Rocks, gasoline. It’s searing and sticky sweet.

Izuku licks his lips.

He’s super hot all of a sudden. Wishes he wore a shirt under this sweater so he could take it off. He pulls at the sleeves and fans himself.

Dares to look back though. There’s a loud slam and Kacchan has Kaminari nailed to the ground, flat on his back. He’s straddling him and hovers a smoky hand over Denki’s face in warning.

“Give up!” He barks.

Kaminari tries to flip them and fails, laughs without fear, tries again. He shoots Kacchan in the ribs with a little jolt of electricity. Kacchan takes the blow like a champ. He groans and his stomach muscles spasm but he holds firm. He’s strong as hell, tilts his hips forward and leans over Kaminari, smooshing his fist on the other’s forehead.

“I won, dammit!”

Izuku tears his eyes away. Kacchan’s waist had drawn him in. He tries not to wonder how it would feel to be in Kaminari’s spot. He doesn’t think about Kacchan looming over him, soaked, zipper to zipper, knotting a hand in his hair, tight, smelling so good, sucking his neck, squeezing his hip with the other hand—

Except, obviously, he does think about it. Izuku has to slide the thick folder over his crotch. He can feel how beet-red his face is.

Izuku panics. He hears Kaminari yell, “uncle!” and races out of the room before Kacchan can look at him again.

Thank the ever-loving God the agency has nice bathrooms. Single-person bathrooms. Izuku quietly shuts the door behind him and then immediately wrestles his pants to his ankles.

This is so embarrassing, he hasn’t had such a public boner in forever and it is not going away any time soon. Even though he’s far off now, he can still hear Kacchan yelling and arguing with one of their friends and—and, fuck, he looked so good out there, his voice is so gravely, and, and—

Izuku spits into his palm.

He’s acting like a horny fifteen-year-old but he can’t go back out there like this!

The scenes reel through his head over and over. Flips, and presses, and lunges, and grunts from low in Kacchan’s throat. If Izuku squeezes his eyes shut, it’s like they’re directed right into his ear. If he pretends he’s not in a bathroom stall, at his place of work, actually, it starts to get him there.

This is wrong. He shouldn’t be doing this here, shouldn’t be thinking about Kacchan this way, but he has for so long that sometimes it has to just boil over, all right? He exhales from his nose and rubs himself tighter, faster, harder. Because he knows Kacchan wouldn’t go easy on him in battle or in bed. He’d probably toy with him all night, hands hot from ignition, mouth stinging and dirty just like his language.

Izuku’s on the floor again, in his mind.

“Give up!” Kacchan had said, and he wants to. He could throw back his head and just let him have his way. Stop fighting it. Give in. Release.

He does. Izuku comes all over his hand with a muffled whine, way too quickly for a twenty-five year old. He chews on the collar of his shirt to keep the noise down but he knows he just slurred out every obscenity like a cheesy porn star.

Shame tickles through him. He feels gross as he wipes himself off.

He exits the stall, washes up, and wipes his face with a paper towel. He’s infinitely better and also infinitely worse.

On jittery legs, Izuku pads back into the gym. Music is still absolutely thundering, no one heard a thing. He forces out a steady breath and heads back to their group.

Kacchan, Kaminari, and Kirishima are sitting in a semi-circle, chugging bottles of water and laughing. Well, Kaminari and Kirishima are laughing. Kacchan has that wry smile on his face.

A sweat rag is thrown over his shoulder, he’s much less…damp now, but stripes of his shirt are still darker than the rest. Izuku reminds himself all is okay and they do not know what just happened. He sits down.

Kacchan immediately bumps his knee, and Izuku fights the urge to jump.

“What the fuck’s that?”

Rough hands snatch his shirt collar and pull him forward, pinning the wet fabric between thumb and forefinger. Kacchan inspects it and then thumps Izuku in the chin. “You pass out and drool on yourself or something? Do you need to go to the fucking ER?”

Izuku schools his expression but inwardly shrieks and runs in panicked circles. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Someone please strike him down. Would Kaminari be willing?

“No!” He replies quickly. “Just—just water from the bathroom. I’m fine!”

He is so not fine. Izuku hurriedly picks up some paperwork and starts to scratch on the page.

“Whatever.” Kacchan takes another swig of water and Izuku does not watch his Adam’s apple bob when he swallows.

“Deku?” Kirishima pipes up.

Izuku blinks. Oh crap, here it goes.

“Um, yes?”

“You know the cap of your pen is still on?”

Chapter Text

Later that night, Katsuki is making scrambled eggs when his phone rings. He’s pretty wiped and Deku keeps acting all twitchy so he assumes they both just need to pack in some protein. His screen flashes with a poorly-drawn pigeon, caller ID: hawks. It’s nine-thirty, what the hell does he want?

“Yeah?” Katsuki answers, shouldering the phone. He grabs the pan with one hand and scoots around the spatula with the other.

“Hey, how’s Deku?” Hawks asks. Voices overlap in the background like he’s somewhere crowded.

“Tch, yeah, I’m fine too, thanks for asking.” Katsuki rolls his eyes. “He’s the same. Taking a shower.”

There are cheers on the other line and the distinct “pop” of a champagne bottle. Heavy bass crackles through the speaker.

“Where the fuck are you?” Katsuki scrunches his nose and flips off the burner. “Are you calling me from a club?”

Hawks laughs, but it’s not directed at him. Then, “…No, no. Well. Kinda. Hero party, of sorts. Big kids only, sorry.—Are you free tomorrow?”

Katsuki divvies the eggs up among two plates and starts chopping the fruit he bought after the gym.

“For what.” It’s not a question because he really doesn’t want to be free tomorrow, even though they both know he is.

Distantly, he can hear Present Mic yelling. There’s a rustle as Hawks covers his receiver.

“Oof, almost blasted my ear drums there, Yamada!”

Katsuki splits the strawberries and washes his hands. “Do you wanna call back later when you’re not so goddamn preoccupied?”

The shower shuts off on the other side of the apartment. Steam billows from underneath the door. Katsuki glances up when Deku steps out, toweling his hair off. There’s another one slung around his waist. Katsuki steals a moment, just one, to run his eyes along every inch of that scarred torso.

“No,” Hawks answers, snapping him out of it. Glass shatters somewhere far away, or maybe it’s a fucking champagne bottle. What the shit are the oldies doing? It is a Friday night but they sound like a bunch of college students.

“It’s for the morning so can’t wait.” Hawks continues. “Since you guys aren’t working right now we have you doing a PR photoshoot with Hatsume at nine.”

“Huh? Why?” Katsuki glowers at the stove.

Hawks doesn’t explain, talking to someone else again. He lets out a booming laugh and Katsuki picks up Mirko’s voice.

Deku pads out of his bedroom in fuzzy slippers, long blue pajama pants, and a loose t-shirt. He yawns and shuffles into the kitchen, raising an eyebrow at the phone call.

“Can you wrap this shit up? We’re about to eat dinner.” Katsuki bites.

“Aw, how sweet.” Hawks croons. “Yeah, nine AM, agency studio. Brush your hair.”

“You—!”

The line clicks before Katsuki can chew him out.

Deku picks up a plate hesitantly, like he isn’t exactly sure it’s for him. “What was that about?”

“Hawks.” Katsuki replies, clinking a fork onto his plate and carrying it to the table. “They have us doing some dumb picture shit tomorrow with Hatsume.”

Deku’s eyes light up as he scuttles over too. “Oh! Man, I haven’t seen Mei in ages! Wonder what she’s made this time. Oh, and, thanks for cooking.”

Katsuki hums and chews his eggs.

Deku continues on excitedly, able to have a conversation even when the other person doesn’t participate.

“Last time they had me try on this, like, crazy helmet with a heat-seeking sensor. It could see like one hundred feet underground and even could predict the target’s next move. Super impressive. Not sure who ended up using it but they just wanted me for the pics.”

“It’s ‘cause you have a bigass head.”

Deku smirks. “Could say the same for you, mister egotistical.”

Katsuki’s eyebrow twitches while he shoves slices of strawberry into his mouth. “Fuck off, I can be egotistical because I know I’m good.”

Deku doesn’t reply after that, focused back on his own meal, but his lips are turned up at the edges.

“We have to leave early.” Katsuki eventually says, rinsing his plate in the sink. “Nine AM call.”

Deku grumbles but says, “Well, we’ve definitely had earlier.”

He carries his dish over too and they clean elbow-to-elbow. The sheer domesticity of it rolls around in Katsuki like a bag of marbles. He swallows.

“Feel okay?” He asks, not looking at Deku but instead staring down at the soapy suds in the sink. It’s a soft question and it makes him feel squishy.

Deku looks over at him, his gaze as warm as sunlight. How the hell is he always like this? How does he always do this? One stupid little blink from his big green eyes and Katsuki is a freaking girl or something.

“Oh. Yeah! Still just tired, I guess.” Deku pauses. “Why?”

Katsuki runs water down the drain to clear debris. “Just making sure your brain’s still functioning. You’ve been weird today.”

Deku chirps. “I haven’t been weird! What do you mean?”

Deku finishes washing his plate quickly and stacks it back in the cabinet.

“Besides, I thought I didn’t have a brain?”

Katsuki sighs. He’s got him there.

“You’ve just been weird okay, sue me for not wanting to take you to the hospital again.”

It was bad enough a week ago, Katsuki forcing his hand against a wound that wouldn’t stop bleeding, teeth chattering uncontrollably while Deku hung limp in his arms.

“I’m not weird!” Deku pipes up again, which is definitely weird. But whatever.

“Okay, okay, just go watch TV or some shit, I’ll clean up. Get outta my face, loser.”

Deku scratches his neck. “You don’t have to do that. It’s my place, Kacchan.”

“Did I stutter?”

Thirty minutes later, they halfheartedly argue again.

“Kacchan, really,” Deku holds his hands up, “You don’t have to sleep on the couch, I feel guilty enough as it is. If you don’t wanna share the bed then at least take it for tonight. We can take turns!”

No way in hell. Katsuki is a dick but he isn’t going to kick Deku out of his own bed, especially when he’s still recovering. And yeah, fuck no, sharing is out of the question.

“Go to bed.” Katsuki says flatly while rolling over on the couch. He faces the back of it and punches the All Might throw pillow to fluff it up.

“…Are you sure? I feel really—”

“Deku. Go to bed.”

There’s an audible sigh of defeat and the lights flick off. He hears Deku drag his feet back to his bedroom and the door clicks closed.

In the darkness, Katsuki listens to the hum of the fan and burrows further into the pillow. It smells like Deku, too sweet and heavy like the body spray he insists on wearing when he’s been working hard and sweating a lot. It clings to this couch, to this pillow, this blanket. Earthy shampoo wafts on the air from his earlier shower.

Katsuki closes his eyes. He isn’t trying to imagine any scenario but one plays out anyway. There’s a cloud of steam, a foggy mirror, and that damn towel is no where to be found. In his head, Deku whines like a slut when Katsuki fucks him over the sink.

********

Mei tackles Izuku the moment they step through the giant double doors to the studio. Kacchan snaps something about “his head, idiot!,” and she releases him with a snort.

“Aw, he’s fine, Deku’s indestructible. How are you, friend?!” She squeezes his shoulders. It’s good to see her.

Izuku laughs. “I’m much better, thanks, Mei. Can’t wait to see what we’re doing today, Hawks didn’t really explain or anything.”

Kacchan hums in acknowledgment.

“Right! Just, uh, come on this way, sorry for the mess.”

They pick through a delicate pathway of fabric rolls, giant lights, C-stands, sandbags, colored gel filters, camera carts, and more. Memory cards litter every surface.

“I gotta get my interns to do some sprucing up in here, you know I’ve never been good at that. I’m usually not the one using this room anyway but I wanted some quality time with ya.” She pinches Izuku’s cheek and he warms at the attention.

Mei finally leads them to a large soundstage. It’s decorated in a few different themes. One section is a gym, another a living room, another an “outdoor” park. Off to the side a few sturdy, heavy-duty cases wait for them on a tabletop.

“Here we go!” Mei yanks her goggles over her eyes and steps up to the case. She holds her finger over a keypad embedded in the side, and with a sharp beep, a laser scans over her retinas. The case pops open with an audible thunk.

“Good God.” Kacchan says. He leans to peer over her shoulder. “Wait, what the fuck?”

Izuku stands on his tiptoes, he can’t see around the two of them.

“I thought this was for support item shit.” Kacchan continues. “Not a goddamn fashion show!”

Mei settles her goggles back into place and whips the case around so Izuku can see, too.

“These are support items, silly goose. Finest money can buy and I can make!”

Nestled in black velvet is a huge array of jewelry. Rings of different sizes are lined up side by side, glittering with fat gems. Multicolored earrings sparkle in pairs, and fancy necklaces are pinned straight beside them. Each boasts a huge diamond, ruby, sapphire, or emerald.

“Oh, wow.” Izuku breathes. They’re captivating, glinting in the low light. He reaches out to touch one and Kacchan slaps his hand away.

“Those could be bombs or something, dumbass.” He snaps. “Careful.”

Aw, that’s almost sweet. As sweet as Kacchan can be, at least.

“Not bombs, no.” Mei chuckles. She starts pointing to each item as she explains. “The earrings are covert communication devices. Obviously more subtle than a bluetooth earpiece and I’ve designed them so that no one else can hear the incoming audio, even if they’re right next to you! An enemy could be an inch away and still not pick it up.”

She taps the rings next. “And these are kind of multi-functional. Different gemstones do different things. Lock picks, lasers—this one shoots hyper-concentrated poison!”

Izuku pulls his hand back all the way to his side. “Yikes. Okay. That’s cool, Mei. What about the necklaces?”

“Oh, they’re my favorite!” Mei sets the case back down and grabs one. Izuku yelps when she spins him around by the shoulders and clasps it on his neck. The metal is cold on his skin, the stone heavy at the hollow of his throat. She taps the hook and then shoves a hand mirror in Izuku’s face.

“They’re just pretty. Gotta have something we can market to the civilians. You know they love the hero merch!”

Izuku blinks at his reflection. The chain twists into a thin spiral and a bright ruby sits right between his collarbones, like it was made for him. It glows softly against his freckles. In Izuku’s peripheral vision, he sees Kacchan looking at him. Izuku waits for the insult, but it doesn’t come. He catches Kacchan’s eyes in the edge of the mirror, and they’re scarlet, hot red, just like…

“And this one’s for you to wear, Bakugou!” Mei holds up another necklace, knowing better than to try to put it on him. A shiny emerald twinkles at the end. They’re opposites? Or, well, complementing each other?

“Fine.” Kacchan snatches it and gets in on, after a minute of struggling with the tiny latch. His chain hangs longer, the giant emerald falls almost between his pecs. Not that Izuku is looking at his pecs. That’s just where it ended up! It settles snuggly against his black t-shirt. Izuku is his opposite, instructed to wear white.

“Earrings next.” Mei plucks out the emerald pair and drops them into Kacchan’s waiting hands. “And—oh, shoot, Deku, your ears aren’t pierced.”

Wait, Kacchan’s are? He never wears anything in them. How come Izuku’s never noticed? That’s—that’s hot.

“Uh, no. You’re not, like, going to pierce them, right? Uhhh.” Izuku scratches the back of his neck. “I mean, I guess you can if you need to—”

“Don’t tell her that.” Kacchan glowers at him. “He doesn’t need them. I’ll wear all your stupid earrings.”

Mei claps in excitement and starts picking which ones they’ll cycle through.

Kacchan slips the studs into his ears with practiced ease, surprising Izuku. There’s no way they’re new.

“What?” Kacchan barks, catching the stare. The stones are deep in hue, like forest leaves. They smooth out Kacchan’s rough edges.

“Just didn’t know you had your ears pierced, that’s all. I never noticed.”

“Got something to say about it?” His blonde eyebrow twitches.

“No!” Izuku waves his hands. “They look…nice.”

Kacchan crosses his arms. “Kiri made me do it a while back when we were drunk. I never wear anything because it’s dumb.”

Izuku wants to tell him it’s totally not dumb, it’s kind of the sexiest thing he’s ever seen somehow, but Mei is suddenly grabbing his hands and shoving a few rings on his fingers.

“There!” She says triumphantly. “Ugh, these babies are gonna photograph so well.”

“Great, can we get this fucking show on the road, then?” Kacchan sighs.

It’s a blur after that. Mei puffs some blush on Izuku’s cheeks, to which Kacchan says, “No fucking way.” She has Izuku sit on the couch first and they flip through so many poses that he can barely keep up. Mei flutters around him like a bird, blinding him with the camera flash. His cheeks hurt from smiling and then “looking serious” back to back.

“Okay, swap out, boys!” Mei calls, clicking through the camera to see what photos she’s already taken. Izuku stumbles up from the couch and hurries to the sidelines, taking a deep breath and massaging his jaw.

“We’re cookin’ with gas, Deku, you’re always such a cutie!” Mei adjusts her lens. “Don’t mess with the streak, Bakugou.”

Kacchan grumbles on his way over and drops onto the couch. “Oh, fuck you, I’m gonna look great in your stupid pictures!”

“That’s what I like to hear!”

He’s much less fluid with the posing, more stiff for some of them, but, whew, yeah, he looks great. Izuku wouldn’t say as much out loud, but. Yeah.

It lasts a few minutes, Kacchan growing even more irritated with every snap of the camera, but Mei finally looks up from the eyepiece.

“Okeedokee,” She juts her chin back over to Izuku. “Go sit next to him, Deku.”

“Huh?”

Kacchan sits in the center of the couch and has both arms thrown over the back of it. One knee is folded, creating a perfect alcove on his other side. It happens to be Izuku-shaped.

“There’s no room.” Izuku tries not to sputter.

“Sure there is!” Mei lifts up her camera. “C’mon, clock’s ticking! I have a meeting with Mina after this for some costume enhancements.”

“This is gonna look gay as hell.” Kacchan rolls his eyes. “What kinda—”

Mei sighs and catches Izuku’s arm. She drags him to the couch and places him beside Kacchan, flush against his side. Kacchan grunts in irritation and goes dead still.

“It’s not ‘gay as hell,’ it’s artistic. Plus, you’re partners anyway.” Mei situates Izuku while his heart threatens to beat out of his chest. He can feel Kacchan’s ribs against his when they breathe. Every outline of his warm torso fits against his own like a puzzle. Two thin layers of t-shirt are all that’s between them.

She moves Izuku to sit criss-cross, leaned slightly inward. Their thighs overlap, oh fuck. She grabs Izuku’s hands and sets them on his knees to show off the rings.

Mei pushes their heads closer together, making them both squeak in surprise. She tilts Kacchan’s chin downward so the earring is on full display. Like this, he’s breathing right into Izuku’s hair.

And oh, God, can Kacchan feel his anxiety? This actually is gay as hell.

Izuku bites down the urge to shake. Or to twist his head to the side, so they’re nose-to-nose. He can hear the camera, can hear Mei buzzing around and giving directions, but he can’t move.

Body heat radiates all around him and the nitroglycerin scent has never been so intoxicating. Short, sharp breaths puff against his temple. Izuku feels dirty, like he’s in a porno, even though this is far from it.

The contact is overwhelming, like his skin is on fire. Kacchan’s strong, bulky, sexy arm slings from the back of the couch to hang over his shoulders, surely from Mei’s direction, and Izuku actually snaps>.

He stands up lightning-quick.

“Uh.” He says, when both other parties stare at him in confusion. Mei cocks her head.

“I think, um.” Izuku can’t look down at Kacchan, he doesn’t want to even guess what his expression looks like. Probably blatant annoyance. Probably frustration. He’s already been cooped up with Izuku for days and now this is so close-quarters, and strange, and outside his comfort zone. Kacchan hates these photoshoots.

“I’m just getting a headache, y’know.” Izuku explains steadily. “Been a lot of activity the past few days after being out cold for a week. I think I’m gonna have to take a break. Do you think you got enough shots, Mei?”

He hears Kacchan shift on the couch behind him.

“Aw, sorry, Deku, honey.” Mei pouts. “You should’ve said something sooner! I know the lights and everything can be a lot. Yeah, we’re pretty good! If I need anything else I’ll just call ya back when you’re feeling better.” She offers a smile.

“Awesome.” Izuku nods. “That’s great. Um, here’s your stuff!”

********

Weird, like Katsuki had thought. Deku’s being fucking weird.

He watches the idiot fumble with the necklace and pile up the rings to give to Mei. The two of them chat and giggle about whatever dumb shit they do and she starts showing him photos from the tiny LED screen.

Katsuki had tried not to make it a big deal. He’d tried so hard to just sit fucking still and not make Deku uncomfortable. He’d tried to slow his goddamn heart rate to something normal and force himself to stop fucking sweating but it was just too—

Dammit.

He feels like a fucking perv. He didn’t mean to make Deku feel weird and now it’s like there are rocks in his stomach. Had it been him? Was the headache thing made up?

Katsuki walks past the two of them to the metal case. He takes off each piece of jewelry and lays it back in place. The emeralds really are nice, green as Deku’s giant, deer-in-the-headlights eyeballs.

“…probably be in Hero’s Weekly next issue!” Mei beams. “Cover page, probably.”

“We’re gonna be the cover?” Katsuki asks, catching the tail end of the conversation. That’s good press, at least. After this torture.

“I think so! I’ll see what I can do, anyway.” She winks.

“That would be amazing, Mei.” Deku smiles. Like he hasn’t already been on the cover three times. “Thanks for doing this!”

“Of course!” She hugs Deku again and offers Katsuki a wave. “I’ll let Hawks know we wrapped up, you go home and get some rest!”

“All right, all right.”

Katsuki shoves his hands in his pockets as they leave the agency and begin the walk to Deku’s. The streets are busy today but people don’t always recognize them when they aren’t in uniform. He maintains a decent distance from Deku, still tingling from their earlier proximity. Meanwhile, Deku texts someone a mile a minute.

“Who’s that?” Katsuki asks, not that it’s his business. But he wants to know.

“Huh?” Deku looks up. Big ass eyes again. Green like fields of clover.

(Gay as hell.)

“Who are you texting?”

“Oh, it’s Denki! Him and Jirou are hosting everyone at their place tonight and invited us.”

“Hm.” Katsuki nods. Wonders why Kaminari didn’t text him. Maybe because everyone knows him and Deku are literally shacking up together right now. Ugh. Embarrassing. He rubs his forehead.

“Wait, I thought your head hurt? You wanna go get drunk but your head hurts?” Katsuki glares.

Oof, caught in the lie. Deku’s eyebrows shoot up.

“It does hurt! Right now. But this is later.” Deku shrugs. “And I won’t get drunk, Kacchan. I just wanna hang out with our friends!”

That’s another lie. Deku loves getting drunk. Especially with their rowdy ass bunch.

Katsuki bites the inside of his cheek. He wants to push it, but he won’t push it. All the weirdness is probably his fault anyway.

“Fine.” Katsuki says. “We can go.”

He kicks a pebble on the sidewalk.

“Just, y’know, take it easy. You’re still recovering, stupid.”

Deku finally looks over at him and his smile is so fucking cute that it makes Katsuki angry. Why does he have to be like this? Why did he have to fuck up so bad and get all mushy over his best friend? His partner? Why does he feel so sick? He’s stripped raw like an exposed nerve. Katsuki cuts his eyes across the street instead of keeping them on Deku’s obnoxious, beautiful grin. Instead of counting every freckle on the bridge of his nose.

“Don’t worry, Kacchan, I will.”

Little does he know, Deku will not keep his word.

Chapter Text

Izuku knocks on Kaminari’s door a few times before they get an answer. The blonde swings it wide open, and the living room already smells kind of like Tito’s, just from the doorway. Electronic music is blaring. Izuku wonders if the neighbors had any idea what they were getting into when Denki and Jirou bought the unassuming house at the end of the street.

Izuku opens his mouth to say “hi,” but Kaminari just turns his head and waves to the others inside.

“Bakugou and Deku are here, let’s goooo!”

And then the entirety of the friend group pours onto the sidewalk.

“Wha..?” Izuku blinks. Mina wraps him in a squeeze, bubbly from booze.

“Hi, Deku!” She coos.

At his side, Kacchan doesn’t bother to fight off a hug from Kirishima.

“Took you guys long enough.” Kaminari grins while Jirou locks up. “We were about to leave without you!”

“What do you mean ‘leave’?” Kacchan crosses his arms. “Aren’t we hanging out here? Why did you invite us over then?”

Sero pats his pants pockets. “I don’t know where my wallet is, can somebody float me?”

“Float you where? The fuck?” Kacchan’s eyebrows scrunch together.

Kirishima slings an arm over Kacchan’s shoulders. The group begins to walk and they’re going along. Deku shrugs. Mina slips off of him and links hands with Jirou. The girls crane their heads together to gossip ahead of the pack.

“We’re going out, Bakubro!” Kirishima smiles. “Out on the town.”

Deku falls in to step beside Kaminari and Sero. He’s always so jealous of how Kirishima can be so physical with Kacchan, like it’s nothing. Their friendship isn’t all mucked up with feelings. Izuku could barely fake-cuddle Kacchan on a couch for a work photoshoot without tweaking.

“My house is the after party.” Kaminari explains. “We’ve been meaning to hit up this new bar over on third street, so, today’s the day! Shoto and Shinsou are meeting us there. Everyone else was busy.”

“Fine.” Kacchan huffs, aware he doesn’t really have a choice at this point. He certainly isn’t going to walk all the way home, his place is far from here. “And get off me, fucker, you reek of weed.”

He shoves Kirishima sideways.

“Want some?” The redhead shows his shark teeth and offers the pen from his pocket.

Kacchan grunts and snatches it, takes a few drags.

“Uh, share with the class?” Kaminari flicks him. “I didn’t even know you had that, Kiri.”

It gets passed around and puffs of smoke waft in the air. Once Sero is finished, he holds it out to Izuku. He lifts a hand, eager to take some of the edge off. His brain has been scrambled since the studio.

“Hey!” Kacchan barks, whipping around. His red eyes spark like fire, like the ruby that hung on Izuku’s neck. It makes his pulse skip.

“Maybe don’t get crossfaded tonight after a fucking head injury? You’re planning to drink, aren’t you?”

Izuku pauses. Maybe Kacchan’s right. He should really—

“What are you, his mom?” Sero teases. He wiggles the vape and then pushes it into Izuku’s palm. “Deku’s a big boy, he can handle himself. And if he can’t, it’ll make for some funny videos.”

Yeah. It’ll be fine.

Izuku ignores Kacchan’s words, like he has many times in his life, and takes a hit.

“Stupid.” Kacchan mumbles, turning away.

The walk only takes twenty minutes or so, and Izuku’s feeling softer by the time they get there. Call it bad coping mechanisms, call it anxiety, call it his insane metabolism always working overtime, but, he feels better in the buzz.

“Kiri, are you gonna pay my cover?” Mina teases when they sidle up to the beefy guy checking IDs. She’s wearing a leopard print mini-skirt and black lipstick.

He smirks, says something quiet and flirty about payback later, and the two of them start the line to enter. Kaminari and Jirou follow. Kacchan buys Sero’s, and also Izuku’s, surprisingly.

“You got my lunch yesterday.” Is all he says, flipping through bills. “I don’t wanna owe you for shit.”

He jabs a finger at Sero. “And you’re paying me back, dunce face.”

“Aye aye, captain.” Sero salutes.

The bouncer lets them in without a problem. Their faces are plastered on billboards all over town anyway. They’re not always noticed in street clothes, but when a bunch of pro heroes are together, it’s obvious.

Orange LED strips wrap around the bar, glowing in the otherwise low light. Everything is copper and brown leather, moody like a sepia photograph. A live band plays up front, drums heavy, guitar loud. Jirou taps her foot to the beat as they crowd the bar top for the first round. The place is packed and warm from body heat. Tacky vinyl flooring sticks to Izuku’s shoes.

No one is supposed to smoke in here, but it isn’t being enforced. The vape makes a few more passes while they order with the bartender. Green tea shots first, Kaminari insists, and one is thrust into Izuku’s hand.

It goes down easy. He wants another. Wants his nerves to fully stop jangling like a pair of keys. He feels considerably better but it’s still in the back of his mind. His composure is a razor’s edge.

The light plays on Kacchan’s cheeks, reminiscent of the “X” on his uniform. Orange suits him. He’s in black today, like most of the time, but his skin is incandescent like a candle.

Izuku swallows.

“Wait, no way!” Sero slaps Izuku’s arm, drawing his attention. “Look who’s here, guys!”

Every eye trails to the end of the bar, where two men are stooped on barstools. One is trying to hide his face behind his hand and failing, while the other is giggling maniacally into his tall, fruity drink.

“Mister Aizawa? And Present Mic?! ” Kirishima gapes. “No fucking wayyyy!”

Chaos descends as the group whirls over to them. Mina cackles and tries to hug their former-teachers-turned-coworkers. Aizawa holds his hand up to her forehead, stopping the onslaught. They almost take down another patron in the stampede over.

“I live in a nightmare.” Aizawa says flatly.

“Kiddos!” Present Mic cheers. He holds up his glass in a toast. “What a pleasant surprise!”

“I didn’t know you guys party.” Kaminari shoots finger-guns at them.

“I did.” Kacchan rolls his eyes. “Hawks makes fucking phone calls while you all get shitfaced or whatever you do.”

“We aren’t ‘partying’.” Aizawa sighs. “We’re just having a drink after work.”

He sets down said drink, half-finished. This certainly doesn’t seem like a casual, “after work” place. It’s definitely a date. And definitely somewhere Yamada picked.

“Let’s do shots!” Kirishima shouts over the music. “C’mon, Mister Aizawa, on you!”

“No thanks, I’ll pass, I’d rather not drink with people I still see as teenagers.”

Present Mic smirks and pinches Aizawa’s reddened cheek. He tosses down a credit card, from his own wallet, but it very obviously has Aizawa’s name on it. “Oh, lighten up, honey. On you!”

Everyone cheers as Aizawa deadpans.

Shot number two is peanut butter and jelly flavored. Followed by shot number three, the same. Both are charged to Aizawa’s tab, whether he realizes it or not.

As is the entire next round of drinks.

And the one after that.

Haha, oops? Aizawa doesn’t seem to notice, and nobody dares to say anything as the bartender keeps adding them up. Consequences come tomorrow.

It’s around this time that Shoto and Shinsou arrive, when everyone but Kacchan is on the dance floor. He sits next to Aizawa and chats, absentmindedly swirls his beer around. Kacchan wouldn’t be caught dead out here.

Izuku’s feeling good, practically lost in the music. Shoto slides in the group next to him, not really dancing, more swaying back and forth. Shinsou dips over to join the other two at the bar. He’s not really the dancing type either.

“Hey! You look happy.” Izuku notes to Shoto. His friend’s normally-rigid stature has loosened and a half-smile is glued to his face. Hasn’t quit since he walked in.

“Yeah,” Shoto replies. Shrugs. Almost laughs. Izuku swears his eyes dart to Hitoshi. And that’s interesting. A conversation for a later date, when he isn’t so drunk.

“Good.” Izuku says simply, and jumps in to spin Shoto around like a ballet dancer. They break into laughter and are dizzy before long. He doesn’t wanna barf yet though, so, that means he can have another drink. Or a few.

********

What does that fucker think he’s doing with his hands on Deku’s waist? Not that Katsuki cares, he doesn’t own him, but what the fuck is he doing anyway? Their dumb little relationship was over years ago, basically began and ended right out of high school, but the way they’ve always stayed so close has bothered Katsuki to no end.

Have they fucked before?

Probably. Definitely.

He clutches his bottle of beer tighter and glares.

The events from earlier in the day left a sour taste in his mouth and a funny feeling in his gut, and this isn’t helping. The handful of drinks he’s had isn’t helping either. He’s definitely tipsy but still keyed up.

(When is he not keyed up?)

“You’re gonna shatter the glass.” Shinsou quips, leaning against the bar beside him. He’s sipping on rum and Coke.

“Shut up.” Katsuki mutters.

Aizawa puts down his empty cup, leaving a ring of condensation between them. He shakes his head at Present Mic, who’s clambered up to the stage to see if they can sing karaoke. Nobody’s gonna say no to him. In fact, half the crowd swoons. Aizawa excuses himself for a cigarette outside, probably to avoid being pulled onstage. His partner is more the one for the spotlight.

Deku and Todoroki follow the flow of people and stand side-by-side to listen to Present Mic perform.

“You don’t have to worry, you know.” Shinsou says cooly, out of the blue.

Katsuki’s eyebrow twitches. What the fuck is that supposed to mean?

“Excuse me?” Katsuki asks flatly. He shoots daggers at the guy beside him, who’s watching the spectacle ahead.

Shinsou mixes his drink with the tiny straw. “About Shoto. He doesn’t have feelings for Deku anymore. He hasn’t in a long time.”

Katsuki splutters, caught off guard. Could he read fucking minds now too?!

“Why would I care about that?” Katsuki snaps. He slams his beer down loudly. “And how would you know, anyway?!”

He didn’t mean to say that last part. It just slipped out. Alcohol loosens the lips, or whatever.

Shinsou’s own lip turns up at the corner. Maybe the fucker can read minds.

“Because we’re hooking up.”

“Huh?!”

Wait, really, huh?!

“Me and Shoto. We’re sleeping together. Trust me, I made sure there’s nothing going on there.” He waves a hand at the pair ahead of them.

“Jesus! Gross.” Katsuki rubs his forehead. “Thanks for the damn overshare.”

That’s a fucking relief, but he can’t show it. Icy Hot isn’t a threat, thank fucking God, but nobody needs to know Katsuki felt threatened in the first place.

(Threatened over what, anyway? Nothing is going to happen. Katsuki is too much of a pussy, and it would ruin everything, and Deku doesn’t like him like that, or something would’ve happened a long time ago.)

“So, like I said, don’t worry.”

“I’m not worried!”

“Just seem a little on edge over there, that’s all.”

“You my fucking therapist?!”

Shinsou chuckles. “Certainly not.”

The other hero downs his drink and clinks the empty vessel on the bar top. He tosses down a few bills as a tip.

“Sit here and stew if you want. But Deku’s over there.”

Anger ignites in Katsuki’s chest. If they weren’t in a club with civilians, he’d blow up on this idiot.

“Whadda you—!”

Shinsou ignores him and wades onto the dance floor. In a few strides he’s over behind Deku and Todoroki. He pets Icy Hot’s hair and puts a possessive arm over his shoulders.

And Katsuki fumes.

How did that asshole read him like a book? Was Katsuki that goddamn obvious, pining like a loser?

Deku is drunk as hell at this point and shouting the wrong words to whatever song Jirou is now belting. And he looks stupid, and cute, and happy, and it pisses Katsuki off.

Because it would be just as easy to waltz up next to him and throw an arm around him too.

But it also wouldn’t be, and it’s way too complicated, and after the way work went down this morning, it’s especially not worth trying.

Even if he’s bouncing around, doing some silly little dance and smiling the most annoyingly-radiant smile in the world.

Katsuki groans and scrubs at his eyes. This music sucks and he has a goddamn headache.

********

“Shoto!” Izuku yells.

Shoto laughs in his ear. “I’m right next to you!”

How long have they been dancing? Feels like an hour. Izuku’s shirt is soaked in sweat. Once Present Mic took the stage, the atmosphere in the bar cranked up to eleven. Izuku’s inhibitions left him long ago. Probably started to stray somewhere on the sidewalk over here, in the first cloud of smoke.

“I have to talk to you about something!”

“Okay!”

Izuku clutches his friend by the wrist and drags him to the side of the dance floor, near the wide windows. Street lights shine yellow outside and a line wraps along the exterior wall to get to the entrance. The heavy hero presence here has definitely hit Twitter.

They both catch their breath and Izuku flicks his hair off his forehead. He feels great. The panic from earlier has been totally pushed down by Casamigos and weed. (Like he noted earlier, bad coping mechanisms.)

“Okay, this is kinda crazy.” Izuku starts.

“I know, I know, I should’ve told you me and Shinsou are together. But it’s recent.” Shoto says sheepishly.

Izuku blinks. “Wait, what? No, this is about me! What?”

A peal of laughter breaks from Izuku’s mouth. He slaps Shoto on the chest, gently.

“I knew you had a look! That’s great! Oh, I’m so happy for you! Seriously!”

Shoto smiles. “Yeah, he’s—wait, if this isn’t about me, what is it?”

“Oh, yeah.” Izuku feels like he’s full of soda. His insides bubble with warmth.

“I think—I think I’m gonna confess to Kacchan. Maybe. I was freaking out earlier, and then I was like, maybe I should just do it? Just say it? Like, what’s the worst that can happen?…Well, a lot of things. But I dunno, I’m feeling like, like it’s just the time, y’know, like maybe it would be okay. Maybe. I think I’m gonna do it. Should I do it?”

Shoto shakes his head in confusion. “Confess…you have feelings for Bakugou? You’ve never talked about this…?”

He smirks, like he finds Izuku endearing. “How much have you had, Zu? You sure about this, or is it the tequila talking?”

“It’s not the tequila!” Izuku spits out. “I, like, love him, Shoto!”

Izuku dares to look over his shoulder. Kacchan is still at the bar, talking to Kirishima and Mina now. He’s got a sleeveless tank on, neck pink from the heat and alcohol. Izuku watches Kacchan’s forearm flex as he lifts a bottle of beer. His hands slide up the shape of it. Tiny veins run over his knuckles. He’s so strong—

Izuku comes back to reality when Shoto taps his cheek and turns him to face forward.

“Okay.” Shoto laughs. “That’s, I guess not so surprising. He always made me feel defensive of you. And I was jealous of him sometimes. Makes sense. But, maybe wait until you’re thinking more clearly? Less run-on sentences?”

Izuku stomps his foot like a child. This isn’t what he wanted to hear. He feels brave and he should take advantage of it. It’s called “liquid courage” for a reason.

“Ugh.” He mumbles. “I wanted you to say to just do it. I’m dying over here! This has been the longest few days ever.”

“Oh.” Shoto shrugs. He’s had his fair share of tequila, too, so he won’t argue too much. “Okay then. Just do it.”

“Okay?” Izuku brightens. “Yeah! I’m gonna just do it!”

He grabs Shoto and slings them back onto the dance floor. A disco ball appeared at some point and it flashes rainbow colors along every surface. Izuku jumps to the beat, mind made up. Later, he’ll finally say something.

“Wooooo!”

********

They leave the bar hours later, after saying goodbye to Aizawa and Present Mic. It’s almost two AM when the group stumbles back into Kaminari and Jirou’s doorway. Katsuki mostly stuck to beer, so he’s not doing too bad. The edges of his vision just feel soft. It’s nice, borderline relaxing.

He does have to stop Kirishima from walking head-first into a light pole on the way. In the grand scheme of things, his rock hard skull would’ve been fine, but, it’s what friends do.

(Yeah, yeah, they’re friends, fuck off.)

Once they’re home, Kaminari and Jirou bid everyone goodnight and retire to their bedroom. Jirou slaps Kaminari on the ass in the threshold and he yelps like a girl. When their stereo starts playing, Katsuki knows they aren’t sleeping.

God, he’d love to get laid. It’s been an embarrassingly long time. He had a few hookups here and there (any guy from Tinder with greenish hair), but those flings died off a while ago when he realized it wasn’t actually fulfilling anything for him.

Shoto and Shinsou quietly sneak over to the guest room, on the other end of the house. The doorknob lock clicks and the remaining crew goes, “Oooooh!” (Except Katsuki, because he isn’t twelve.)

“Fire pit time!” Kirishima yaps, once the shock-value of that new relationship has worn off. He pulls a grill lighter from the kitchen junk drawer and scuttles to the sliding glass door. Mina grabs a quilted blanket from the couch and follows after him.

“C’mon boys!” She holds up a fresh vape, a pink one, definitely hers. “More where that came from! The night is young!”

“Don’t have to tell me twice.” Sero hoots, dashing outside, too.

And then there are two.

Katsuki should follow. He shouldn’t stay in here, alone, with Deku. Not like this, when he’s sorta loose and probably kinda stupid. He should go sit around the fire and smoke and listen to his friends shoot the shit until the sun comes up. Or maybe he should just go home? It would take a while but it’s a nice night. Maybe he…

He looks over at Deku, who has plopped down next to the coffee table, sitting criss-cross. He leans his elbows on it and flips through a photo album Jirou made of the friend group. Deku had kicked off his shoes at the door like everyone else, but his socks are bright red, just like the sneakers he always wears. His hair is disheveled and sticks to his forehead. Only the dim light bulb above the microwave cascades light into the living room, it’s darker than the bar.

Katsuki sits on the couch.

Deku looks up at the sound of it and a small smile graces his face. Not the usual, vibrant one, but one that’s a little sleepy, easy and content.

“Hey, Kacchan. Did you have fun?”

Katsuki shrugs. He leans back into the cushions. “I guess…Did you?”

“I did!” Deku looks back down at the book and flips through a few more pages. He’s squinting in the shadows, but doesn’t bother with the lamp. He points at an old photo from high school and laughs. “Look at us. I like that we’ve all stayed together, y’know?”

Katsuki watches him. His scarred fingers trace over the book, delicate. He can be so gentle, but so fucking fierce. Deku could bite a bullet in half, probably. He could punch a hole through the Earth if he really wanted to.

And yet, he looks like a goddamn puppy most of the time.

“Hey, Kacchan?”

Green eyes drift back up to meet red ones. Deku’s look shiny from here. Katsuki’s five feet away but he’s lost in them. Could be the beer, but it could also be, like, two decades of pent-up emotion. He keeps his voice still.

“Yeah?” He replies. It doesn’t have as much snark as normal.

Deku looks like he wants to say something, but he doesn’t. He visibly chews the inside of his cheek. It’s irrational, but Katsuki’s heart speeds up. The damn thing tattoos a pattern into his ribcage, even though nothing is happening.

They’re just looking at each other. That’s all. This is fucking nothing. They’ve been alone in a room before, hundreds of times, for Christ’s sake. Deku’s probably gonna say he’s hungry or something. He’s gonna ask Katsuki to heat up pizza rolls.

“Um,” the other starts again. But he looks down once more and goes quiet. His gaze roves over the photo album. It’s actually like he’s hunting for words.

And why does the air feel so thick, all of a sudden? Why does the back of Katsuki’s neck feel so hot, out of nowhere? Why does Deku’s t-shirt always fit over his pecs just so?

In the silence, Katsuki keeps watching him. He charts the freckles that spatter like constellations over Deku’s cheeks, eyelids, nose. Waxing fucking poetic here. There’s a scar above his eyebrow, but it’s cute instead of intimidating. His lips are pink, pretty, the bottom one between his teeth while he thinks—

“Deku.”

Katsuki didn’t mean for his name to be so charged, but it slips off the tongue with such intention that his partner feels it. Deku whips his head up. He freezes like a rabbit.

And he looks so good. Darkness carves across his features, the divots of his collarbones, the slope of his neck. Katsuki thinks of the ruby necklace, it’s branded into his thoughts, it was so fucking hot. Tight, almost like a collar, Jesus Christ. Deku licks his lips and Katsuki’s animal-brain kicks into overdrive.

He can’t stop himself, his heart pounds too hard and his ears whoosh with adrenaline. The next word falls into the electric void before he can bite it back.

“C’mere.”

And fuck, he really just said it, no take backs. No innocence in his tone. In the half-second that follows Katsuki tries to mentally muck together an excuse, but Deku stands.

“Kacchan.” He breathes, closing the gap. He almost trips over the corner of the fucking coffee table but catches himself.

Deku doesn’t hesitate, he hurries over and clambers into Katsuki’s lap. Shuffles sloppily forward where his knees sag into the couch crevices. He plants a hand on each side of Katsuki’s ears and the motherfucking world catches on fire.

“Shit.” Katsuki huffs, right into Deku’s face. Those green eyes are piercing.

Deku moans weakly, shakily, just from making contact.

Jesus Christ, he can’t think straight. He can’t think anything, can’t form a single coherent idea. All he knows now is the weight of Deku on his thighs. He’s heavy, pure muscle, and warm. Katsuki had expected him to weigh less like this, but it’s more satisfying this way. More real. He’d held him, and carried him, and fought with him, but he’d never had him like this, so raw. The curve of Deku’s ass lifts and falls and they’re dry humping like sixteen-year-olds.

Denim scratches denim and it sends fireworks straight to Katsuki’s fucking dick. He ruts back and meets every motion. He can’t even breathe.

Deku squeaks an adorable noise and tosses his head back, like it’s as good as sex. (It is as good as sex, holy shit, holy shit.) His hands wrench from the headrest and brace onto Katsuki’s shoulders and Deku gives him the best lap dance of his life. That’s all it is, good God, this is crazy, the way he’s turned on so much from grinding. Those powerful fingers flex against Katsuki’s neck, and they sizzle, like he’s been branded. They twist into the ends of his blonde hair.

“Yeah.” Katsuki says, because it’s the only word he can come up with. Yeah, yeah, yeah, this, forever, yeah.

He finally remembers his own hands and grasps Deku’s tapered waist. He jumps from the touch, abdomen twitching like a live wire. It’s so hot.

When was the last time anyone touched Deku? Was he whoring his way through Tinder dates, too? Had anyone been good enough?

Katsuki hopes not.

“Mmm.” Deku grunts. He arches his spine when Katsuki rakes up his shirt and glides his palms over pale skin. These ribs have been fucked up so many times, but he’s still so painfully beautiful. Katsuki slips up, down, enjoys the feel of every quick breath. Deku’s chest expands, twitches again when Katsuki digs into his hips.

They’re both hard, Katsuki can feel it every time they crash together. It’s so fucking messy even with clothes on.

Deku wraps his hand fully around the back of Katsuki’s neck and tugs, gluing their foreheads together. They smell like booze and pot, but themselves, too. His lips are an inch away, tantalizing.

Katsuki wants to kiss him. Holy fucking shit, he wants to kiss him. He exhales sharply from the nose and twists his head. They’re cheek to cheek and Deku’s light stubble scrapes satisfyingly along his jaw. Another broken sound punches from one of them, but he can’t tell which. Their temples mash together as they rock.

Katsuki splays his hands along Deku’s back, under his shoulder blades. He runs his fingernails carefully down, down, down, and goosebumps race in their wake. Katsuki catches the hem of his shirt and starts to wrestle it off. He wants to feel him when they finally make out.

But it all goes to hell before they can.

“W-wait.” Deku sputters suddenly. His entire body stiffens like a board. “Oh God—wait—”

Katsuki stops what he’s doing immediately. He tugs his hands from Deku’s shirt, stomach dropping, heart lurching.

Not good.

“Deku—”

“I’m—shit—!” Deku flounders backwards, catapulting off of Katsuki’s lap and barely missing the coffee table again. He splats onto the floor unceremoniously and the resounding thump is like a sack of bricks. Deku scurries to his feet like a baby giraffe.

“Deku.” Katsuki says, ash in his mouth. He feels sick. What’s happening? What’s happening?

Deku won’t look at him. His face is flushed and his pants are sagging. He pulls them up by the belt loops while staggering to the front door, muttering incomprehensibly to himself in a panic.

“Sorry!” He throws over his shoulder. He shoves his feet into the opposite shoes. “I’m—um—”

Katsuki stands while Deku fumbles with the doorknob. He doesn’t want to spook him, walks up carefully, heart on his fucking sleeve for once.

“Izuku—”

Before he can continue, the door flies open, and off Deku goes. With a sharp crack of Black Whip, he flies off-kilter in the direction of his apartment. A zip of neon across the night sky.

Katsuki slams his palms into his face. It stings, but it should. He deserves it.

“Fuck!” He snarls.

Deku’s quickly long gone, a tiny green dot in the inky black. Katsuki wants to go after him, but he doesn’t want to freak him out even more.

God dammit, he’d fucked up so bad. How did he fuck up so bad? Katsuki had taken advantage of him. He makes himself sick.

Katsuki slams the door so hard it rattles the house. He wants to throw up, and not from the beer. What a shitty way to crash, from euphoria to heartbreak. What the hell was he supposed to do now?!

His throat burns.

“Fucking fuck!”

********

Izuku can’t find his keys, so he breaks into his own apartment through the window. It’s a problem for later. Nausea rolls through him like truck tires on harsh gravel, rough and off-balance. He chucks off his shoes and one scuffs the wall where it hits.

Oh God, oh God, he’d come onto Kacchan. In a moment of clarity he had realized what he was doing and stopped himself.

He’d come onto Kacchan! He’d almost kissed Kacchan!

(Let alone humped his leg like a dog!)

He’s an idiot, really stupid, top of the class of stupidity. Shoto should’ve knocked some more sense into him earlier at the bar. Izuku had wanted to confess? Is he crazy?! In what world is that a good idea?!

He curls into his couch and winces when he sees Kacchan’s duffel bag on the ottoman. He’s supposed to be staying here, watching him. And now Izuku has ruined that situation, and their professional partnership, and their lifelong friendship, and— Tears prick in the corners of his eyes. Oh God, he’d come onto Kacchan.

When they were both decently drunk, too. Messed up! So messed up. Izuku is disgusted with himself.

What’s he going to think of him now? How will Izuku literally ever face him again? He’s supposed to look into those scarlet eyes and not think about what his lap feels like?

Izuku’s entire face and neck are red, he can feel it. How humiliating.

And, yeah, Kacchan had said “c’mere,” but that doesn’t mean, “C’mere and give me a lap dance!” Maybe he just wanted Izuku to sit and rest. He’d been so concerned about his injury, especially after drinking and smoking. Maybe he wanted to see the photo album? That could’ve meant so many things.

…Right?

Right.

Izuku squeezes his eyes shut.

Right.

In the darkness behind his eyelids, the room spins like a roller coaster. He tries to focus on simply breathing, and not on the God-awful catastrophe and definitive nuclear fallout of his relationship with Kacchan.

If a few tears slip down his cheeks, what does it matter? He apparently left all his dignity in the bar on third street, and on Kaminari and Jirou’s living room couch.

And that’s one of the worst parts! Anybody could’ve walked in at any time!

What had he done?

Izuku tugs his All Might throw pillow to his chest and shoves his face into the fabric. It makes him feel better, because it’s one of his favorites, but it also makes him feel worse, because it smells like Kacchan’s hair.

Chapter Text

Katsuki wakes up feeling like he got hit by a train. Body aches, cotton mouth, head full of TV static. He can’t imagine how Deku feels, who drank way more than he did.

Deku.

The memory is a slap to the face. Hard.

It snowballs out of control as he fully comes around. He stares at the popcorn ceiling while bile churns in his stomach.

What a goddamn pile of shit.

Katsuki rubs crust out of his eyes as he sits up. He’d apparently fallen asleep on the couch after pacing for a while after Deku left. The house is quiet but for Shinsou and Todoroki, who are sitting at the kitchen table and eating cereal that isn’t theirs.

“Morning.” Shinsou crunches. His purple hair is a rat’s nest.

Shoto looks cold beside him. Not, like, literally, because he always half is, but, emotionally.

“Where’s Deku?” He asks without preamble.

Katsuki works a kink out of his shoulder. It’s been way too fucking long since he slept in a real bed.

“What am I, his keeper?” Katsuki glowers.

“According to Hawks, kind of?” Shoto shoots back.

Fuck. That’s right.

“He went home.” Katsuki answers simply, rising to stand. He doesn’t need this interrogation right now. He starts padding to the bathroom.

“By himself?” Shoto presses. Shinsou watches the conversation in silence, stirring his spoon.

“Does it look like I went with him?”

“You should’ve. He was pretty drunk last night.”

“I know. So sue me.”

His tone is meaner than it needs to be, but Katsuki doesn’t have the patience right now. In the bathroom he washes his face over the sink and then glares at his reflection. Dark circles sit heavy above his cheeks and his hair is flattened in the back, from last night’s wandering hands.

That sucks.

He tugs his phone from his pocket, hoping maybe there’s a text.

And there is, but not from Deku. Aizawa had created a group message with everyone from the bar.

Anyone care to explain why my credit card was charged $464 last night?

Jesus. Fuck that.

When Katsuki comes out of the bathroom, Kaminari and Jirou’s bedroom door opens. Everyone else shuffles out in various states of pajamas and hangover. There are dark, fresh hickies on Kaminari’s neck—and Sero’s?

“Did you guys…all hook up?” Katsuki asks, unsure if he even wants to know the answer. Sero looks sheepish, but Kirishima glows with pride.

Jirou laughs behind her hand. “No, of course not.”

Mina nods. “Me and Jirou didn’t, anyway.”

“I’m simply a man.” Kirishima says, as if that covers it.

Katsuki sighs heavily and wipes his forehead. He feels more single than he ever has in his entire life, and it stings, too. A tangible relationship with Deku feels farther away than ever before. A stupid dream he dashed in seconds, as cringy as it is to think.

“Y’all are fucking weird.”

Kirishima taps him on the nose in passing.

“Who wants breakfast?” He hoots.

“This isn’t even your house?!”

Jirou waves a hand. “It’s fine. Let him cook for us.”

Mina throws herself onto the couch. “Hey, where’s Deku?”

Another nerve twinges. Katsuki clenches his teeth.

“He went home.”

Kaminari jerks up from the fridge, where he’d been digging around for pancake ingredients next to Kirishima. “By himself?!”

“Oh my God.” Katsuki growls. “He’s a grown ass man. Number one hero ring any fucking bells to any of you?”

“He was just kinda lit last night, dude.” Sero quips.

“That’s what I said.” Shoto says, not looking up from his Cheerios.

Katsuki’s blood boils. He knows. He fucking knows, and he took advantage of it, and he wants to go home and throw up into his own goddamn toilet.

He stalks over to the entryway and stomps into his shoes. He can tell his friends are staring, but can’t bring himself to care. They don’t know the half of it. They don’t need to know the half of it.

He throws the last sentence out the door and trudges outside.

“Go fucking check on him then.”

Please.

Someone go check on him.

The walk home is too long and the sun is way too bright. When Katsuki finally gets to his place, his duffel bag sits on the doormat. The one he’d taken to Deku’s.

And if that doesn’t hurt like hell. Worse than a gut punch.

Shit.

He holds back ridiculous, embarrassing tears and snatches it up from the ground. Once inside, he tears it inside out, hoping maybe there’s a note, or a sign, some thread of hope that their entire relationship isn’t shredded.

Nothing.

His crap’s all in there, exactly as he packed it. His phone charger was pulled from the wall and is wrapped up neatly. His toothbrush is in a plastic bag, plucked from the cup in the bathroom. It’s the worst shit he’s ever seen. Katsuki wants to hurl.

So he does.

********

Izuku didn’t really sleep. He had just sort of laid in bed and waited for the time to pass and for the spins to slow down. Nodded off here and there, but would wake up with such sinking, all-encompassing guilt that he couldn’t stay asleep.

When the sun rose, so did he, and then he painstakingly packed and dropped off Katsuki’s stuff, praying that he wouldn’t run into him.

It was easier that way, for both of them.

Back home, he catches up on paperwork, despite the headache. He sends a few emails and scrolls the news. Anything to keep his mind off the gloom and doom.

Around two PM, someone knocks on his door, and his heart falls into the floorboards. Horror sucks the air from his lungs. If Kacchan’s here to confront him, he’s going to die on the spot.

He wills Danger Sense to warn him, but nothing comes.

“Deku, it’s us!” Comes Ochaco’s voice through the door. “Me, and Shoto, and Iida!”

What a relief.

Izuku practically vaults over to open it. He really needs his friends.

“Hey, guys.” Izuku’s voice wavers but he stops himself from exploding into tears.

“We brought sandwiches and sweets.” Iida carries in a paper bag. “If you can stomach it, that is.”

“Thank you, that’s really nice.”

They get settled with food on the couch and Shoto doesn’t even give him a chance to take a bite, he just asks, “What happened last night? Are you okay?”

Izuku feels his strength waning. His lower lip wobbles.

“Um.”

Ochaco swoops into mom-mode. She isn’t one, but she sure can act like one.

“Deku?” She places a hand on his shoulder. “What’s wrong?”

Iida’s eyebrows furrow behind the frames of his glasses.

Shoto tilts his head. Anger and protection smolder in his two-toned eyes. “Was it Bakugou? What did he do?”

The dam breaks. Fat tears prick in the corners of Izuku’s eyes and shimmer down his cheeks.

“He didn’t do anything!” Izuku scrubs the tear tracks away, but they keep flowing. “I screwed up everything!”

“So…what you said last night…it definitely wasn’t the tequila? You were being genuine?” Shoto asks gently, after a pause.

Izuku sniffles. “Yeah, I was. And it’s all ruined now. I’m an idiot!”

Iida politely raises a hand. “Could anyone fill Ochaco and I in?”

Shoto doesn’t say a word, it’s not his secret to tell.

Izuku gathers himself and breathes deeply when he’s done crying. He feels shy without the cozy blur of intoxication.

“I…I have feelings for Kacchan.” He stares down at his hands.

“I have for a really, really long time. Probably always, even when…” Izuku pointedly doesn’t look at Shoto. “It’s always been him.”

Iida nods. “Thank you for sharing something so personal, Midoriya. I suppose he…didn’t feel the same?”

Ochaco squeezes his arm comfortingly.

Izuku’s face reddens and his chin droops to his chest. The words spill out, rushing like a river.

“I don’t…I don’t know…I basically threw myself into his lap last night and—we didn’t make out but it was basically like making out except without the kissing, and it was—it was really nice, for me, at least, but, I was drunk and he was drunk and that’s not okay, at all, that I just came onto him like that, and now I feel like I can never, ever see him again without literally dying, and I feel like our friendship is ruined, and he hates me, or is mad at me, or wants to kill me, and I have to quit my job and live like a hermit in a cardboard box and hide from society—”

“Can you breathe, please?” Ochaco shakes him until he pauses.

Izuku inhales. “And I just feel awful, and I don’t know what to do or how to move on, or how to ever even look at him without feeling…”

Izuku flushes. “Feeling like an asshole.”

Ochaco loops him into a hug. “Aww, Deku. I’m so sorry. It’s going to be okay.—And if I know one thing, it’s that you’re not an asshole!”

Iida pushes up his glasses. “I concur. You are one of the kindest people I know.”

Shoto sits back on the couch, looking somewhat relieved. “I know that that isn’t ideal, and, I’m sorry. But I’m just glad you’re physically okay. I was worried when you were gone this morning. I thought you two may have gotten into a literal fight. You guys…do that a lot.”

Izuku’s cheeks are still pink, behind all the freckles. “Kind of the opposite of a fight, really. And then I just—I panicked. I left without even apologizing. He probably thinks I’m like, a pervert, or a slut, or—”

Ochaco smothers him. “Can you shut up? You’re none of those things. You love him!”

“But he probably doesn’t love me back.” Izuku says, sinking like a stone in water.

It hangs heavy in the air, that sentence. Facing that reality feels like too much to bear. Izuku always clung to a tiny bit of hope, but, it was more wishful thinking, than anything.

Even if Kacchan had said, “C’mere.”

Was that even real? Or was it something Izuku’s drunken imagination made up? Were the hands on his hips, under his shirt, were they real? Was there heat behind the touch, or had Kacchan been scrambling to get him up and off? Had Izuku misconstrued those few moments of “passion” entirely?

Izuku curls into Ochaco’s neck. A few more quiet tears drip onto her shirt. He’s so upset with himself.

“I’m glad you guys are here.” He tells them weakly. “Thank you for coming over.”

He sits up and leans onto the arm of the couch, breathing deep.

“Did you, um, see him this morning, Shoto?”

His friend nods. “Yeah, me and Shinsou woke up first and he was still asleep on the couch. But he was…his usual self. Feisty. Nothing seemed abnormal. He left pretty quickly, didn’t stay for breakfast.”

“I guess that’s a good sign?” Izuku laughs awkwardly, forcing himself to. He would love to change the subject now. “But, uh, so, you and Hitoshi, huh?”

Shoto blanches. “No way. We’re talking about you right now.”

“Hitoshi Shinsou?” Ochaco’s eyes go wide as saucers. “Shoto, you dog. What?! Spill the details!”

Iida and Izuku laugh while Ochaco badgers Shoto. In the slice of normalcy, Izuku feels slightly lighter.

That probably won’t last long, though. He has a check-up in a few days, and if he’s cleared, it’s back to working.

With Kacchan. As his partner.

Ooof.

********

It’s been four days since the incident. Katsuki still can’t work until Deku is approved to (and he’s dreading that first shift, holy fuck) so he mostly hits the gym. Blowing shit up feels better. Knocking a punching bag into the wall feels better. Running ten miles on the indoor track feels better.

He’s a few steps into mile eleven when Hawks swoops elegantly in front of him, landing lightly in lane four.

“Hey, Dynamight.” He greets with a grin and an accompanying wave.

“Was that really necessary, you fucking showboat?”

Hawks shrugs. His clothes are kind of torn up and dirty, and he’s down a few feathers. A red scrape graces his cheek. Fresh off a rowdy patrol with Tokoyami, it looks like.

“Jeanist said you’ve basically been living in here all week?”

“So?”

“So, go home and rest, kiddo.”

Katsuki crosses his arms. “Don’t fucking call me ‘kiddo,’ you’re only like five years older than me—and why should I? I’m just getting stronger here.”

Hawks flicks a piece of paper from his coat. It’s wrinkled to hell, but he smooths it out and shows Katsuki. Marked “copy” at the header, it’s a printed doctor’s note. There’s a line of boxes, checked with green marks. The name “Izuku Midoriya” is typed neatly on top.

“Deku’s back in action. Got the okay today. And thank God, ‘cause I need a vacation.”

Katsuki’s stomach flips upside down. That’s—that’s great, but also, fucking horrible.

Hawks folds the paper up and shoves it into his coat pocket again. He offers a little smile, totally unaware of Katsuki’s inner turmoil.

“So, you’re back to work tomorrow! Congrats! Not as long as I thought it would be, I swear Deku’s just built different, y’know?—Well, he is, in a way.” Hawks claps his gloved hands together. “Anyway.”

Tomorrow?!

Fuck. Tomorrow.

“All right.” Katsuki grunts. “I’ll be there. And yeah, I’ll go home, can I at least just finish my lap?”

He waves a hand at Hawks like he’s a pesky street bird looking for crumbs, shooing him out of the way.

“Always so serious, Bakugou.” Hawks rolls his eyes, but obliges. “Yeah, have at it, and then scram, got it? We don’t need another injury tomorrow because you’re tired. Deku’s been out of the game a bit so he might need some extra support, in the beginning.”

Katsuki takes off, throwing another dismissive hand up as he goes. Fantastic. Because “watching” Deku is what fucked up everything in the first place.

“I got it!”

The following morning is an early one and Katsuki admittedly is tired. The all-encompassing anxiety and nausea actually don’t help with the fatigue, either.

He downs a large coffee on the way in, and if that doesn’t wake him up, it’ll at least accelerate his heart rate.

Katsuki’s palms are already slick with sweat when he enters the locker room. He can smell it, heavy in the air around him like a noxious poison cloud. Great.

Deku is already there. It’s four-thirty AM, they’re on the first morning patrol, so it’s just the two of them so far.

Katsuki wishes he could dissolve. Or turn invisible. Or evaporate.

He can self-destruct, that’s probably the closest, conceptually.

“…Hi.” Deku says, voice barely above a whisper. The air conditioner and fluorescent lights hum over him.

He’s already geared up, shoes on and everything. How long has he been here? His eyes are wide and green as ever. A can of Monster (also green) sits beside him on the bench. He holds his phone loosely in one hand and a giant wall of text is visible on the screen. Deku texts the way he talks, incessantly. Katsuki briefly wonders who it is. But it’s none of his business.

Katsuki holds it together. He grinds his teeth and tries not to wallow in self-loathing for what he’s done. If Deku can act like nothing happened, so can he. He can push this down the way he has been for fifteen-to-twenty-odd fucking years already. He won’t look Deku in the eye and that will make it easier.

“Hey.” Is all Katsuki replies. His pulse is flying like a hummingbird. But he simply turns to his locker and starts getting ready.

Maybe he’s being too cold? He doesn’t know what to do.

Fuck! He doesn’t know what to do.

Deku could be, maybe, scared of him? In a worse way than, like, middle school, when Katsuki was just a fucking bully. But Deku could also be angry at him, and so maybe Katsuki should keep his mouth shut completely to just keep the peace?

He should apologize. Is what he should do.

In the quiet, Katsuki tugs on his uniform, buckles a billion belts, tightens his shoelaces. Where does he even start? This is so shitting awkward. Katsuki mentally incinerates memories that flow in from that night—sounds, textures, feelings. He exhales through his nose, probably too loudly. Bad time, holy shit.

Apology. Yeah.

Katsuki mulls over phrasing while wrestling on his grenade gauntlets. He’s never been good at apologies. He tries to remember key words his old hag of a mother had tried to impart on him as a kid.

Deku suddenly stands up and tosses his can in the recycling bin, Katuski can hear it behind him. He sees the movement in his peripheral vision.

“I’ll take south side, if you want do north side?” Deku offers. His voice is still so small. It’s unnerving.

Katsuki should tell him to wait. He should say that they need to talk first. He should turn around and face him head-on for Christ’s sake.

“Yeah. Whatever.”

Deku hums in acknowledgment and exits, pulling his mask up.

Katsuki kicks himself.

That wasn’t a goddamn apology! He groans and lets his forehead hit the locker door. He slams it shut and spins the lock with far too much force.

Seriously, fuck!

********

Izuku hops between rooftops, scanning the sidewalks for any suspicious activity. His nerves are still frayed from (barely) speaking to Kacchan and his body feels sluggish from lack of practice.

He should’ve said something. But he chickened out. Any longer and he probably would’ve started crying like a baby, so, cue the quick exit and the divide-and-conquer plan. Agencies don’t mind that, so long as one’s partner is within a few miles and is fast. He and Kacchan are both fast.

The city wakes up as people begin to commute to work. Izuku retrieves a stolen purse, literally rescues a cat from a tree, helps an elderly woman cross the street. All the low-stakes stuff that still makes him feel like a hero anyway. He appreciates the easygoing morning after a long hiatus.

But it’s short lived.

Several hours into the shift, a crash echoes from three streets over. And then another. And another.

Izuku darts into action, slinging himself to the scene. He launches across buildings and perches on top of a third-story balcony for a better view.

Below, four gigantic men tower over a screaming crowd. Each is easily fifteen to twenty feet tall. They’re identical—quadruplets with identical quirks? Clones? It’s hard to say. All Izuku knows is they’re causing havoc and harm. Civilians shriek and scatter like ants. No one seems to be unconscious, or worse, at least.

The villains have flattened a popular shopping district. Smashed windows scatter on the pavement, pools of pointy glass. A jewelry store, expensive purses, menswear. Izuku notes the brutally-demolished door frames and crushed cash registers. Each giant’s pockets are stuffed with money or wares.

“Hey!” Izuku shouts, catching their attention. Neon lightning zips over his body as One for All crackles to life.

One giant smiles. Since they’ve paused, Izuku can study the details. Mousy brown hair, plain faces, loose, inexperienced statures. These aren’t supervillains, or expert fighters. Just regular guys lucky enough to have a money-making (money-stealing) quirk.

“I know you.” The giant says, loud and grating. “Number one!”

“That’s right! And you’d better put all that back and surrender or you’ll regret it!”

The four giants exchange a look and a myriad of excitable expressions, like they’re eager to brawl. Different, individual people then.

That’s not great, it means they can all fight individually, too.

They don’t say another word. The one who’d been speaking charges at Izuku with a raised fist. Another picks up a metal bench. The third actually rips a power pole out of the ground and prepares to swing it like a baseball bat. The fourth—picks up a car?! And they’re all aimed at him. A woman screams and darts out of the way, diving to the left.

Izuku springs off the balcony. He meets the first one in the middle with an Air Force punch to the nose and a sickening crack. The giant wails and staggers backward, but his companions rush ahead. The metal bench almost makes contact, but Danger Sense tells him when to duck and dodge. Izuku kicks it away with added Fa Jin flavor, and the thing goes flying into giant number two’s chest.

Number three is easy to take down, little bit of a Black Whip wraparound and he’s stuck to the pole he was wielding. He tumbles to the ground, off balance.

Number four though, yikes, he’s thrown three cars in the span of seconds. Each one hits the ground like a volcanic eruption. He bellows like an animal and raises another above his head.

“Crap!” Deku yelps, rolling out of the way just in time, before it can pulverize him.

“You’re a tiny pest!” The giant calls. “And must be exterminated.”

Izuku watches from the rubble as the fourth giant bows his head. He clasps his hands together and—grows. Grows even larger. The other three shrink, whittling down to regular-sized humans. They cry out like it hurts.

Number four almost reaches the top of a nearby skyscraper. He laughs and it booms into the air. Izuku winces and covers his ears.

“Much better!”

No, actually, this is way worse!

The perpetrator moves quickly, despite his size. He reaches for another parked SUV and raises it over his head.

Izuku gasps and pushes to stand. His ankle twinges from the bench earlier (bad angle), but he ignores it. Maybe if he can knock out the guy’s legs—

An explosion rips into the giant’s ribs. A burst of bright yellow and white, it sizzles orange and red into his over-stretched skin. He snarls and spins.

“Another insect!”

Kacchan zig-zags into view, tossing grenades in his wake. They pepper the giant’s hip and thighs, popping in clouds of smoke.

“Status, Deku!” Kacchan prompts into his earpiece. “Catch me up, dammit!”

“There were four.” Izuku answers, relieved to see him. “Three are down. And I think all the civilians got out!”

Kacchan lands and skids to a halt beside him, boots scraping gravel. His chest heaves as he catches his breath, but the giant is already running towards them.

“Annoying fuck.” Kacchan bites, lifting a palm. Tiny spots of light crackle in his hand. “Show us what you’ve got.”

Izuku and Kacchan fall into the familiar, despite the extremely awkward scenario they’re in. Fighting together is motion memory, moving on instinct, no thoughts. They really do make a powerful pair. The ebb and flow of their motions come as naturally as breathing: attack, dodge, new position, attack, avoid, explode, kick, punch, subside, spin.

He hopes they’re wearing the guy down. He’s slowed a little bit, so that’s promising, but every once in a while he grows again. The other three “giants” are the size of children, now, like he’s absorbing their quirks for his own gain.

Izuku’s caught off guard while observing the other three. Danger Sense pings at him, but he can’t duck out of the way in time. A giant fist pummels into his stomach, sending him flying. Izuku hurtles through the air and mashes against concrete with a yelp. He hears Kacchan shout his name.

“Agh.” Izuku grunts, uncurling his body from the indent. That’s gonna leave a big bruise. His back aches already, muscles screaming at the strain. His legs are weak underneath him. He just needs a second.

Before Izuku or Kacchan can move again, the giant slings sideways. He reaches around the street corner and hauls a bus into the air—one full of panicking civilians. His ginormous fingers grate into the metal. A tire pops off with a squeak.

“I’m going to end you!” The giant bellows, practically foaming at the mouth.

Izuku zeros in on the people—trapped, about to be soaring through the air in an impromptu projectile. What can he do, what can he do?

He could stop it, at one hundred percent strength. It would hurt like hell but maybe he could soften the speed of impact for the civilians. He could utilize Black Whip, he could—

“Deku! Move!”

The bus comes flying. It’s aimed right at him, it’s throttling forward and towards Izuku and the hard, hard ground. This could kill them, all those people. He has to help them. He has to save them.

His entire body sizzles with his quirk, and he stands his ground. Izuku digs in his heels and lifts his hands—

Only to be clotheslined out of the way. Another body slams into his side and sends them both tumbling into a brick wall across the street.

Izuku doesn’t see the rest happen, but he doesn’t hear the bus hit the ground, either. His ears ring and it’s hard to make out, but two other familiar voices have suddenly joined the fray.

“I got this one now, boys!” Booms Mt. Lady from high above. Then, to the giant, surely, “Hey! Pick on somebody your own size, bozo!”

Kamui Woods speaks up next, over their earpieces. “The bus has been secured with my vines, civilians on the ground safely. Evacuating them now.”

Izuku sits up and pants in the dust and rubble, relieved. To his left is Kacchan, breathing just as hard. He’d been the one to knock Izuku out of the way.

Across the plaza, Mt. Lady and Kamui Woods have taken over. Their turn to tap in.

“Are you fucking crazy?!” Kacchan barks out of nowhere, twisting to grip Izuku’s shoulders. Red eyes light up like flames as he goes nose-to-nose with him. “You could’ve been killed! You’re just gonna catch a bus midair?!”

Izuku flushes, embarrassed from the close proximity and the scolding. Kacchan’s fingertips are hot coals on his arms, even through the layers.

“I could’ve handled it!” Izuku gripes back, eyebrows knitting together. “I’ve certainly dealt with worse, Kacchan! And I just wanted to save those people—”

“You’re no good to them dead!” Kacchan snaps, shaking him once. It jostles the two of them together and their sweaty foreheads touch. Izuku feels himself redden, but he doesn’t back down. He shoves aside tipsy memories.

“Do you just ever think about your own safety, or are you always gunning for self-sacrifice?!” Kacchan continues, jaw set tight. “I thought I was going to be dragging you to the hospital again, you fucking idiot!—Or worse, the morgue!”

Izuku finally knocks his hands away. Anger and anxiety blend in his gut, a bad cocktail. He’s tired, he’s tense, he’s holding back sudden tears.

“I’m just trying to be a good hero!” Izuku shoots back.

He doesn’t feel heroic. He’s overcome with the mess they’re in, the things he did. He stares at the “X” on Kacchan’s uniform. He tries to forget the sensation of leaning into that chest.

“Well, be a goddamn better one!” Kacchan pokes him hard in the sternum. It’s difficult to read his expression, behind the mask. “Because I can’t fucking lose you, all right?! You have to stop being so fucking reckless! First day back on the job and you’re almost flattened! What the hell would I do, Deku?!”

The question takes Izuku by surprise. He pauses and tries to calm down. Guilt rears its ugly head, buffeting his insides again like it has the past several days. Izuku drowns in it, from the fuck-up at Kaminari’s and from being a little too rash today. It gnaws on his spine, weighs him down.

…What would Kacchan do?

The other hero is still staring at him, covered in dirt, grime, and soot. His body sags with exhaustion.

And, the reality is, Izuku probably would’ve been fine. Like he had said, he’s dealt with way worse than a city bus. But, to Kacchan, this incident was just a replay of a few weeks ago. Izuku throwing himself into something head-first, again.

And when Izuku looks closer at Kacchan, he notices it. The edges of his partner vibrate, like he’s trembling, just a little.

Like it scared him.

Izuku can’t say a word about it, though. Kacchan would never admit to that kind of vulnerability.

“…I’m sorry.” Izuku finally sighs, looking down. He wants to add that he’s sorry for everything, can they please just go back to normal, this is so painful—but the other pro hero butts in.

“Hey! All done! Teamwork makes the dreamwork, huh, boys?” Mt. Lady asks them with a grin. She’s back to normal size when she approaches, wiping her hands together. Behind her, all four “giants” are an average six feet tall, and are being wrapped together in intricate vines by Kamui Woods. All four are unconscious.

Neither Izuku or Kacchan say anything.

“Uh, you two okay?” Mt. Lady cocks her head. “Earth to Deku and Dynamight?”

Izuku pushes to stand, fake laughing awkwardly. “Yeah, sorry. Just a bad fall. Um, thank you both so much for stepping in. We really appreciate the backup!”

“For sure!” She flashes a thumbs up. “Think your shift’s almost over anyway. We’ll deal with the reports and everything. It’s your first day back, you guys go get some rest! Take it easy, y’know?”

Izuku nods. “Right. Thanks.”

He and Kacchan head back to the agency in silence. They aren’t too far now, it doesn’t take long.

In the locker room, the quiet continues. Kacchan hasn’t said a word since Izuku apologized and it’s only dialing up his stress. Should he say it again? Should they get into it about what happened a few nights ago? Probably, or they’re going to be stuck this way forever. Their friendship will continue to suffer.

Izuku swallows. He knows how to be brave.

“Hey, Kacchan?” He sounds like a mouse, how embarrassing.

The blonde is facing his locker, putting things back in place. He’s shirtless, standing in his black uniform pants and unlaced boots. He freezes mid-motion, halfway done unbuckling his belt.

Oh, fantastic timing. Izuku wants to facepalm.

“What?” Kacchan asks, not turning around. He slips his belt free and hangs it up. Izuku tries not to study the planes of his back or the flex of his shoulder blades. He fumbles for words while Kacchan toes out of his shoes.

“…Uh,” Izuku stammers. “Can we…talk…about, um…”

What is he even supposed to call it? They didn’t kiss. It was…grinding, or something, or a lap dance, or—

Kacchan catches on though. Izuku hears him take a deep breath. He scratches the back of his neck and Izuku remembers carding his fingers through the thick hair there.

Everything is so messy.

“…Yeah…” Kacchan’s voice is strained. “...Look, Deku—”

And then, please, seriously, he wishes he’d been crushed by a bus, because two interns comes barreling in, cutting Kacchan off completely.

“Deku!” One of them exclaims excitedly.

“So good to see you back, man!”

And then he’s cornered, trapped in conversation.

********

Katsuki changes back into street clothes quickly. Fuck the annoying ass interns and their forever hard-ons for Deku. They’d been in the middle of something. Something possibly productive! Katsuki was about to apologize! God dammit!

He isn’t sure what to do now. He could wait, but who knows how long that would take? These extras faun over Deku like he’s the greatest thing since sliced bread. Their damn chat fest could be an hour.

Katsuki’s on edge anyway. Such a shitty shift. He hates feeling so freaking weak. Emotions are such garbage.

He slings his backpack over his shoulder and turns to go. Tries to catch Deku’s eye, and fails.

Great.

Maybe he could say something? Like, “hey, let’s go,” but—does Deku even want to go with him? Maybe Deku’s relieved at the intrusion. He was the one who brought up the…thing, but…

Fuck this, Katsuki’s leaving. He hurries out of the locker room until the three voices fade behind him.

Probably a dick move, but, what’s new?

On the walk home, Katsuki orders some lunch and checks his phone. Aizawa had messaged them all again about the massive bar charge.

Seriously, no one knows, huh?

Kirishima was the only one brave enough to reply.

No ?????????? lol

It actually makes Katsuki smile. Fucking dumbass. He needs to text him, Katsuki had kind of dipped out without explanation the other morning. Maybe Kiri would actually have decent advice about this whole Deku situation? He’s…in a weird…relationship…thing? Though that talk would make Katsuki feel much too gushy and goopy, probably. He’ll put a pin in it.

Katsuki sits outside and wolfs down his meal, sips the tea he ordered. He can’t wait to take a shower. He scrolls through Instagram and pointedly avoids liking any posts. His socials can be so goddamn exhausting and annoying.

Especially when, oh, there’s his fucking face.

Here are the photos from the shoot with Hatsume. Finished up early, and featured on the magazine’s page in a post and story.

There are a few of Katsuki by himself, and—wow. Deku, too. He’s striking. He’s beautiful. He’s elegant, and alluring, and—Katsuki is so fucking lame. He’s seriously such a lame loser and no better than the background interns.

He pinches the bridge of his nose. Pauses.

Then continues looking.

The photos of them together are…yeah, gay as hell, as expected. Too close to be considered anything other than intimate. It heats up Katsuki’s entire face and neck. Deku fits just right at his side.

And in his lap.

Fucking Christ. What a day.

He steals a few more indulgent glances at the green-haired model, adorned in glittering gemstones, and then closes the app with a disgruntled noise.

(He only likes the post because he’s in it, and his PR team will be pissed if he doesn’t.)

(So fucking lame.)

Katsuki’s stepping through his front door when his phone chimes again. He wonders who’s ballsy enough to reply to Aizawa this time.

Except, no, it’s Deku. One text message, fifteen seconds ago.

We need to talk. Can I come over?

Katsuki goes rigid. Oh Jesus, here it goes. Time to face the metaphorical fucking music. He thought he could just run away? No, once Deku has his mind on something, it’s his goal, and he doesn’t give up on his goals. Number One hero and all that shit.

Katsuki types and erases six different messages. His heart is in his throat.

He finally settles on,

yeah, im home

The response is immediate, like Deku has been staring at his phone since he sent his own message. Katsuki doesn’t know if that’s a good thing or bad thing.

Okay, be there soon

Chapter Text

Izuku stares at the door to Kacchan’s apartment, from the outside. The paint is chipping, has been for years, and his black entryway mat is littered with grass and leaves. A dry umbrella leans against the wall, from rain that happened weeks ago.

How is this going to turn out?

Izuku’s stomach is in knots. He raises a fist to knock, but his hand falls back to his side. All his courage was spent in sending that text message an hour ago. Maybe he should just go home, tail between his legs. He could make an excuse that someone needed something, or—

When the door opens, Izuku squeaks.

“My doorbell camera app said you’ve been standing here like five minutes.” Kacchan explains, expression guarded. His hair is wet from the shower and he’s in a t-shirt and sweats. The hand not on the doorframe is stuffed into his pocket.

“Oh.” Izuku laughs awkwardly. “Uh.”

He clenches the plastic bag he’s been carrying, holds it up as an offering.

“I brought some takeout.” Izuku says weakly.

“I had lunch.” Kacchan tells him. Then shakes his head minutely. “But…thanks. Just come in already.”

Izuku does, slipping off his shoes in the entryway.

Kacchan’s apartment is very neat and tidy. The artwork is minimal and tasteful. Everything matches or at least meshes well together. Izuku hasn’t been here in a little while. He clears his throat, sets down his bag against the bookshelf.

Kacchan wordlessly takes the food from him and carries it to the equally-clean kitchen. Izuku watches him set it on the counter and grab two glasses from the cabinet. As he fills them with water, tension fills the room.

“Do you want this stuff now?” Kacchan asks, not turning to look at him.

“…No. Um.” Izuku takes a deep breath. “I’m actually not hungry, to be honest, I thought you might be…”

“No.”

Silence stretches uneasily between them. Izuku feels his heart race inside his chest.

Rip the band-aid off, he tells himself.

He opens his mouth to speak but is cut off when Kacchan does, instead.

“I’m sorry, Deku.” His voice is solemn.

What?

Izuku balks and stares at Kacchan’s back, the hunch of his powerful shoulders. His partner’s fingers could dent the edge of the countertop from how hard he’s squeezing it.

Why is he apologizing?!

“…What…are you talking about? Why are you sorry?” Izuku frowns. “No, Kacchan, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry!”

Kacchan finally spins around, face screwed up in anger. Izuku’s jumps in shock.

“What the fuck? No, what the hell do you have to be sorry for?!”

They’re standing across the room from each other and the distance feels infinite. Izuku wants to curl into a ball and cry, shame washing over him in heavy waves.

“What do you mean? Kacchan, I—I came onto you! Duh! This is the whole thing we needed to talk about! Do you, like, not remember?!”

Oh, God, if he didn’t remember. Would that hurt more or less? The night is frazzled in Izuku’s head. Sweet like a sugar-rimmed margarita. Sour like a lemon drop. The entire thing fuzzed and fucked from alcohol.

Being in Kacchan’s arms, and then throwing himself backwards out of them.

Kacchan’s red eyes widen in disbelief.

Brow still furrowed, he squawks, “Yeah, I remember! ‘Came onto me’? Deku, what the fuck, are you stupid?! No! I took advantage of you. You were plastered!”

Took advantage of him?

Izuku’s insides bubble. Warmth radiates over his neck, up to his cheeks.

“S-so were you!” He can feel the scarlet on his face. “And I just crawled into your lap like—like some kinda whore—”

Kacchan’s eyes are going to explode from his head. He clutches the hair at his temples.

“What?! Deku—no, absolutely fucking not!”

Kacchan covers his face and Izuku can see the metaphorical steam blowing from his ears. In the moment of cover, Izuku gets closer. A few feet away now, he holds out his hands in surrender.

“Look, I know it’s really awkward, okay, and I’m sorry! Please just, can we move on? We don’t ever have to talk about it again, Kacchan. Let’s just, let’s put it behind us. Please!”

It’s the last thing Izuku wants to do. Putting it behind them feels like it’ll crumble into the ruins of history.

But it’s better this way.

Realizing their new proximity, Kacchan looks up. He’s shaking his head again, rolling his eyes.

“No, this isn’t fucking over because you have nothing to be guilty about, dumbass.” Kacchan points at him heatedly. “I’m the one who invited you over, I said ‘c’mere,’ and you did because you were wasted out of your goddamn mind!”

Izuku’s breath stalls.

He blinks.

Wait.

“…That was real?” Izuku breathes. His pulse continues to thrum, haywire.

Izuku watches a blush bloom over Kacchan’s face this time. Then he throws his hands in the air with exasperation.

“See, you don’t fucking remember! You were blackout—”

“I wasn’t blackout drunk, Kacchan!” Izuku cuts him off. “I-I just thought that part was in my head! I…convinced myself that you asked me so I wouldn’t feel so bad about it—”

“That’s what I’m telling you, idiot, you have nothing to feel bad for!”

“Neither do you, then!”

They both huff in frustration. Kacchan crosses his arms over his broad chest. Izuku watches his jaw work as he clenches his teeth.

“Okay, fine, whatever.” Kacchan bites. “We were both drunk and horny and made a stupid mistake. I’d love to fucking forget it, too.”

Except…no.

Izuku’s world has shifted entirely. The ground is disintegrating around him now because apparently they had both wanted it.

Izuku…he hadn’t been a slut, he’d been simply responding to someone else’s desire. And his own desire. They’d crashed into each other and sparked like two stones, spurring embers.

Is this real? Is he hallucinating?

Kacchan stares him down, eyes blazing. He visibly chews the inside of his cheek, obviously on edge.

“What?—Is that—are we good then? We had our talk. It was a fuck up. That’s that.” He waves a dismissive hand.

“Kacchan.” Izuku says after a moment, and the other looks caught off guard. His face melts into confusion.

“…W-what?” He stammers. Looks at Izuku like he just grew a second head.

Izuku takes another step forward. Anxiety springs against his ribcage and he feels like he can’t get any air, but he continues anyway.

“…It wasn’t a fuck up, for me. It—it wasn’t a random thing.”

He studies Kacchan’s eyes. Watches him bite hard at his lower lip. For once, his hotheaded friend seems to be out of curse words.

Izuku tilts his chin up. He balls his hands into fists and, though he’s fought demons, this is the bravest thing he’s ever done.

“I wouldn’t have done that with anyone else…Just you.”

The familiar Kacchan drops back into his body. His nose crinkles.

“Oh, so goody two-shoes Deku has never had a drunk hookup? Yeah, right.” He snorts.

“We didn’t even hook up!” Izuku spits back. “We didn’t even kiss!”

“Yeah, all the more reason for it to be no big deal.”

Kacchan whips back around to face the counter. He starts rooting through drawers, looking for utensils. Clambering in the cabinet to find plates. For the food neither of them want to eat.

Izuku’s blood boils.

All Kacchan does it put up walls.

“Why are you doing this?” He asks him, voice quiet but sharp.

Kacchan grumbles, making a ruckus with the plastic bag and styrofoam. “Doing what?”

He still won’t look.

Izuku reaches a hesitant hand out and grabs his arm. Kacchan skids to a halt when fingers curl over his bicep. Izuku tugs, urging Kacchan to face him again.

Kacchan does, but slow and rigid. His back is stiffer than a board. Their faces are inches apart now and the kitchen feels very small.

“Doing what?” Kacchan repeats, a little acidic. Spiky and nervous. An animal tossing out poisonous barbs. Afraid.

Izuku’s heartbeat booms in his ears. It’s bursting like a grenade, over and over. The smell of nitroglycerin pools around them.

Izuku pushes onto his tiptoes and leans forward.

********

Katsuki’s brain shuts off. Deku is gripping his arm like a lifeline, tipping forward with lips pursed. This can’t be reality, this is a fucked up dream, this is an illusion, somebody’s quirk gone awry, maybe they’re in battle, maybe he’s in a coma. Deku is coming at him a thousand miles an hour—

Katsuki jolts out a hand. It collides into Deku’s forehead with a “smack.”

“What the hell are you doing?!” Katsuki yelps, embarrassed at the way his voice heightens erratically at the end.

Deku looks like a kicked puppy. Big, sad, green eyes are immediately wet, but furious.

“I’m—I was going to kiss you!”

Katsuki’s gut somersaults. “Why?!”

The fingers on his bicep tighten, borderline crackling with Deku’s quirk. He’s mad.

“What do you mean ‘why’? Kacchan, clearly we both wanted what happened the other night! You thought you were to blame, I thought I was. We both were! We both wanted to! Doesn’t that mean you—you…”

Deku trails off, squeezing his eyes shut. He inhales a giant breath.

Doesn’t open his eyes when he says, “Kacchan, I’ve always had feelings for you.”

What?

What.

Huh?

Wait.

What?

Wait.

Katsuki splutters. Does not fucking compute.

What?!

“Deku.” There’s no fucking way.

Emerald eyes are open now, staring straight into his motherfucking soul. Katsuki is a rabbit, frozen in an expansive field. Deku is a falcon, dive-bombing him head on.

Katsuki swallows. This is insane. No way.

“You can’t, okay? I don’t know what the shit you’re thinking but it’s stupid.”

“Then I’m stupid! That’s why you call me ‘Deku’ anyway, isn’t it?!” Deku is shorter than him but mustering himself up to look large. “This isn’t something new, Kacchan. It’s not a spur-of-the-moment confession, okay? I-I was going to, that night! I told Shoto I was. And then I chickened out, but we still—that thing still happened and—”

“Stop.” Katsuki tells him. This is too much. He shoves Deku’s hand off.

“No!” Deku snaps. “You stop. You’re always such an asshole!”

“Exactly!” Katsuki fires at him. He’s set off now, pulled the pin. They’re nose-to-nose and Deku’s freckles are a blur this close. “I’m an asshole, and I’m mean, and I told you to swan dive off a roof once, idiot, why the fuck would you have feelings for me? That’s ridiculous! You’re ridiculous!”

The space between them charges like electricity. Fury, sorrow, desperation, despair, worry, concern, want, they all claw from each side and swirl like a tornado. Katsuki can barely hold it together in the onslaught.

“That was a long time ago.” Deku says. His voice is softer, and his eyes fall, sad. “You’ve changed so much, Kacchan. You’ve grown. We’ve been through a lot and we’ve grown together…Can’t you just…be honest with me?”

Katsuki struggles to think and finds himself glaring at the floor. Deku’s socks don’t match today. That’s so like him. It’s infuriating. He wants to hit something.

“What the fuck do you want me to say?”

Katsuki knows what Deku wants him to say. But he can never say it. This is falling apart around them already and it’s not even anything yet. They’re not together. He can’t imagine the hurricane of shit they’d be. Too much.

Deku’s fingers stretch out and catch both of Katsuki’s hands. The texture is scarred and rough after years of using One for All. His skin isn’t as warm as Katsuki’s but it feels good. Even though he’s trembling.

“…I love you, Kacchan.” Deku’s voice doesn’t waver. “Katsuki.”

Oh.

Oh, fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“That’s—no, Deku, you—”

“I mean it. I’m not taking it back.”

“Then you’re—”

“I don’t care!” The grip on his hands could almost break bones now. Katsuki wants to run away but he’s caught here. Thumbs push hard into his palms.

Deku marches on: “Call me dumb all you want.”

This is crazy.

They’re both fucking crazy.

“You should go.” Katsuki growls, startling himself. Panic is setting in and he’s cornered. “Okay? This isn’t a good idea, in any goddamn universe, and you should just go home.”

He expects Deku to leave like he asked. To cry and be angry and to shove Katsuki into the kitchen cabinets and then stomp out the door.

But he doesn’t.

Deku’s hands move higher, circling his wrists. He’s pinned like a butterfly, in the ironclad grip.

“I’m not going to do that, Kacchan. And if—if you have any shred of feelings for me too then you’ll stop pushing me away.”

Ugh.

Man.

That’s just not even fair.

Katsuki swallows. He’s mentally fried, on overdrive, insides burnt to a crisp. Can’t think. No clever retort falls from his tongue, he can’t muster any more rebuttals.

What’s he supposed to do?

Katsuki smells his own sweat. Tangible evidence of his escalating nerves. He hears Deku’s uneven breath. Everything aches in the waiting, while he tries to piece together what to say.

Katsuki finally sighs, resigning. Deku wins again, like he always does. If he forces his partner to leave, then everything really is over between them. It’s no use.

Katsuki tries not to shake when he says it.

“…Of course I do, Izuku…No…No fucking shit.”

And then it’s out there, in the open. Katsuki’s been flayed open and displayed, heart exposed for a second time. Seconds slow down and drag like molasses. The kitchen shrinks to a tiny box and it’s just him and Deku, squished together in those four walls.

To be so vulnerable…his anxiety is bending over backwards. Tying itself into macrame. He continues to focus on the tile floor, a scuff mark that he’s never been able to scrub clean.

“…Really?” Deku whispers. His grip finally loosens but he still catches the hem of Katsuki’s shirt. “You’re serious?”

Katsuki fumbles and finally looks up. Deku is so earnest and beautiful that he has to gather himself before he can continue.

“That’s—why would I make that up, after all this?! Yes, idiot!”

A soft smile creeps over Deku’s face, and shiny, happy tears replace his sad ones.

“You really love me?”

Katsuki’s ears burn. His entire body erupts in red, violently. This is fucking whiplash.

“Didn’t I just say no shit? Can you—quit looking at me like that.” He bats Deku’s hands away and backs up further into the countertop. It juts into his lower back. “…Yeah. I do, all right?”

Deku’s voice goes up three goddamn octaves. “Like, really?”

“Jesus Christ. Yes! I love you! Happy?!”

He really said it. Like, vocally. Fucking humiliating. Lame as hell.

But Deku’s expression is literally the epitome of joy.

“Very.”

Deku breaks into a grin and leans forward again.

********

“Wh—no, fucker!” Kacchan stops him once more with a dead-arm to the sternum. It makes Izuku cough between laughs.

“Are you ever going to let me kiss you, Kacchan?”

Izuku is actually so surprised that Kacchan isn’t literally on fire. He’s as red as a tomato from the elbows up. His snark hasn’t failed him though, despite how flustered he is.

Kacchan scoffs. “We’re not gonna have our first kiss after a damn argument.”

Izuku can’t help it, he pinches the hem of Kacchan’s tee again. Just wants to be close.

He loves him, he loves him, he loves him.

Wow.

“That wasn’t an argument, we were telling each other how we feel.”

“I don’t care. It’s dumb. Your socks don’t even match.”

“My socks have to match for our first kiss?”

Kacchan untangles Izuku’s fingers again and places this arms back down by his sides, like he’s misbehaving.

“No. The fuck? You just look like a nerd. It’s—,” Kacchan rolls his eyes. “After waiting this long it’s just not going to be in my fucking kitchen, got it? Smells like cheap street food or whatever shit you brought.”

That’s…actually so sweet?

He loves him, he loves him, he loves him.

Izuku can’t help it, he breaks into more laughter. “Kacchan, are you a closet romantic?”

“Shut the fuck up or I am making you leave.”

Kacchan turns around to deal with the food again. He’ll always dodge the subject. Izuku wonders if he’ll ever shave down these prickly edges. If not, they’re kinda endearing.

With his back exposed, Izuku slips in for a hug. Because they’ve done that before, at least. Rarely, but it’s not new. There shouldn’t be too much protest.

He fits right against his spine and wraps his arms around Kacchan’s toned torso. His abdomen twitches and Izuku remembers how great that felt against his own. Kacchan stands stock-still, and then slowly defrosts. Izuku noses into his shoulder blade. His scent is overwhelming, like a drug. He could stay here forever. Forget work, forget responsibility, forget all of it. Number one hero? Who’s that? Izuku’s busy.

“You’re gonna be insufferable, aren’t you?” Kacchan asks, but his voice is soft. His callused hands fall on top of Izuku’s forearms, and for one tantalizing second he feels them. On the precipice of more. His fingertips skate along muscles and veins. Izuku’s skin blooms with goosebumps.

“Totally.” Izuku replies, muffled by the fabric of Kacchan’s t-shirt. “Way worse than normal. But that’s why you love me.”

He giggles stupidly. What a drastic change in mood from hours ago. Izuku thought he’d been coming here to cut all this out. He had expected to apologize, and then never, ever bring this up again.

Oh, how the tables have turned.

“Ugh, don’t make me regret that. Puke.” Kacchan jostles him gently backwards. “Get off and eat this junk before it gets cold.”

“I said I’m not even hungry.” Izuku pouts, already missing the contact.

Kacchan’s already dumping the rice onto a plate. He’s clearly keeping himself busy to evade his feelings. Classic Kacchan move.

“Yeah, and if you don’t have it now, you’re just gonna bitch at me in thirty minutes that you waited too long to eat and you’re starving. Your goddamn metabolism is a vacuum. You need to take care of yourself, especially after our shitshow shift.”

While Kacchan assembles the meal, Izuku watches him. His movements are aggressive, but sincere.

“…You really do care about me, huh?”

Kacchan deadpans. He sets down the spoon and finally looks Izuku in the eye again.

“Did we not just establish—”

“We did.” Izuku smiles. “I just mean…you always have my back in the field, you make me eat decent food, you stayed with me at the hospital—Hawks didn’t even ask you to, did he?!”

Kacchan’s grumble answers that question. How sweet.

“I just feel really lucky, Kacchan.” Izuku tells him. Wants to reach out again but will respect the boundary for now. This is new and fragile, like a baby bird. “You’re a good partner, and friend, and…and whatever this is gonna be. If you want it to be.”

“Obviously.” Kacchan glares. “I’m gonna be the best fucking boyfriend you’ve ever had, got it?!”

Oh God, that is so cute! Does Kacchan have any idea that sometimes he embodies the grumpy cat meme instead of an actual angry person?

Izuku takes the plate with a smirk. “I’ve only had, like, four, so the competition isn’t really hard anyway.”

He scurries to the couch to eat at a tray table, missing a karate chop to the ear by a hair.

“Don’t get crumbs and shit on my couch—who are the others?”

“Huh?” Izuku asks, already scarfing down his meal. Now that the anxiety is gone, hunger is a little more prevalent.

Kacchan follows him. He sits a few feet away, against the opposite arm. Pulls his legs up to his chest and turns his body to face Izuku.

“Who the hell else did you date? I only know of Half-and-Half.”

“Oh.” Izuku nods. “Uh, yeah, I guess I kept them kinda on the quiet side. Everything was short. Shoto and I dated the longest, the rest were only a few months. Um, well, Mirio was after Shoto. He was familiar, y’know? But he’s with Tamaki now. And the others were on those work abroad trips I did. Summer flings, really. Rody, and then that guy Guilio—he was a few years older than me so it was kind of, like, mysterious, or something. All my other hookups were just random people…What?”

Kacchan looks…not judgmental, but Izuku can’t place it.

“You’re making me feel self conscious.” Izuku mumbles. “Don’t act like you didn’t date a bunch of people too. We’re in our twenties, it happens.”

Kacchan’s crossing his arms now. He looks down, then back up.

“I didn’t.” He says defensively. “I slept around sometimes, but…I’ve never been in a relationship, all right? Nobody…”

Kacchan shrugs, trying to seem nonchalant. “Nobody measured up to what I wanted.”

Oh.

That gives Izuku butterflies. Like, gigantic, swarming butterflies.

“Guess I win first place for you by default, then.” Izuku grins. It earns him a thwap on the shoulder. (Would’ve been the back of his head, but Kacchan’s still cognizant of his healed wound.)

********

Boyfriends, huh? That’s what they are now?

Katsuki turned on the TV for some background noise because he’s still buzzing with the madness of it all. Feels like he did after riding eight carnival rides with Kaminari and Kirishima at last year’s spring festival. They drank too much hard cider and all threw up in the bushes behind the merry-go-round.

He watches Deku in the glow of the television screen. The doofus is into the show but keeps stealing glances over at Katsuki, like he won’t notice.

And sure, Katsuki could kiss him. He’s not a pussy, okay?

But it would just be, maybe, a lot, after an unplanned and emotional love confession.

And fuck off, it was emotional! He’s still reeling!

Katsuki gives up on fighting Deku’s advances when he fake-stretches and cuddles into to him. He’s been trying to sneak closer for half an hour. Their shoulders brush and Deku finally settles, melting into the couch. He’s appeased, apparently.

“You think you’re slick or some shit?” Kacchan mumbles.

“The best boyfriend I’ve ever had wouldn’t protest to sitting next to me on the couch.”

Smarmy bitch.

“I’m not protesting, did I say a goddamn word?”

“Nope.” Deku smiles. He pushes his luck, lets his head lull carefully onto Katsuki’s shoulder. Creeps down like he’s avoiding a land mine.

And it’s…not bad.

Yeah, fuck it, it’s actually really nice.

Deku smells like the foamy soap from the agency locker rooms. His hair is a lot softer than it looks, and it already curls like a cloud.

Katsuki might nuzzle into it. Just a little.

Deku slumps into him in response, getting cozy. He hums, content, and Katsuki feels the vibration in his collarbone. He remembers the photoshoot, the dim lights in Kaminari’s living room.

He remembers brushing his fingers over Deku’s stupid freckled forehead, waiting for him to wake up in a starchy hospital room.

Katsuki grunts and curls an arm over his boyfriend.

They must fall asleep. For a while, too, because when Katsuki wakes it’s dark outside. The television flashes through a sitcom, blinding him.

His phone is fucking ringing, vibrating against his hip.

Katsuki groans and tugs it out of his pocket. He sits up from the tangled mess of Deku, but the other doesn’t stir. Sleeps like a fucking rock sometimes. Especially considering it was his first day back.

“What.” Katsuki answers. He stands and pads to the bedroom, keeping his voice low so Deku can continue to rest. He fights a yawn.

“Did I wake you up?” Hawks says. “It’s like, eight-thirty, dude.”

“Yeah, so? I’m tired. What do you want?”

“Sheesh, I thought I was bad.” There’s a bunch of rustling in the background, like Hawks is moving shit around or walking a ton. “I have a favor to ask.”

Katsuki rubs his eyes. “If it’s another stupid photoshoot—”

“No, no. Those pics were cuteee, by the way. Great PR for the agency. Um, but no, this is more like a personal request? Remember how Tokoyami and I covered all those shifts for you and Deku?”

“…Yeah?”

There’s a clatter, like Hawks dropped his phone. “—Sorry, I’m doing laundry and shit, um, anyway, can you maybe go with him out of town for a few days for me? We’re on this kingpin crime boss bust right now and it really can’t wait.”

Oh, c’mon. Him and Deku get their relationship shit together and now he’s getting shipped to another city for a week?

“You’re his partner! Where the fuck will you be?”

Hawks laughs awkwardly. “Do me this favor, please. I’m, like, begging with you. I’m going to visit a friend.”

Katsuki pauses. Then his head hits the bedroom wall with a thud, upon realization. “Visiting a friend,” his ass. Yep. He knows what this is.

“You’re joking. You want me to do your job so you can go on a fucking conjugal prison visit with that criminal asshole.”

Hawks doesn’t say anything for a long minute.

“…Okay, I am. I wasn’t gonna say that because I know he’s not everyone’s favorite—”

“No shit, Sherlock. He fucking sucks.”

“He’s complicated.” Hawks sighs. “Can you just, like, be cool for once, Bakugou, please? I don’t get to see him much. The facility only lets him have a visitor once a month and I take turns with his family. They’re trying to…repair their relationship and everything.”

“Yeah, the one Dabi royally fucked up? Like when he tried to kill everybody?”

Katsuki can hear a zipper, like Hawks is already packing a suitcase. Ah, that’s why he’s doing laundry.

“Like I said, he’s complicated. Everyone’s working on stuff. It’s been years since everything happened and he’s grown a lot and—why am I telling you all this? Sorry. I know you don’t care. Can you do it or no?”

Katsuki taps his foot impatiently. Fucking annoying.

“Don’t say I don’t care like I’m some sort of coldhearted bitch.” He bites. “Just doesn’t make sense to me.”

“Love is weird, isn’t it?” Hawks chuckles. “We can’t all have it conveniently handed to us in the form of a childhood bestie, right?”

“Excuse me?”

“I kid, I kid. Just ignore that. Look, really, please. I will actually get on my knees and plead at your feet.”

“Oh my God, quit sniveling. Sure, yeah. Whatever.—Why are you asking me anyway?”

“We’re, like, friends, aren’t we? Or at least colleagues?—Okay, everyone’s busy. And you owe me.”

Katsuki rolls his eyes. Movement stirs in his peripheral vision. Deku shifts over on the couch. His shirt rides up along his back, exposing the soft curve of his spine.

“What about Deku? He can’t patrol while I’m gone. He’s gonna flip shit.”

There’s another thud on the other line, definitely Hawks dropping something else. He’s erratic as hell. Excited? Probably.

“Part of why I’m asking. Everything’s kinda wonky right now, people on holiday, people sick, people with broken bones and stuff. Froppy is out at a sibling’s wedding, so Shoto is with Uraraka, so Deku can pair with Iida for the next couple days.”

Fine. That’ll do, Katsuki decides. Tenya is strong, competent, smart, obviously fast as fuck. And he’s good friends with Deku, he’ll watch his back.

“All right. I’ll tell him when he wakes up.” Katsuki murmurs.

He can hear the smirk in Hawks’ voice. “That childhood bestie staying the night?” Katsuki would explode his brain, if they were in the same room.

“Bite me, motherfucker. You’re the one who told me to watch him.” He glares at the textured wall, pretending Hawks’ face is there.

“Until he was better? He’s better now.”

Katsuki doesn’t think that warrants a reply. He mows over it. “Send me the details and where I need to be tomorrow or whatever. Go have fun boning with your freaky boyfriend.”

“Aw, Bakugou,” Hawks chirps, “you too!”

Katsuki hangs up on him.

********

Izuku opens his eyes out of a really pleasant dream. A cuddly one. Someone is shaking his shoulder, jarring him back into reality. He almost panics, but then realizes it’s Kacchan.

“Wha…?” Izuku mumbles, crawling into consciousness. “What’s going on?”

Kacchan stands over the couch, already dressed in the athletic clothes they wear on the way in to work. The kitchen light slants into the living room, so it doesn’t beam directly into Izuku’s eyes.

“It’s time to get up. Work at four-thirty again.” He explains.

“Oh. Ugh.—We slept all through the rest of the day? And all night?” Izuku blinks. That would explain why his stomach is growling.

“Sort of.” Kacchan shrugs. “Hurry up, I gotta go soon.”

“What time is it?” Izuku shucks his phone out of his pocket. A few missed texts from Ochaco and his mom, Instagram memes from Shoto, two intriguing news articles about overseas hero tech from Iida. The tiny clock reads three-twelve AM.

“I’m sick of having these early shifts again.” Izuku sighs. He trots to the bathroom and hears the blender roar while Kacchan makes them protein smoothies. He steals some unopened deodorant from under the sink (what Kacchan doesn’t know won’t hurt him) and gargles minty mouthwash. Yesterday’s underwear it is, apparently. He hadn’t planned to crash here.

In the kitchen, Kacchan hands him a tumbler of pink, fruity liquid, and a plastic to-go cup of coffee.

“Aren’t we gonna be a little early if we leave now? I’d rather…” Izuku’s face warms. “I’d rather just spend a little longer here with you, considering.”

Considering they poured their hearts out to each other yesterday.

Considering they’re boyfriends now.

(Probably a little fast, but when was their relationship ever traditional?)

Kacchan’s already washing the coffee pot. His shoulder blades are tense, scrunched.

“What?” Izuku prompts, unnerved by his silence. He sets down his drinks. Is everything…okay? Is Kacchan having a panic over this now?

“I’m not going to work with you today.” Kacchan eventually answers. It’s slow, like he’s bracing for impact. “I gotta go to the train station. Hawks is sending me on some bullshit espionage with Tokoyami for a few days so he can go shack up with Fireface and get his dick wet or whatever.”

Izuku’s mouth drops open like a fish.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.” Kacchan grimaces, drying dishes with a rag. “So. Things are all screwy. They’re pairing you with Iida until I’m back.”

“Okay. That’s fine.” Izuku tries not too sound too crestfallen or clingy. This has happened before, he can’t be emotional just because they finally admitted their feelings to each other. It’s just a few days. They can pick right back up when he’s home.

Kacchan turns when he’s finished and leans against the sink. He inhales a heaving breath.

“Don’t look so fucking sad, you big baby. I’ll be back at the end of the week and I’ll…”

Kacchan’s blushing again. He’s cheeks quickly rival the smoothie.

“I’ll take you on a date and shit. A real one. With actual, edible food and not the shit you buy from carts on the curb. Or, mini-golf or something. I dunno. Whatever you want.”

“Mini-golf?” Izuku giggles at the idea. He inches his fingers forward and takes Kacchan’s hand. The other stiffens, and then relaxes. Like this is going to take some getting used to.

“We’d be way too competitive at mini-golf, Kacchan, we’d kill each other.”

“Pussy. You’re scared.”

There’s a hint of a smile, a flash of sharp canine. Izuku wants to kiss it right off his face.

“Fine. Then take me to a fancy dinner and to play mini-golf and we’ll see who’s number one at that.”

Kacchan rolls his eyes and untangles their fingers to thump Izuku in the nose. Then he aggressively gathers him into a hug, and Izuku experiences the warm-fuzzies from his head to his toes.

Kacchan’s arms are so strong. So safe. And hot like the burning end of TNT.

“Shut up and walk with me to the train station.”

Izuku’s melting. “Only if we can hold hands.”

He kneads into his partner’s back, crinkling fabric and soaking in every point of contact. How long has he ached for this? How long have both of them, spinning around each other like planets caught in orbit? This new collision is astronomical, Earth-shattering, the Big Bang spiderwebbing into something new.

Still them, but undiscovered.

“That’s gay as fuck.” Kacchan says into his hair. His chin sits right on top of Izuku’s head, like they were made to fit together. “But I’ll think about it.”

Chapter Text

Katsuki slumps in the restaurant booth, exhausted and full of curry. He nurses his beer and watches soccer on the big screen with Tokoyami. The place is shoddy and loud but it’s right next to their hotel and still serves half-decent food at ten-thirty PM.

They’d done the damn thing, finally captured the villain after eight (Eight! Way longer than planned!) days of staking him out. Should’ve been easier, the way his lackeys scuttled in the streets like rats, but his trail had been slippery anyway. Dealing in heroin and human trafficking made him greasy, hard to catch. Fuck that guy.

“I’m eager to be home.” Tokoyami sighs, finishing the last few bites of his own meal. “Dark Shadow enjoyed the late nights, but the lack of sleep is beginning to wear me down.”

“Couldn’t agree more.” Katsuki grumbles. He wipes his eyes and longs for the hotel bed, even if it’s creaky and hard. He’s a fucking zombie and his muscles are sore.

Katsuki’s phone buzzes. If it’s work-related he’s going to scream.

No, it’s Deku.

He bites back a smile and opens the text. If Katsuki looks dopey-eyed, Tokoyami doesn’t notice, he’s still lazily watching the television.

Deku has called him at least once a day, sometimes twice, and Katsuki has been unable to answer every single time. (Seriously, it’s been a bitch of a mission.) The resulting voicemails are long and rambling, but Katsuki has listened to every minute of them. Has been falling asleep with the receiver to his ear. Their texting has been scattered and inconsistent.

Hey Kacchan just wanted to say good night, I’m heading to bed soon

The message is followed by a red heart emoji, which is dumb but also kind of makes Katsuki’s skin tingle. He shoots back a reply immediately.

same. finally fuckin done, we get to come home tomorrow

Deku emphasizes the message with the exclamation point reaction.

OMG YAY I can’t wait to see you.

Then, right after: sorry if ive been obnoxiously clingy, I just miss you

Katsuki warms. He misses him, too.

whats new dweeb

Deku thumbs-downs the message, but marches on with the conversation.

Do you miss me back?

no doofus, not even a little bit

The typing bubble appears, then fades, then repeats about three times. Katsuki wonders if Deku actually took him seriously. No shit he misses him. He starts composing a message saying so, when Deku’s reply finally comes through.

What about now, Kacchan?

Katsuki’s stomach swoops at the attached photo. It’s Deku, obviously, Katsuki would know those freckles anywhere, and the thin sheen of greenish body hair, but his face isn’t in the image. He’s in bed all right, that’s for sure. It’s a chin-down view of the long, chiseled expanse of his torso, hard, pink nipples, the valleys of his ribcage, the smooth planes of his stomach. It captures the strings of blue pajama pants, Deku’s thumb jammed in the front to pull them down and reveal the waistband of his boxers. Katsuki recognizes the font and almost dies.

Dynamight stands out bright orange on the form-fitting black fabric.

That’s his fucking merch. Wrapped around Deku’s hips.

Deku’s wearing actual fucking Dynamight underwear. He didn’t even know his clothing line made underwear?!

Katsuki clears his throat and shifts in his seat. This is barely even a nude, apart from Deku’s perky pecs, but shirtless men aren’t exactly taboo. It’s not like he’s looking at a pair of tits in public.

Though, kind of?

Katsuki locks his phone and the screen goes dark. Tokoyami has finished his drink, isn’t paying attention at all. He’s half-asleep against the back of the booth.

Katsuki beats his chest with his fist to get words out. He hopes the darkness of the restaurant covers his blush. “Hey, I think I’m gonna turn in.”

Tokoyami blinks back to full consciousness. “Great idea.”

They pay the tab with the company credit card and Katsuki mentally wills the waitress to move faster as she rings them up. His phone is burning a goddamn hole in his pocket. He taps his boot on the linoleum impatiently.

Another vibration against his hip. Is Deku sending more photos? Jesus Christ.

They can’t walk fast enough to the hotel, through the lobby, and up the elevator. On the fifth floor, Tokoyami bids him goodnight and they agree to meet downstairs in the morning. The minute the doors slide closed to rise to the next floor, Katsuki rips his phone out again.

There are four more messages, back to back.

Was that too much?

Or did you fall asleep?

Or should I regret that? Probably too fast wasn’t it

Crap I’m sorry kacchan I hope I didn’t freak you out I’m kinda freaking out

Katsuki quickly fumbles back a message.

No not too much. Where did you get those holy shit

Haha oh good don’t worry about it ;) you like them?

I like you

Katsuki’s blood is running hot when he keys into his hotel room. He kicks off his shoes and tears his mask from the resting place on his forehead. He’s never undressed so quickly in his life.

Is he supposed to send a photo back? Probably? He’s never…sexted before? Always just got to the point, in bed and out again once he was finished.

Is that what they’re doing? Not really, not yet.

Is that what Deku wants to be doing? Katsuki’s already been hard for like ten fucking minutes.

I’d hope so since you’re my boyfriend and all

Katuski throws himself onto the bed and spends an embarrassing few minutes trying to pose. With no one here to watch him do it, it’s not as humiliating as it would be under any other goddamn circumstance. Cut him some slack for being so desperate. He’s tired, and horny, and the guy he’s been in love with for two decades is offering himself up on a silver platter.

Katsuki’s arousal stirs again at the realization that the picture Deku took is just for him, for his eyes only. He’d tugged down his pants and thought about Katsuki.

Possessiveness swirls through him, greedy, pleasant, crazed.

He finally settles on a photo, pretty similar in fashion. It’s chest-down, though instead of underwear Katsuki covers himself with the thin, white hotel sheet. He sidles it down just low enough to leave little to the imagination. Makes himself press “send” before he can chicken out. Adds, sorry was coming up to room.

The reply is within moments.

Youre so hot are you kidding. omg. Ive wanted you for so long.

Katsuki doesn’t wait, he starts touching himself. Pops the cap off the tiny travel-sized lotion he snatched from the bathroom and goes to town.

So are you, he tells him.

I can’t wait for you to kiss me and feel me and fuck me Kacchan

Katsuki exhales sharply. Fuck. Oh, fuck. His toes curl. Any other time he’d be too embarrassed to talk like this, but behind the privacy of the screen it’s not so difficult. In person, he’ll have to work up to it. It’s overwhelming.

yeah? You really are a slut huh deku

Only for you, followed by three heart emojis. Always been for you. I would’ve bent over for you FOREVER ago. Let you have me anywhere, anytime

Shit, that’s good. Katsuki recalls all his fantasies of Deku panting into the bathroom mirror. Ass in the air.

Good. cuz youre mine, got it?

Another thumbnail loads, except it’s a video this time. Still cuts off Deku’s face (they aren’t stupid), but it’s a close-up of his crotch, an entire hand down his pants, under the Dynamight underwear. Katsuki transfixes on the smooth movement of his wrist and the quiet, slick sound of Deku jerking off. If he strains his ears he catches a whimper.

Katsuki’s going to implode. Replays it three times. Wishes he could see him naked.

fuck baby, Katsuki types one-handed. He clenches his jaw. Every erotic fantasy blasts to the forefront of his mind. This is literally just a virtual handjob and it’s ten times better than anything he’s ever concocted.

aww youve never called me that Kacchan

ill call you whatever you want when you let me tap that

His animal-brain takes over and he adds, show me more of you?

One tantalizing minute later and his phone rings. Katsuki yelps at the incoming fucking FaceTime. Oh hell no. He panics, presses “decline.”

Oops. Shit.

What the fuck why didn’t you pick up?? Aren’t you back in your room? Trying to SHOW YOU more of me like you asked

(It’s funny when Deku says “fuck.”)

Katsuki stalls and glares at the ceiling. He’s thrown off now, back in reality instead of the steamy sex-world in his head. The back of his neck is eight thousand degrees.

cant do that rn

That feels insubstantial. He adds more.

too much. Different from pictures. It’s not

Hm. It’s not what, he asks himself. He is such a motherfucking loser.

It’s not romantic ok? For the first time

His heart thuds at the confession. Same as the goddamn kiss and why he couldn’t just do it. Stupid and cheesy.

Jerking off to photos and videos of Deku is easy. Especially when he looks the way he does. And texting him is simple. Staring into his eyes on a FaceTime is a whole other ballgame that Katsuki isn’t ready to play. He’ll fuck it up somehow, say the wrong thing, or come like, humiliatingly fast. And he wants it to be good, for Deku. A FaceTime is just sloppy, goddammit.

A reply doesn’t come for a few minutes, like maybe Deku is angry or unsure of how to move forward. The whole thing is kind of awkward. Katsuki stares at the bubble that populates and disappears over and over.

He sighs, and knocks his skull against the headboard. Cool.

Katsuki wipes his hand off on the sheets and presses the “call” button.

“…Hello?” Deku says after a few rings. It’s not a FaceTime, but it’s an olive branch.

“Hey.” Katsuki rearranges himself in bed. He yanks the blanket up to his armpits and flips onto his side.

His partner’s voice is soft. “I was trying to be mad at you but I can’t really even be mad at you because you’re cute, Kacchan.”

“Oh my God, I’m gonna hang up.”

Deku laughs gently and it reminds him of a harp or something. “No, no, don’t. It’s nice to hear your voice.”

“…Yours too, nerd.”

Deku is quiet for a second. “That was fun, huh?”

Katsuki buries a smirk into the pillowcase. “Yeah, it was fun. Would’ve been more fun to finish, but—”

“You didn’t?”

“You did?!”

“Hah, yeah, after you called me ‘baby.’”

Katsuki shakes his head. Wow. “Good God, you’re easy.”

(It makes his insides flutter.)

“And you’re…still hard? Maybe.” Deku tests, and there’s a wink in his tone.

Katsuki laughs through his nose. “So weird to hear you say dirty shit.”

“All I said was ‘hard’?”

“You know what I mean. And no, I’m not. I effed it up and ‘m tired.”

“You didn’t eff it up, Kacchan! It’s just, new, y’know. Trial and error.”

Katsuki hums. He shuts his eyes. The light is still on but he can’t move, can’t bother to flip it off.

“Tell me about your dumb day so I can go to sleep.”

“Huh? Do I bore you that much?!”

Katsuki’s body sinks into the mattress. It’s unforgiving, but he could sleep on concrete right now.

“You heard me.”

After another amused chuckle and Deku prattles on: “Fine. Well, I had the morning shift again but thank goodness it was like nine-thirty and not four-thirty. Me and Iida got breakfast before so that made it not so bad too. There’s a new bagel place downtown, near that ramen shop you like.—And oh my God, you’ll never guess who we saw there…”

Katsuki will have to guess later, because he’s out in minutes.

********

Izuku wanted to pick up Kacchan from the train station, but work got in the way. He’d been distracted the entire shift but still managed to squash a bank robbery with Iida. Kacchan had told him not to worry about it and that he’d see him tonight for their date.

Their date!

Izuku’s been buzzing ever since. He takes an “everything shower” (that’s what Ochaco calls them) and exfoliates, moisturizes, plucks his eyebrows. He wishes he could tame the wild poof that is his hair but it’s stubborn, as usual. When seven PM rolls around he’s just wearing down the floorboards from pacing.

There’s a rap on his door, right on time.

Izuku basically sprints over and throws it open. Kacchan jumps at the intensity.

“Have you just been standing here—oof!”

He’s cut off when Izuku barrels into him for a hug. Wraps his arms tightly around Kacchan’s torso and buries his nose into his chest. His shirt is silky, smells like rich aftershave. Izuku’s quickly drunk on it.

“Hi.” Izuku greets into his sternum. “Welcome home.”

“Hi, Deku.” Kacchan sighs like he’s irritated, but it’s laced with something softer, something secret, just for Izuku. He’s not really irritated. A heavy hand cards through his hair while the other smoothes over his back, and Izuku wants to purr.

“You ready to go?”

Izuku releases his hold and leans back to smile at his partner, holding onto his wrists. Kacchan looks especially handsome in his dark button up and—earrings. Lord help him. Tiny black hoops hug his earlobes, catching the light.

Izuku kind of wants to say forget the date. He sort of wants to drag Kacchan through the doorway into his apartment and pounce on him. He kind of wants to forgo cutesy stuff altogether and just get straight to lusty, ravenous—

“Hey, are you deaf?” Kacchan waves a hand in his face. “It’s only been like a week, it’s not like I look any different. Quit staring and get your shoes on. We have a reservation.”

“Okay, okay.” Izuku beams at him. “Really? A reservation? Sounds fancy.”

Kacchan leans against the doorframe while Izuku tugs on his sneakers. “It’s not ‘fancy,’ just nice. I can’t take a dork like you anywhere too ritzy, can I?”

“I’ll have you know I’m plenty fancy.” Izuku humphs. “I went to a red carpet movie premiere with All Might a few years ago, y’know.”

“Didn’t you trip onto your face? And it got made into a meme?”

“That’s beside the point, I still went.”

Izuku plucks his wallet from the entryway table. Before he can tuck it into his pocket though, Kacchan snatches it and tosses it back down.

“You don’t need that. I’m paying.”

Izuku blinks. He wants to insist that he actually probably should take his wallet anyway, in case he needs his ID or his hero license, but, Kacchan looks way too earnest and serious for the argument. He breaks into another smile.

“Okay.” Deku grabs his keys instead, to lock up the place. “Thank you, Kacchan, that’s really sweet.”

“Yeah, yeah. Let’s go.”

They catch up as they walk. Kacchan gives him the rundown of his mission with Tokoyami, the highs and lows. Izuku’s shifts with Iida were pretty uneventful but he embellishes a few for fun.

Izuku cups their hands together and Kacchan lets it happen. He may even squeeze back, subtly.

(He never, ever, ever thought he could have this. Izuku’s on cloud nine.)

It’s a quiet night, a sleepier part of town. They aren’t walking towards the bustling bar district, but onto an older street in the opposite direction. The road signs are fading and the lights overhead shine yellow with age. Izuku likes a bookstore that’s down this way, connected to a coffeeshop. There’s a fruit stand on this corner in the summer that he frequents.

“Oh!” Izuku brightens when he sees their destination. “I know where we’re going! I’ve never been here but I’ve always wanted to go.”

“I know.” Kacchan shrugs. “You only mention it every time we walk over here.”

There’s a “fusion Thai” place called Basil Bistro across the way, covered in criss-crossing string lights. Tiled, mosaic tables huddle together at the front, near the sidewalk, and wrap around the side of the building, then fill a delicate garden in the rear. Many are already occupied by couples sipping drinks and eating. A live musician croons love songs in the corner.

They approach the hostess stand, hands falling apart, and Kacchan gives his name.

“Hi. We have a seven thirty reservation under Katsuki Bakugou.”

It almost makes Izuku shiver, that name. He rarely says it out loud. He’s always been and always will be “Kacchan,” since they were kids, but, “Katsuki” is a man.

“Oh, hi.” The hostess looks starstruck. She’s young, probably only sixteen or so. Her eyes sparkle with excitement. “When I saw the name on the reservation, I thought—I didn’t know if it was really, like, you. Both of you! You’re—”

Before she can continue, Kacchan fishes a few bills from his pocket. He sets them down in front of her tablet and nudges them forward.

“We’re trying to have a relaxing night. If you have a more private table, maybe in the back?” His words are heavy with emphasis. He doesn’t need to look down at the cash, the point is clear. They don’t want attention tonight.

Why does that make Izuku so hot? He has no need for a sugar daddy, he doesn’t need Kacchan to throw money around for him, but—

“Oh! Of course, yes, for sure!” The hostess nods enthusiastically and slips the bribe into her palm. “Right this way, gentlemen.”

They weave down a cobblestone pathway into the garden, to a table next to a bubbling fountain. There are way less people back here. Jasmine wafts through the air and the fairy lights glow like they’re in a fantasy realm. The live musician can still be heard, nice background ambience. The hostess sets down two menus and bows her head, then dips without a word.

“Very suave, Kacchan.” Izuku smiles behind his menu. This is a no-joke date, candlelight and all.

“I already told you.” Kacchan grumbles. He’s squinting at the expansive wine list in the low light. “Best boyfriend you’ve ever had, I wasn’t fucking around.”

The waiter is also a little boggled by having two pro heroes in his section, but he tries incredibly hard not to show it. Poor guy is trying to play it so cool.

“…and, I dunno, good white wine. Whatever’s the best. He likes the sweet shit.” Kacchan finishes ordering, waving a hand at Izuku.

Does it look like they’re on a date? Everybody knows they’re partners. But nobody knows they’re partners. Izuku hadn’t even told his friends yet, he wasn’t sure if Kacchan would want that so soon? They’d kind of spilled their guts to each other and then he’d gone out of town for a week.

The waiter dashes off, surely to tell the kitchen to make the best damn drunken noodles on the planet.

“This is really nice, Kacchan.” Izuku tells him. “I’m…super happy, y’know?”

Kacchan meets his eyes, steady, red, warm. His earrings glint. (Hottttt.)

“Good…Me too.” His face is in shadows, but Izuku catches the dusting of pink on his cheeks.

“Never in a billion years did I think we’d be on a first date.” Izuku laughs. He nudges Kacchan’s shoe under the table, then hooks their ankles together.

“Why?” Kacchan makes a disgruntled face. He kicks Izuku back, but then loops their ankles again.

Izuku shrugs. “Lots of reasons. I was physically inferior for almost our entire childhood, I can be kind of annoying, I’m obsessed with heroism to the point of mania, I’m messy, I’m pretty basic looking, I ‘eat garbage,’ according to you, my friends drive you crazy, honestly I drive you crazy—”

“Fucking hell, will you stop?” Kacchan growls and leans over the table to flick him square in the forehead. “Why’s it all about you? Thought for sure you were gonna say it’s because I was a dick to you for so long. And still am.”

He leans back in the chair, crosses his arms over his chest. They wait quietly for a moment as the waiter brings over two thin wine glasses and a bottle of sauvignon blanc. He uncorks it and provides two heavy pours, then heads to his next table.

“Also, don’t talk about yourself that way. All that shit is exaggerated and—you—you’re far from ‘basic looking,’ got it?” Kacchan looks away.

It’s funny how shy he can be. A bull in a china shop who skitters away at the smallest hint of intimacy. Izuku puts his insecurities in a box, for now. They can pester him later.

Izuku watches Kacchan’s neck flex, his fingers grip into the material on his biceps. His shirt is unbuttoned just enough to toe the line of decency.

Izuku wants to pop every single one of those buttons off.

“Thanks, Kacchan.” Izuku sips his wine. It is sweet, a good choice. “You’re pretty handsome yourself.”

Kacchan’s scarlet eyes cut back to his. They’re gooey like bubbling lava. Izuku doesn’t want dinner anymore, he wants to pick up where they left off on that texting session—

Kacchan bites his lip. “Quit being horny at dinner.”

Bright, nervous laughter pops out of Izuku’s chest. Caught. “All I did was call you handsome! You said it first!”

“You’ve got a look in your eye.” Kacchan squints.

Fiery coals roast in Izuku’s lower belly. Emboldened, he winks, slides his foot up Kacchan’s calf playfully.

“You like it?”

Kacchan suddenly jerks away, shifting to sit up straighter in his seat. His legs are out of reach now. Kacchan takes a long swig of wine and sets down the glass with a little more force than necessary.

“You’re gonna fucking kill me, you know that?”

Izuku bats his eyelashes. “Aww, Kacchan, I’d never.”

********

The date goes well, in Katsuki’s opinion. Dinner is actually ten out of ten, and nobody fucking bothers them, and Deku likes it, and they catch a buzz off splitting two bottles of wine. They leave autographed trading cards for the waiter and the hostess (Deku would carry those around) and then go play actual mini-golf, as promised.

And they totally get kicked out of mini-golf.

As expected, it got too competitive way too quickly. What started as an innocent game ended in near bloodshed. The round began normally but rapidly dissolved when Deku kept fucking using Gear Shift to slow down his ball for more precise shots. Which was super unfair, so Katsuki would blast it off course with a tiny puff of explosion. Long story short, he ended up charring the green and the owner also yapped that his loud cursing wasn’t very “family friendly.”

Who needs mini-golf anyway? Stupid game.

(Also, they tied, which is bullshit.)

“You know we’ll never be able to go back there.” Izuku giggles on the walk home. “So I stole these as a memento.”

He holds up their two golf balls, one orange, one green.

“Wow. Not very fucking heroic of you. I’m reporting that to Tsukauchi.”

“Whaattt, Kacchan, no!” Deku flops into his side and links their arms together. “I was trying to embrace the bad boy inside me.”

Katsuki rolls his eyes. The contact is welcome, even if Deku’s elbow is bony as hell and keeps poking him in the ribs.

“You don’t have a bad boy inside you.”

“Not yet anyway.” Deku says suggestively.

Katsuki shoves him sideways, practically lilting Deku into a bush on the edge of the sidewalk. His partner splutters and uses float to save his balance.

“Why are you such a goddamn monster?” Katsuki sighs. (Even though he’s secretly soaking up all the flirting.) His face is a strawberry, he can feel it. It’s already hot from the booze, he can smell nitroglycerin.

Deku laughs again, sweet like a song. They fall into step and switch topics to a new season of a television show they both like.

Katsuki’s surprised at how quickly they get back to Deku’s apartment. Talking with Deku makes time pass easily, comfortably in a way it doesn’t with most people.

Deku unlocks the door and they both shuffle inside.

They have work tomorrow, which is shitty because Katsuki really deserves a day off after working nine in a row. He doesn’t take off his shoes, even though he wants to. He wants to sit on Deku’s couch and watch their dumb TV, and eat popcorn, and…maybe, like, cuddle? Even if it’s mushy and gay.

Deku senses his hesitation. He’d already put on his house slippers and hung his jacket over the back of a chair.

“Aw.” His boyfriend pouts. His lips are smooth, pink, kissable. Katsuki wants to connect-the-dots with his freckles. “You’re not gonna stay, are you, Kacchan?”

Katsuki clears his throat. He wants to. So embarrassingly, he wants to. Deku makes him feel like an addict.

But like, this isn’t his apartment? It’s not like they live together, just because they’re dating.

“No, we have work in the morning.”

“Yeah, but it’s not early.” Green eyes glitter and he looks like a fucking puppy, like he always does. “C’mon, we haven’t hung out in like a week...I don’t want tonight to be over yet, it’s…it’s been amazing.”

Katsuki thinks back to what Kirishima had said, the morning after the bar, “I’m simply a man.” At the time, Katsuki had turned his nose at the phrase, but now? He fucking gets it.

Katsuki will never win again, will he? He’s whipped. Barely into their relationship and he’s already whipped.

“All right. Just for one episode. I’m still tired as shit.”

Deku fist pumps and catapults onto the couch, over the back of it. Katsuki shoves out of his Vans and joins him, but in a normal person way.

It’s easier this time, letting Deku rest his head on Katsuki’s shoulder. And sue Katsuki if he peeks down his shirt collar.

He’s at a crossroads now and there are definitely two ways in which the night will go.

They’re either gonna make out, or they’re not gonna make out.

The first option would be…fucking exhilarating. Ever since Deku crawled into his lap, Katsuki has wanted to taste him. His fingers itch to touch Deku the same way he did that night. His brain has been on a near-constant loop of the video he received yesterday. Katsuki wants to bite down on Deku’s neck, lick down his abs, tug off those motherfucking Dynamight boxers—

Does he have more of them? Would he wear them again?

And on the other side of the coin, the idea of the dream becoming a reality is, like, way, fucking overwhelming.

Like, what if Katsuki literally explodes? He’s never wanted anyone so bad, so viscerally. The scenario of finally having any kind of sexual contact with Deku makes him feel like a live wire. A bundle of nerves, exposed to the world. He could burn the building down. Literally.

And, what if he’s not good enough? Katsuki’s old therapist said he had a superiority complex, which still haunts him. Deku and his four former boyfriends piss him off.

Katsuki had been ballsy, admitted that none of his previous hookups were any good, because all he did was compare them to Deku. But Deku hadn’t admitted the same, so.

So, Katsuki’s spiraling. Fuck his superiority complex. He is good at stuff, dammit! He knows he’s good at sex!

But he’s never been anyone’s boyfriend, so.

“You’re tense, Kacchan.” Deku says quietly. He leans his head back and looks up, forehead touching Katsuki’s jaw.

“No, I’m not.”

Deku hums, obviously not believing him. “Are you even paying attention to the show?”

“Yeah, nerd.”

No.

“Should I just turn it off? Would you rather go home? Sorry for being pushy—”

“No, shut up. It’s fine.—You’re not pushy.”

Deku rocks backwards, twisting his body to face Katsuki. Both his scarred hands wrap over Katsuki’s forearm.

“I have been, though.” Deku sighs. “I was, like, laying it on way too thick with the innuendos and everything. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you, y’know, panic.”

Katsuki scoffs. Hold up.

“I’m not panicking, bitch. You’re making me sound like a fucking virgin.”

Sassy Deku comes out to play. He lifts his chin and looks down through his lashes. “Oh. Fine, then. Kiss me if you’re so damn brave.” Katsuki deflates. His jaw twitches and he pointedly looks back at the TV screen, where, oh, fantastic, the characters are hooking up. Is there no escape?

“Not right now.” He mutters.

Deku actually slaps him on the arm. “Okay, I don’t get it. You keep saying you want romance, but, tonight was arguably the most romantic night I’ve ever had. So, like, check that box off your list. What’s wrong then? I—It’s gotta be me, right? I know you, you love me, Kacchan, but, like I said, I’m kind of boring, I get it. I’m not some tall, dark, and handsome supermodel, I’m covered in scars, my hair’s a rat’s nest. Just freaking tell me if the physical aspects of this aren’t—”

Katsuki rounds on him. “What are you talking about? How fucking dense are you? Were we not jerking off to each other last night?”

Saying it out loud, whoosh, fans the flames.

“Well, my face wasn’t involved. I’ve been hinting all day that I’d like to continue, but—”

Katsuki’s had enough. He catches Deku’s chin between thumb and forefinger and pulls him in close. Deku blinks, caught off guard, and his lips fall open in surprise. They’re a breath apart, panting against the same air.

Katsuki’s heart beats in triple time.

Deku smells like wine and basil. His irises are rich, they shine like jewels. His fingers squeeze hard onto Katsuki’s forearm and his eyelids flutter closed, anticipating.

Katsuki tilts him forward until they’re within the same centimeter. He presses a kiss, firm, full of ridiculous, gross amounts of love, onto Deku’s cheek. With his partner’s eyes closed, the words come a little easier.

“…You’re beautiful, Izuku…Don’t question my feelings for you. Or…or my intentions.”

He sighs and lets his nose rest on Izuku’s temple, speaks into his skin. “Trust me when I say I want you. I just…wanna go slow, too.”

There’s a beat of quiet, and then a sniffle.

“…Are you crying?” Katsuki wrinkles his eyebrows.

Deku bonks his head into Katsuki’s eye socket and throws his arms around his shoulders.

“Aww, Kacchan, I don’t have the words to, to—I love youuuu.”

Yeah, he’s crying. Fat, sappy tears, dripping into Katsuki’s hairline. At least he’s not mad anymore.

Katsuki pats him on the back.

“You too, you fucking dork. When you’re done with all your baby wailing, rewind the damn show.”

Chapter Text

They group text starts blowing up at work. All twenty students from their high school graduating class, plus a few more (and, like, minus Mineta, ew). It’s time for the annual reunion, Iida declares with his usual vigor.

Kacchan always get annoyed at it, saying that everyone sees each other enough (“too much, actually”), but the night excites Izuku. It’s rare that they can all get together and goofing off with their classmates makes him feel giddy and nostalgic.

“You have to go, Dynamight.” Izuku tells him between punches. They’re in the middle of, quite frankly, a low-level battle with a few guys from a motorcycle gang. The person Izuku’s fighting is covered in spikes, like a hedgehog, but Izuku’s gloves protect from any real damage.

“No, I don’t.” Kacchan gruffs out as he dodges. In the same motion, he kicks out the legs of the gangly man in front of him, who’s got a snake-face. The enemy hisses.

“And neither do you, Deku. Let’s just skip this year. We can get ramen or some shit.” Kacchan pops a miniature explosion into his face and the snake-man rocks backwards. One down.

“No! That would hurt Iida’s feelings! Plus, I want to go. And I want you to go with me!” He throws a little emphasis on “with me,” hoping it relays “as my boyfriend.” But Izuku won’t be outwardly forward about it yet. Kacchan wants to go slow, he reminds himself. (Adorably, but painfully.)

“Ughhhh.” Kacchan groans as he spins to windmill kick another neon green person in the face. The twist of his hips is stupidly hot and Izuku has to shake himself to snap out of it. They’re working! He’s gotta focus!

Izuku snares the spiky-man with Black Whip and crashes him into his own motorcycle. Piles of stolen jewelry and wads of cash spill out of the saddlebags on the sides, onto the concrete.

“Ah. Dinner tonight?” Kacchan jokes. He ducks to scoop a handful of money, now that all three goons are out cold.

“Wh—no! You can’t do that, Kacchan!”

“It’s a joke, idiot.” Kacchan sighs. He lets the bills fall from his fingers, littering back onto the pavement. “Call All Might and Tsukauchi, they can come get these dicks now. I’m ready to take a fucking day off.”

Kacchan deserves that, he hasn’t had one in over a week!

Within half an hour, the cop cars arrive. All Might and Tsukauchi are tied up, so a few other officers quickly take over the scene, roping off areas with debris, cleaning up storefronts, picking up the scattered loot, getting witness statements from a few passing civilians. The three perpetrators get put in handcuffs in just a few minutes and are shuttled away.

And with that, their shift’s over.

“You wanna go get something to eat?” Izuku asks after he digs in his locker for a t-shirt and deodorant. Feels good to be back in clean clothes. “I’m starving.”

Kacchan’s facing the other way, also elbow-deep in his locker and holding a screwdriver. Dismantling his uniform takes some time. The grenade gauntlets can be a headache and he’d been complaining one was on the fritz today.

“Yeah, sure. When are you not starving?”

“You need some help, Kacchan?”

“Huh?”

“With your gear. I can help out...?”

Kacchan sets down the tool with a little grumble, but doesn’t say anything else. Like a frustrated child, he sticks out his arm wordlessly. He’s too tired to be feisty, Izuku realizes.

Izuku laughs gently and steps across the aisle. In the quiet, he helps Kacchan pull off the first gauntlet. The skin underneath it blazes with that fiery nitroglycerin smell.

Izuku gets a head rush when, in the back of his mind, he wonders what sex will smell like. Probably just like this. Sweaty.

Kacchan flexes his fingers and rotates his wrist, then shakes out his hand.

“That’s the fucked up one.” He explains. “Extra hot today.”

Just like Kacchan.

“Does it hurt?” Izuku asks. Without really thinking about it, he runs his fingertips over the veins in Kacchan’s forearm. So warm, so strong. When goosebumps follow his touch, Izuku’s eyes fly up to Kacchan’s face.

“No.” His partner answers, then swallows. He won’t meet Izuku’s gaze, just drops his arm to his side and presents the other one.

Izuku bites back a smile and works to free him from that one too.

“There ya go.”

“Thanks.”

Kacchan hangs them up and then strips off his top without preamble. Izuku boggles at the eyeful. He’s basically level with Kacchan’s collarbones. If they weren’t at work right now, he’d have a lot more trouble with “taking it slow.” Kacchan turns back to his locker and starts tugging out his street clothes.

He toes out of his thick-soled boots and kicks them into the bottom compartment with a clunk.

How come even his socks are attractive? Izuku has literally never cared about anyone’s socks.

“Quit starin’ at me, ya dork.” Kacchan mumbles as he unbuckles his belt and starts shimmying out of his pants. Izuku’s thoughts fly out the window. He wants to ask, “How?” But he’ll respect Kacchan’s wishes.

“Okay, okay, sorry.” Izuku squeaks.

He pads back to the other side to get his phone and distract himself. The group chat has sixty-seven unread messages. Izuku scans through them to get the gist, most of it is just chatter. The party is in two days, at Iida’s giant house (hero family money), bring a dish to share, BYOB, get there at eight. It’s going to be fun and he’s absolutely going to drag Kacchan into going.

“Hey, so Iida said—wha?”

Kacchan’s right in front of him.

“Hold still.”

Kacchan catches Izuku’s shoulder and turns him around, facing him towards his locker again. His hand is one thousand degrees and Izuku’s heart badumps inside his chest at the implications of being spun around, manhandled, like, he’s wildly hoping he’ll get suddenly slammed into the metal—

Instead, Kacchan’s arms loop in front of his neck, and Izuku feels a light chain touch his skin. It falls a few inches above his sternum. Kacchan’s fingers pull back and work at the base of his hair, careful to avoid tangling in the curls. There’s a little “click” sound as a necklace is clasped onto him.

Izuku blinks. “What’s…?”

He presses his palm on the charm and tries to look down at it, but the chain’s too short to see. It’s small, like a sunflower seed. Kacchan reaches over his shoulder and opens Izuku’s locker door wider, to let him look in the mirror.

A tiny, rounded ruby glitters back at Izuku. It hangs delicately from a gold chain and winks against his skin at the slightest movement. At the edge of their reflection, Kacchan smirks.

“What’s this?” Izuku asks, enamored by how pretty it is. He’d loved the jewelry at Mei’s photoshoot, but never buys anything like this for himself.

“Looks good on you.” Kacchan says back, making his heart sing. As if that’s an answer.

“I’m…,” Izuku feels his face redden, sees it happen in real-time, too. “I didn’t buy you anything, Kacchan!”

Kacchan’s smirk widens. “Who says I bought that?”

Whaaat?

“Wait!” Izuku gasps. “The motorcycle—when you picked up that money from the ground?!”

“Thought you were more observant, Deku.” Kacchan shrugs. Casually, he strolls back to his own locker.

Izuku panics and follows at his heels. “I-I can’t keep this, it’s stolen!”

“Nah.” Kacchan sprays cologne onto his chest. Izuku tries not to lose focus, tries not to watch how the mist settles on his pecs.

“Finder’s keepers.”

“Kacchan, it’s—really sweet, but I’ll feel so guilty—”

“Hey.” Kacchan sets the cologne down inside his locker and raises a hand to the necklace. The touch is feather-light. He pinches the ruby and observes it, then lets his eyes drag up Izuku’s neck, up to his face. Those scarlet irises burn into him. Kacchan’s blushing but he speaks clearly.

“Keep it, Izuku. It’s hot.”

Oh.

Ohhhh. Wow.

Izuku is so screwed, he’s so down bad. He immediately sucks his lower lip, trying not to whine.

“Okay.” He says, voice coming out high-pitched. Kacchan drops the charm and Izuku holds himself back from pouncing. God, if they were at home, Izuku would be on his knees begging to end this waiting game!

“Um, well, thank you, Kacchan, I do love it.”

“Good.”

Kacchan finishes getting ready and Izuku twiddles the necklace the entire time. He’ll just, like, forget where it came from. Tell himself Kacchan found it, because he did, in a way. It already has warmed, acclimated to his skin. He’s never going to take it off, ever.

“C’mon.” Kacchan says eventually, pawing heavily at Izuku’s hair and lightly shoving him towards the door. “Lemme buy you lunch.”

********

Why the fuck do they need a class reunion? Katsuki sees seventy-five percent of these assholes every other day. And the other twenty-five percent probably every other week.

“It’s just an excuse to hang out.” Deku tells him (for the third time) with a shrug. Katsuki’s been complaining about it for two days. “You’ll have fun!”

They’re walking up the driveway to the Iida family’s huge fucking mansion. It’s not as big as Yaoyorozu’s, but probably a close second. Katsuki carries a twelve-pack of beer and Deku has two boxes of donuts. Which, donuts aren’t really a substantial “dish to share,” but Deku likes them, so Katsuki had let it slide.

The place is already blowing up with music, through the open windows. It’s definitely Kaminari’s playlist. Yellow light spills onto the manicured grass and the air is sweet with flavored smoke. Katsuki’s always surprised at the way a tight-ass like Iida lets go for a night and allows them all to hotbox his house and get smashed. But, he always picks a weekend when the rest of his family is out of town, so. Sunday’s probably a mad dash to clean up, but the guy’s fast as fuck.

Deku knocks on the door and waits, bouncing on his toes. He’s cute in just a white t-shirt, black pants, and his usual red sneakers, never one to dress up. The ruby necklace sparkles and makes Katsuki feel possessive and fond (though he’ll never admit that, obviously). He wants to wrap a hand over the back of Deku’s neck, but his free hand is in his pocket.

“I don’t think anybody can hear it, they’ve got that garbage blasting so loud.” Katsuki says eventually, then just opens the door anyway. Deku makes a noise of protest at how “rude” it is, but follows him inside regardless.

They kick off their shoes into the unorganized pile by the door and follow the noise into the main living space.

“Midoriya! Bakugou! You both made it!” Iida cheers when he sees them. Their classmates are in various circles around the room, chatting, playing games, drinking, smoking, relaxing. Iida, Ochaco, Shoto, Shinsou, Yaoyorozu, and Tsu are eating pizza over the kitchen counter.

Deku hurries over to give his friends one-armed hugs, balancing the donuts in his other hand.

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world!” He tells them with a smile.

Katsuki would, but he holds his tongue. He’ll try to play nice tonight, for Deku’s sake.

“Bakubro’s here?!” The familiar voice of Kirishima shouts. Katsuki finds him sitting on the floor, playing What Do You Meme or some dumb shit with the usual extras. The rest of their classmates lounge on the couches or the balcony.

“Yeah, yeah.” Katsuki rolls his eyes and approaches, cracking open one of the beers he brought for something to do with his hands. It feels sort of weird to leave Deku’s side after being inseparable since he returned from his mission with Tokoyami. But Deku’s already giggling and catching up with his nerdy little buddies, one donut deep.

“Hey, Bakugou, how you doing?” Ojiro greets with a wave. He sits cross-legged between Tokoyami (speak of the devil) and Sato. The rest of the circle is comprised of Kaminari, Jirou, Mina, and Sero.

“Fine. You guys look chipper as hell.”

“Big plans tonight, y’know?!” Kaminari says with a mischievous glint in his eye. “The party’s just getting started!”

Whatever the fuck that means.

“You wanna play?” Jirou offers, holding up the cards. “We just stared the round, you can jump in.”

It’s such loser shit, but Katsuki obliges. He plops next to Kirishima and is dealt a hand of stupid internet photos, tweets, and Tumblr posts.

The night dissolves from there, because of course it does. They’re all too fucking dysfunctional and stupid to be normal. What Do You Meme turns into Cards Against Humanity, turns into beer pong, turns into the Thunderstruck drinking challenge, turns into shooting firecrackers out of bottles in the backyard. Followed by: who can hold a handstand the longest without using their quirk? (Ojiro, which is unfair as fuck, because he can’t exactly remove his tail.) And finally, foot races, (excluding Iida), gloved boxing matches, keg stands, and chugging contests. The list goes on.

And that’s all before midnight.

They collectively stumble back into the house when the clock strikes twelve, sweaty, thirsty, and ravenous. Katsuki was careful not to get drunk because he does not want to have a repeat of the shit situation from last time. It looks like Deku’s on the same page, he’s only had two bottles from the twelve-pack.

(For the record, Katsuki and Deku had damn near tied on everything. Annoying as hell.)

Everyone settles to eat and continue catching up. Katsuki notices with a twinge that all the couples are paired up. He steals a glance at Deku, trying not to look like a lame idiot.

His partner is on donut number five (has he had any real fucking food today?) and is laughing at something Shoto said. Katsuki pushes down a flicker of jealously; Shinsou is hanging over Half-and-Half like they’re joined at the hip. He reminds himself of their conversation in the bar. No threat. Fucking Todoroki is not a threat.

As if on cue, purple eyes meet his. Shinsou fucking smirks and Katsuki’s ears go hot. He juts his chin away quickly, pretending to be engrossed in some combat story Sato’s sharing.

Mind-reading asshole or something.

When the story’s over, Kaminari stands suddenly, shooting a finger to the sky.

“Let’s play another game!” He exclaims. “The night is young!”

“Jesus, do you ever get tired?” Katsuki sighs. He crosses his arms over his chest and leans against the couch cushions. Kaminari looks like a man of the wilderness, hair frizzed.

“What did you have in mind, Kaminari?” Yaoyorozu asks. She maintains composure, even though she’s definitely had two entire bottles of champagne.

Kaminari squints like the cat who has the cream. He folds his fingers together like a conniving supervillain and grins.

“Seven Minutes in Heaven.”

“What the fuck?” Katsuki scrunches his eyebrows. “Are you fucking fifteen?—You literally have a girlfriend?”

Kirishima pops up from his spot against the ottoman. He waves a hand flippantly. “Oh, Bakugou, we’re among friends here, family, even, it doesn’t count as cheating.”

“Um? It literally does—,”

Jirou shrugs. “I kinda agree with them, it’s whatever.”

Huh?!

Katsuki realizes now that Mina’s in Kirishima’s lap, but Jirou’s in her lap, and Sero’s looking at the three of them like a lovesick puppy. He remembers the onslaught of hickies they shared, the morning after the bar.

Katsuki pinches the bridge of his nose. “Fucking weirdos. Whatever, I’m not playing.”

“I’ll play!” Ochaco chirps, throwing a hand in the air. “I’m single as hell.”

Beside her, Iida’s cheeks darken. He blinks.

“I’ll play too.” Tsu chimes in casually.

Iida’s cheeks go redder, somehow.

“Sure, why not.” Yaoyorozu agrees, throwing back the rest of her flute of champagne.

Iida’s going to shatter, for sure.

“I’m—not sure if—,” Their class president begins, clearly flustered, but all of class 1A is already moving, forming a misshapen ring in the center of the room.

“Coat closet, perfect!” Kaminari beams, throwing open an adjoining door near the hallway. He yanks two suitcases out of it and shoves some spare umbrellas into the corner. “Heaven. Check!”

“Bottle, check!” Kirishima raises an empty one over his head and carefully sets it in the center of the circle, like it’s a spiritual offering. So fucking stupid, when did these horndogs plan this? They’re all literally in their twenties. It’s—

Deku’s in the circle. Sitting next to Shoto and Ochaco.

Deku’s sitting in the fucking circle. What. Why. How. Why.

Katsuki’s heart jumps the same time that his gut drops. Why is Deku in the fucking Seven Minutes in Heaven circle? Katsuki tries to make eye contact with him but it’s not happening, there’s too much going on. Too many overlapping voices, too much movement.

What the fuck?

He shoves off from his spot on the couch and stomps over. Katsuki wedges himself between Shoto and Deku and sits his ass down on the floor. When their knees touch, Deku finally looks up. He offers Katsuki a soft, cute, annoying, adorable, shitty smile. Deku pushes his knee against Katsuki’s again.

“Hey.” Deku says quietly. Katsuki wants to whisper-shout grumpy questions at him, but there isn’t a chance.

“I thought you weren’t playing, Bakugou?” Kirishima asks with a tilt of the head.

“I’m not. Just fucking sitting here. Shut up.”

Kirishima lets it go, thankfully.

“Okay. Who wants to go first?!” He asks the group of goddamn adults, clapping his hands together and rubbing them high-speed like he’s starting a fire. “Hmmm, Class Prez?! It’s your closet, after all!”

Iida’s cheeks are strawberries. “I—I really don’t have to—”

“Nonsense!” Kaminari eggs on. He slaps Iida on the back and lightly shoves him to the middle. “Go for it!”

The situation derails like a train flying off the tracks. Just like the very first card game, it soon erupts into wild behavior, drunken giggling, and horny debauchery.

Iida and Yaoyorozu end up in the closet first. Then Ochaco and Tsu. Jirou and Kaminari. Jirou and Kirishima. Kaminari and Kirishima (fuckers rigged it for sure). Sato and Ojiro. Shoto and Iida. Sero and Yaoyorozu. An endless spinning top of depravity between childhood friends and current coworkers. Everyone pairs up in every single way, but it somehow avoids Deku or Katsuki.

Each time the goddamn bottle spins, Katsuki feels sick to his stomach.

When Kirishima finally offers the bottle to Deku (“Since he hasn’t had a turn!”), Katsuki wants to punch that sharkface in the fucking throat.

And Deku takes it! Why! Why! Why!

Why!

His boyfriend flushes pink and accepts the token. Deku shuffles on his knees into the middle of the floor and Katsuki tries not to have a coronary. Scarred hands set down the tapered glass and give it a flick.

The bottle twirls quickly, rotating through every person over, and over, and over. Katsuki is four seconds from throwing up.

It slows, agonizingly, like molasses, ticking one, two, three, four, down the line, smooth on the carpet…

And lands on Shoto fucking Todoroki. Dead center, no doubt about it.

“Oh.” Deku laughs. His face goes bright red and he scratches the back of his neck. “Uh…”

Fuck this, fuck no, fuck everything.

Katsuki doesn’t give Shoto a chance to accept. He throws his pride into the toilet and stands with a huff. He stalks across the circle and catches Deku by the bicep, pulls him to stand, and starts trudging both of them to the damn coat closet. Deku squeaks like a kitten.

Kaminari’s dumb voice pipes up. “Wha—Bakugou, it landed on—”

“It landed on me, fuck face, are you blind?”

Crickets. Class 1A is holding its breath after the blatant lie. Shoto was sitting next to him, maybe somebody will believe it. What fucking ever.

“I thought you weren’t even playing?” Kirishima calls after them.

“Shut up, do you want us to continue your stupid game or not?!”

More crickets. Nobody says a word. The horrible, trashy music booms.

Kirishima blinks. Blinks again. Then smiles wickedly, knowingly.

“No, no,” He waves his hands in submission. “Go on.”

Douchebag. Katsuki’s not looking forward to that conversation later.

He keeps going, tugging Deku along. They tumble unceremoniously into the darkness of the coat closet and Katsuki yanks it closed behind them. It smells like mothballs.

“What the fuck?” Katsuki asks immediately, stoked by fury. He’s confident no one can hear them, someone turned the music up whenever they started this dumb shit.

The only light comes from underneath the door. It glows upwards onto Deku’s chin. He placatingly lays his hands on Katsuki’s chest and his eyes are gentle, glowing dully green.

“Kacchan, I wasn’t going to actually do anything with anyone. I just thought it would look, like, suspicious if I didn’t play.” His voice is earnest. His touch is tender. Deku means it, but Katsuki still bristles.

“I promise.” Deku rubs softly over his thudding heart. He slides up to Katsuki’s shoulders and squeezes them. “I seriously promise, I don’t want to be in here with anyone but you.”

Katsuki can’t help it, he’s still frowning. The thought of Shoto in here with Deku leaves a sour taste in his mouth.

“You could’ve just said that this is stupid and you didn’t want to play, like I did.” He growls.

Deku laughs through his nose. “People expect that from you, Kacchan. Not from me.”

Katsuki’s shoulders tense despite the massage. “So, you were just gonna come in here with Icy Hot and, what, chat?”

Deku threads his fingers into Katsuki’s hair, trying to calm him, and dammit, it’s sort of working.

“Yeah.—Did you see his face, he freaked out, too! He doesn’t wanna kiss me, Kacchan. And I don’t wanna kiss him either. He knows I’m into you. We were together so long ago, it would be so weird. I don’t see him as attractive anymore, even.”

Katsuki scoffs. Bullshit. “Yeah, fucking right.”

********

“I mean it!” Izuku reiterates. He presses his thumbs into the nape of Kacchan’s neck. It’s burning there, his partner’s worked up and angry.

“I mean it, Kacchan, I only have eyes for you. I love you.” Izuku tips his head forward and lets his nose bump into Kacchan’s strong chest. “You know I love you. If everybody knew we were dating, of course I wouldn’t play. But I want to keep it private for you. I know you want to go slow.”

Kacchan humphs and seems to settle. His hands rise from his sides and find purchase on Izuku’s waist. That’s nice. His palms are large, they radiate heat all the time. Izuku’s discovered that in the recent development of hand-holding. They feel so much better here.

“…Love you, too.” Kacchan grumbles. Hearing it out loud always gives Izuku butterflies.

“Just don’t want anyone else to have you, okay?” He continues, then, quieter. “…You’re mine.”

Izuku chuckles and nuzzles into Kacchan’s pecs. Ugh, he’s melting. Jealous Kacchan is lighting a fire inside him. “You have me already. And can have me however you want. Whenever you’re ready.”

Kacchan’s fingers tighten and Izuku pulls back to smile at him. Shadows dance over his face but Izuku can still make out those beautiful eyes. Iridescent, sometimes. Rubies.

“And y’know,” Izuku teases, slipping his hands down Kacchan’s shoulder blades. “We’ve probably still got, like, four minutes in here…But I know you’re ‘not playing’ or anything.”

This makes Kacchan pause. He doesn’t stiffen uncomfortably, but he just sort of…freezes.

Izuku stares at him, the shape of him, the way his boyfriend’s suddenly locked-in, laser-focused.

There’s no way Kacchan’s going to take that bait…right? This closet smells like an old lady, it’s all gray and gloomy, their friends are right outside the door, wire hangers and huge winter jackets jab into their backs.

Totally not romantic. The opposite of what he’s been saying this whole time.

But Izuku’s breath stutters anyway. He whittles down the moment to them, just them; they’re the only people in the world, nestled in this tiny room, inhaling each other’s air.

Kacchan’s right hand lifts. He brushes his fingertips over the necklace at Izuku’s throat, follows the chain up, up, up, to graze his Adam’s apple and jaw. His hot, hot hand cups Izuku’s cheek, holds him securely. His thumb slides over Izuku’s lower lip.

Kacchan caves.

“I want you so bad.” He says.

And Izuku’s mouth falls open. That’s…yeah.

Oh, yeah.

Wow. Shit.

“You, too.” Izuku replies weakly. His thoughts drift away into bubbles, dancing on the breeze. He only knows one thing, and it’s the man holding him. “Katsuki.”

Their first kiss is more like a car crash. Kacchan pulls him close and mashes their lips together with a muffled groan. It rips from his chest before they even make impact. And oh, that’s so sexy. Izuku preens.

It’s hard, and sharp, and it catches like a wildfire in the wind. Izuku feels the neon electricity of his full cowl jolt through his body, holy moly, he can’t control his emotions right now. He yelps and shoves it down, gets it to stop, but they keep kissing, making out, tongues, and lips, and the sounds, and then, crap, he’s floating now—

Kacchan actually laughs into his mouth, a bright, gorgeous sound, so out of character it makes his head spin even more. Kacchan grabs him by the wrists, brings him back down to Earth. Izuku’s socks hit the carpet and they tangle against each other again. They’re a single creature made of lips and hands.

Kacchan shoves him into the coats, through them completely until his back hits the wall with a thud. Maybe a portal to Narnia is hidden here, and they can run away into it and kiss for eternity. Two sweaters fall from their hangers and a shoebox tumbles loudly from a high shelf. The house could be detonating right now, and Izuku wouldn’t care.

“Ah.” He gasps when they separate for air. Kacchan smells so good, and sometimes his tongue fizzles like Pop Rocks. Izuku’s about to say so, but his boyfriend dives back in eagerly.

Searing hands shove under Izuku’s shirt and he arches into it. Kacchan’s nails scrape down his back, not enough to do any damage, but Izuku mewls at the sensation. He slants his head to one side, deepens the kiss, grips Kacchan’s messy hair like a lifeline. His hips cant forward, their buttons clink, it’s addicting, Izuku never wants to stop.

“Mmm.” Kacchan hums against his lips. The vibration buzzes into Izuku’s brain—

There’s a loud knock on the closet door.

“Did you guys kill each other?” Kaminari yells into the doorframe.

Izuku springs back with a start, banging his head hard against the wall. Another pair of boots clatters down from above.

“Fuck, you okay?” Kacchan pants against his cheek. “You and your damn head injuries.”

His hand loops backwards to lightly caress Izuku’s scalp. There’s still a fuzzy bald spot, but he’s not bleeding or anything. Kacchan tests the skin, then pets over Izuku’s hair.

“We’re fine!” Izuku shouts back. Then, privately, with a wide grin, “We are way better than fine. Wow.”

Kacchan leans back and straightens out his shirt, pats down his own hair. Izuku had really done a number on it, it’s jutting out in every direction.

“Wasn’t a very romantic atmosphere, Kacchan, I’m surprised.” Izuku teases, fixing his own clothing. He’s high in the aftermath. He’ll spit out anything right now.

Kacchan adjusts the chain of Izuku’s necklace, twists the clasp to the back.

“Later.” Is all he says. Izuku can’t see in the dark, but he knows Kacchan’s flushed.

And if that isn’t fantasy fuel, Izuku doesn’t know what is.

He fights back a shiver as the two of them exit the cramped closet. His skin is still three-thousand degrees. Do handprints cover his torso? Will everyone know?

“You’re alive!” Kirishima cheers. “Thought maybe you were choking each other, if y’know what I’m saying?” He wiggles his eyebrows.

And Kacchan punches him in the stomach.

Kirishima grunts and clutches his abs. His guard had been down, he didn’t harden his skin. The redhead raises a wobbly thumbs-up after the blow.

“Okay, new game, maybe?” He laughs, but it’s mixed with a pained sound. “Who’s down for foosball?”

Kacchan pads to the fridge to get another beer, but the second he’s gone, someone else grabs Izuku’s wrist. Ochaco squeezes and yanks Izuku down the hall and around the corner. He barely even has time to shriek. She tosses him into a bedroom and shuts the door. Iida, Shoto, and Shinsou are already waiting there, Shinsou’s smoking pot out the open window. Their eyes light up at the sudden entrance.

“What happened?!” Ochaco demands, poking hard into Izuku’s chest. “Spill, spill!”

“Uhhhh.” Izuku stalls. His brain is still scrambled, he hasn’t come down from Heaven. Is it his dirty laundry to air? They all know he loves Kacchan (well, Shoto must’ve told Shinsou), but they don’t know it’s the other way around. Will Kacchan be mad?

Ochaco puts her hands on her hips. “C’mon, Izuku. We basically all made out with each other tonight, spare me the embarrassment. Don’t act all shy now!”

Izuku’s face is still warm from the closet. “Hah. Ummm.”

“Something happened!” She says with a five hundred kilowatt smile. Ochaco grips his shoulders and shakes him. “Tell us!”

“Did Bakugou finally grow a pair?” Shinsou puffs a cloud, smirks. “Didn’t think he had it in him.”

“I’m never going to be able to look at that closet again.” Iida sighs.

“I’m never going to be able to look at you at work again.” Shoto rolls his eyes and nudges Iida.

Shinsou tosses an arm lazily over his boyfriend. “Aw, be nice. It was casual And hot.”

“Shut up, all of you! Dekuuuuu, what happened?! If you don’t tell me I’m using my quirk on all your stuff and it’ll float into space!” (She’s had a little bit to drink, clearly.)

Oh, man. The word vomit escalates against the dam, threatens to rupture. He’s just so excited.

“Kacchan and I are dating!” Izuku blurts. “And we kissed in there, and he loves me, and we’re boyfriends!”

Ochaco gapes. His other friends reflect her, all wide-eyed with surprise.

Then: “No way! Mister Grumpy Pants is a big softie after all?!” Ochaco beams and crushes him into a hug.

“That is wonderful news, Midoriya! Congratulations.” Iida nods. Which is kind of a weird thing to say in the situation but Izuku accepts it with a smile regardless.

“Thank God.” Shoto sighs with relief. “Didn’t want him being an idiot again and hurting you more.”

Shinsou chuckles too. “That guy’s head is so far up his own ass, I’m shocked he finally allowed himself some emotional vulnerability. Cheers.” He raises the joint like a toast.

“Thanks.” Izuku can hardly breathe with how hard Ochaco is hugging him. “I’m really happy.”

Ochaco finally releases him, though the interrogation doesn’t cease.

“So you kissed, huh? Have you more than kissed?” She asks suggestively.

Izuku actually, literally can’t answer that, he’ll probably explode. His thoughts are still racing just thinking about Kacchan’s lips, about the promise of “later.” He’s pretty sure he’s dizzy with it.

“Umm…” Izuku laughs awkwardly and slowly backs away. “I think somebody’s calling me?—Gotta go!”

“Deku!” She calls after him with a giggle, but Izuku’s already out the door. He hurries back to the kitchen, looking over his shoulder in case she pursues, and crashes right into Mister Grumpy Pants himself.

“The hell did you go?” Kacchan quirks an eyebrow. He and the self-proclaimed “Bakusquad” loiter at the bar, eating cold pizza and conversing.

Kirishima leans against the countertop and then into his girlfriend’s hair. He whispers in her ear and Mina giggles behind her palm. Kaminari and Sero are trying extra hard to look inconspicuous and Jirou is on her phone, glued to the screen.

Huh.

Did they just have the same conversation as Izuku?

“Talking with Ochaco.” Izuku replies with a shrug, trying to also be easygoing. He moves to pick up another donut and Kacchan swats his hand away.

“Eat some protein, nerd.” His partner gripes. He tosses a few boneless wings onto a paper plate and presents it to Izuku. “Here. Sit.”

Izuku slides into the barstool and nibbles on them dutifully. His insides are still goop, he still feels like he’s on cloud nine. He’ll do whatever Kacchan says right now, honestly. Putty in his hands. Their friends fall back into conversation, but he’s not really listening.

“…which is why if we lived underwater, we’d eventually be able to communicate like whales.” Kaminari trails on. Huh?

“Well, I’m not fucking living underwater.” Kacchan grumbles. He shifts his weight towards Izuku. “I’m just fine right fucking here.”

Izuku doesn’t know what the hell they’re talking about, but he feels just fine right here, too.

Their babbling devolves into sillier conversation and Izuku is comfortable. This isn’t their house, but he’s at home with all these people.

A hand skates up his back, and Izuku jumps in surprise. Shoots a look over at Kacchan, who rubs circles through the fabric of his t-shirt, over his spine. It’s nice.

Kacchan won’t look at him, still deep in debate, now about whales vs. dolphins. Nobody else says a word about the intimate gesture.

Eventually the pattern stops and Kacchan’s forearm comes to rest on the back of the barstool, wrapped loosely around Izuku’s waist. There are those butterflies again. Must be the great Monarch migration, because they’re swirling.

Izuku tilts backwards, leans right into the touch with a secret smile. And once his “protein” is gone, Kacchan plops the last donut onto his plate for him without a word. Aww, he really does love him!

Izuku’s so happy he could burst. He could really get used to this.

Chapter Text

They walk home well past one AM. The sky is inky blue, spattered with stars and skewered by street lights. Katsuki holds Deku’s fucking hand because the dork wouldn’t stop clinging anyway. Deku had been the one to kind of rush the two of them out after another half hour, and Katsuki knows exactly why.

“Later” turns over a thousand times in Katsuki’s mind, thrumming like a heartbeat. Anticipation simmers in his gut; it feels like someone shoved a jar of angry bees between his ribs. (Which is stupid, why would someone put a bunch of bees in a jar?)

He’s been feeling a little fifty-fifty on the whole situation. Part of him is blissed the fuck out, like, teeth-chattering excited over finally kissing Deku. The other part is kicking himself full-force for making the first move in a goddamn coat closet with their entire graduating class on the other side of the door. His sinuses itch from the dust and the garbage music Kaminari played still rings in his ears, even from blocks away. How fucking lame.

But Deku doesn’t seem to mind. His eyes sparkle like Christmas snow or some shit. Dew on grass. The constellations above them. He keeps cutting them over to look at Katsuki’s face, humming, nuzzling his shoulder. One scarred hand wraps around Katsuki’s bicep and cuddles them together like it’s cold outside, even though it’s not.

“You’re fucking giddy.” Katsuki snipes, but it’s without malice. He watches the walk signal flash as they cross the street. Every step closer to Deku’s apartment has him wading through another pile of mixed exhilaration and anxiety.

“’Course I am.” Deku says brightly. “I’ve had a good night.”

Katsuki’s had a good night too. Even if class reunions are idiotic, and even though he basically outed himself to all those dumbasses when he dragged Deku into the closet. Out of the closet? Whatever. He hadn’t talked to his friends about it outright, but the implications hung heavily enough in the air afterward that he didn’t feel like he had to.

He’ll say it point-blank when he needs to.

“So.” Deku pipes up again. “Do you…think you’ll stay the night? Or, uh, if you want?”

Katsuki’s bees escape their jar. They buzz around his entire torso.

Jesus, loaded question.

He scoffs, plays it cool. “Think you’re getting lucky or something?”

He rubs his thumb onto Deku’s hand, a gentle motion that betrays his snarky words. His boyfriend squeezes back.

Deku forces a lackadaisical tone. “Nahhh, just wondering.”

“Right.” Katsuki rolls his eyes. Continues to be nonchalant so he doesn’t sound insane. “…Maybe. Depends how tired I am.”

Which is a bullshit excuse, because they don’t have work tomorrow, or the day after that. And it’s not like either of them are drunk, no hangover in sight.

Deku totally knows this.

“No pressure or anything, by the way.” Deku says quietly. He isn’t playful this time, he means it. And Katsuki sighs heavily. This guy’s gonna kill him. Doesn’t Deku realize what’s happened now? Doesn’t he realize how addicting he is, that the floodgates have opened, that Katsuki’s using every ounce of self control not to tackle him across the sidewalk into an alleyway? It’s fucking terrifying, how much Katsuki wants him. Always has. Now that Deku’s…his, emotionally, physically…now that they’ve sealed it with a goddamn kiss…his brain is scrambled.

There’s definitely no fucking pressure needed, Katsuki’s yearning for it like a lovesick loser all on his own. Even if it makes him feel like he’s at the crest of a roller coaster, about to plummet. Electrifying. Horrifying. What a fun contrast. And the whole thing makes him horny?

“Yeah, yeah, I know, nerd.” Katsuki unlinks their hands and throws his arm over his partner’s shoulders. Feels right. They’ll see where the night fucking takes them, won’t they?

It takes them first to Deku’s front door. Katsuki reveals his intention to stay when he shucks out of his shoes at the entryway. He dumps the contents of his pockets onto the side table, tosses his leather wallet onto Deku’s All Might one, plops his own keys into the wooden bowl.

Deku grins and trades his sneakers for fuzzy slippers. “I was hoping you’d do that.”

“Desperate.” Katsuki teases, flicking him on the nose. He passes his boyfriend and pads to the middle of the room.

Katsuki hesitates beside the couch. What happens now? They’ve done the whole cuddling thing, but not a step further (well, since earlier). Any other time, every single Tinder hookup was a smash and dash. He always got right to business then cut ties and ran. Said, “hi, nice to meet you,” fucked, then went home.

What happens now that he’s in a relationship? They were all wound up earlier, would’ve made out for God knows how long, but now…This whole time Katuki’s been yammering on about romance and in the face of it he’s freezing up. He needs to, like, woo Deku, right? But it’s not his apartment, so it’s not like he can light candles, or—does Deku even have fucking candles? This isn’t a restaurant. The guy only had one singular onion for Christ’s sake. And All Might’s face on the throw pillow smiles at him and it feels weird. Katsuki very suddenly wishes for the darkness of the coat closet, the head rush of instinct, just letting his body take over. It always happened in battle, so why can’t he just—

“Kacchan?” Deku’s at his side, pops up like a phantom. “Which movie?”

“Huh?” Katsuki blinks back. Had he been talking to him?

“Which movie did you wanna watch?”

Katsuki doesn’t wanna reveal that he clearly spaced out. “Whichever, you pick. Because if it’s one you don’t want you’re just gonna be annoying and talk over it the whole time anyway.”

A movie is a good call. Katsuki remembers with a twitch that Deku has done this whole boyfriends thing before. He appreciates the experience now, sure, but Katsuki’s totally going to ruin him for anyone else, once he gets the hang of it. He’s going to be the best fucking boyfriend ever, already said so.

Deku queues up something on TV with his Playstation controller and Katsuki makes himself comfortable on the couch. He quietly lobs the All Might pillow behind it, out of sight.

“What even is this about anyway?” Katsuki asks as the credits start to flash. Super obnoxious graphics.

Deku shrugs and clambers onto the couch next to him. He folds immediately against Katsuki’s side and every nerve ending lights on fire. Deku smells especially good today, some new cologne that reminds him of a waterfall.

“Kirishima said it was good.”

“Probably trash then.”

“You told me to pick!” Deku laughs and smushes his head into Katsuki’s collarbone. How is his hair always so goddamn soft? It shouldn’t be. It doesn’t even poke his neck, just tickles.

Katsuki lets his arm hang over the back of the couch as Deku nestles into him. He slips it down and his fingertips come to rest on his boyfriend’s strong shoulder.

Their breath falls into sync as the first twenty minutes of the movie play. It’s really cheesy, an action-packed spy thriller or some shit. Deku makes a comment here and there but Katsuki can’t really even focus on it. He’s hyperaware of their proximity, the way their torsos move together with each inhale. Deku snaked an arm around his waist three minutes ago and keeps rubbing tiny circles into his side.

How long do they do this? Until one of them stops being a pussy?

Memories from the coat closet swirl around Katsuki’s brain like a washing machine on high; rinse, spin, repeat, rinse, spin, repeat. The taste of Deku, sweeter than expected, a hint of beer. His cute little noises. Katsuki will relish in those until he dies. And God, the way his quirks just bubbled out of control. What else could Katsuki elicit? They could probably get really creative with Gear Shift—

Oh. Deku’s looking at him. Up from his girly ass eyelashes.

They’re close. Like, noses two inches apart close. Ribcage to ribcage. Is he getting shakier, or is that Deku?

“This movie is kind of bad.” His boyfriend says, voice a whisper. Like anything louder would spook Katsuki, maybe. He’s on a high-wire walk between mountains, off balance. But Jesus Christ, he’s never felt so…excited. Afraid. His dumb heart starts to pick up for the millionth time tonight. He wonders if it’ll finally conk out.

He tries to think of something clever to say back. Like, no shit it is, Kirishima has no taste. But. Katsuki can’t really think right now. Deku’s irises are vivid like jade. Colors from the television dance over his freckled cheekbones and he’s so, so gorgeous. Even in a plain t-shirt. Even if this isn’t the goddamn Eiffel Tower or somewhere more elegant or idyllic.

“Yeah.” Is all Katsuki finally gets out.

“Wanna do something else?” Deku asks softly, not a beat after. Cards on the table, his words are heavy with want. Almost a whine. Anticipation supercharges through the room, like one spark could detonate the entire building.

Fuck it, Katsuki’s used to blowing shit up anyway.

He uses the arm holding Deku to turn him, twisting them to face each other. Katsuki’s other hand cups his neck and they meet in the middle. That answers that question.

The second kiss is as searing as the first one.

Deku moans against his lips, Katsuki echoes it. Fireworks burst behind his eyelids when they squish chest to chest. It’s an extension of earlier, right out the gate, one second in and they’re wild animals. They kiss, and kiss, and kiss, like they’re dying. Like the world is going to end and somehow this will save it. Like they’re never going to see each other again. Like they’ve been waiting almost twenty years to do this. (And maybe that last one’s not a fucking exaggeration.)

Heat flies up Katsuki’s spine when Deku whimpers again. And he’s extra vocal when Katsuki snags a thumb under his jaw. When he tugs the hair at the back of his neck. Katsuki manhandles him, just a little bit, pushes the boundary to see how far it’ll go, so he can hear him. Deku responds deliciously to each touch.

His boyfriend groans, shifts his weight, and slings a leg up and over Katsuki. He’s in Katsuki’s lap and holy fuck. This is so much better when they’re kissing. They could’ve skipped a whole bunch of bullshit if they’d just done this that night in Kaminari’s house. Just gotten to it.

“Shit.” Katsuki exhales in the space between. Deku breaks away for a single gulp of air and licks spit off his lips. He’s delectably pink, all over.

Katsuki’s stomach flips. The picture of a porn star and he’s still fully clothed.

Deku laughs while he pants. He settles down, full weight cozy on Katsuki’s dick.

“What happened to taking it slow, Kacchan?” Deku teases. That coy motherfucker rocks his hips and wiggles his perky ass onto Katsuki’s zipper. He balances himself on Katsuki’s chest, one finger poised over his nipple. Katsuki won’t admit right now that that’s driving him wild.

He runs his hands down from Deku’s neck. Shoves his thumbs into the creases of Deku’s hips, where his waist meets the iron brackets of his thighs. Katsuki squeezes those sensitive spots, urges more movement until they’re grinding. He gets hard probably faster than he ever has in his entire life.

He talks through it, has to pause every time he grunts. “Look, I don’t usually have bad ideas, all right? I’m fucking great.”

Deku arches his back with a hot little sigh. Katsuki almost forgets his train of thought. Stunning. This is literal shining Heaven, he’s at the pearly fucking gates.

“But I’m man enough to admit that was one really shitty idea.”

Deku laughs brightly, a genuinely beautiful moment amongst all the lecherous ones.

And then they’re frenching again.

“Mmhm.” Hums into his mouth. Deku agrees, apparently.

Minutes pass, mindless, with hands under shirts, couch cushions squashed to all fuck. Humping like goddamn dogs. Deku backs off again with a smack of lips, but immediately starts mouthing Katsuki’s neck instead. He nips his earring, sucks on his throat. The wet heat makes Katsuki’s toes curl. He fights off some really embarrassing sounds of his own.

Deku leans back after assaulting his collarbone. His hair is the epitome of “mussed” and the movie behind them roars with a motorcycle chase. Katsuki’s endorphins are doing the same exact thing, guns blazing, speeding three hundred miles-per-hour after this amazing high.

“Lemme touch you, Deku.” Katsuki hears himself say. Right into another kiss. Two more. Three more. He loses count of how many more. Kastuki’s ears are full of cotton and his whole body tingles. He wants to burn their clothes off.

“There’s one of Kacchan’s million-dollar ideas.” Deku smirks onto his lips. His confidence in the bedroom is both unexpected and alluring. It’s cute how he’s kind of bratty. How he’s a little bit of a slut. Katsuki wonders where he keeps those goddamn Dynamight boxers.

Katsuki hauls Deku backwards, sliding him off his lap to his feet. He feels a pang from the lack of contact, but doesn’t lose a second of adrenaline because Deku starts to strip right away.

Fluffy house slippers go flying and Deku’s white t-shirt lands haphazardly on the corner of the TV. The ruby necklace bounces against his pale skin and something in Katsuki’s heart sings at the sight of it. His.

Deku’s scarred fingers race to undo the button of his pants, but Katsuki swats them out of the way.

“I’ll do it.” He huffs, feeling the back of his neck warm exponentially. He fumbles forward and catches the edge of the fabric.

“O-oh. Please do.” Deku replies with a sharp inhale of surprise. He stares down at Katsuki, who’s still seated. Green eyes are blown wide. His abs tremble under Katsuki’s fingertips.

Popping the button and pulling down the zipper invokes an angelic choir. Katsuki is blinded by, like, biblical fucking light. He is so far gone for this dork, it’s pathetic.

Deku’s boxes are blue, plaid, and thank fuck they’re not plastered with All Might’s face. Katsuki shoves Deku’s pants the rest of the way down, past his knees, and his partner kicks them off under the coffee table.

He wants to worship him. Katsuki would never, ever do that for any other goddamn person on Earth. Nobody but him. But he wants to memorize every curve, slope, and freckle of Deku’s body. He runs his fingers, feather-light, down Deku’s abdomen and wishes he could engrave this moment into his brain for eternity. He’s seen him naked but he’s never had him.

Deku’s stomach muscles jump and he lets out a hum, a soft laugh. “Feels nice.”

“Gonna feel way fucking nicer soon.” Katsuki assures. He reaches back to tug off his own t-shirt, pulls it over his neck and plops it onto the floor with everything else. Shoves his pants to his ankles in record time and Deku does him the favor of yanking them all the way off, sending them sailing across the room.

Deku climbs back into Katsuki’s lap and he’s pretty sure he ascends to Nirvana.

********

Izuku uses every ounce of willpower not to Float up to the ceiling. If his eyes weren’t already closed, they would be rolling into the back of his skull.

Kacchan kisses him desperately. Clings to him, holds him in a way that’s both frantic and gentle. Squeezes, gropes, takes handfuls of skin, but smooths down the burning aftermath. (His hands are hot!) He clearly wants to bat Izuku around because he knows he can take it, but he doesn’t wanna break him, either. It’s like he’s…cherishing him.

Butterflies tumble in Izuku’s belly.

Kacchan’s lips are bruising, a hard mash of mouths, all friction and boiling desire. And yet, behind that…reverent.

Sloping. Sliding. Tasting. Feeling. Learning him.

Izuku squeaks when strong hands travel down his sides to palm his ass. Kacchan heaves him forward for a better angle and they line up just right. Two thin layers of cotton and growing wet spots are all that separate them. And it already feels so good Izuku could cry.

“Oh, yeah.” Izuku breathes, rolling his hips into it. Unbelievable, that he makes Kacchan hard, too. After so many years of thinking this would never happen.

“That’s right, baby.” Kacchan licks a tendon in his neck and goosebumps fly from there to his forearms. Izuku feels them crackle and has to shush down One for All.

Baby. Izuku loves when Kacchan calls him “baby.” Never in a billion years did he think that would happen, either. And now he wants to hear it one thousand times a day.

“Kacchan,” Izuku murmurs back, finally cracks his lids open.

His boyfriend is splayed against the couch, clearly watching him through a hazy fog. Kacchan’s mouth is bright red, wet with their shared spit. Izuku thinks of roses, and Valentine’s, and cherries.

“Touch me.” Izuku invites, words dripping with longing. He pushes their foreheads together and squirms against the outline of Kacchan’s cock. “Like you said.”

The fingers against his ass dig in. Kacchan ruts against him like he can’t help it. Sparks fly.

“Yeah?” Kacchan lifts his chin. Raises an eyebrow.

There’s suddenly a sharp expression on his face. A glint in his eye, normally reserved for the battlefield. Like he’s revving up. Like he’s about to put in some work, like he’s going to really break a sweat, and—

Heat floods Izuku’s body. Oh, that’s aimed right at him.

Kacchan sneaks his fingers underneath the waistband of Izuku’s boxers and starts to pull them down. Izuku swallows. Shivers as he’s bared.

“You want me to touch you, Izuku?”

Holy crap. Holy fuck. This is a dream. When’s he going to wake up?

Kacchan pants against his cheek. His boxers go further, and further, and further, tantalizingly slow, until Izuku has to lift up his hips to get them off. They tangle around his knees and then slip to the floor entirely.

Kacchan grazes his earlobe with pointy canine teeth. Izuku preens.

“You want me to jerk you off? Wanna feel my cock on yours, Izuku?”

His name, his name, oh God, this is crazy. The room spins. He can’t breathe.

“I do. Yeah.” Izuku kisses him again, overcome. He tilts his pelvis forward, searching, eager.

It allows space for Kacchan to crumple down his own underwear. Just enough to tug himself free. He bunches it to his thighs and suddenly takes them both in one hand.

Izuku doesn’t even try to hide his moan, just lets the sound rip from his throat like an amateur home-video whore. He pushes his entire body against Kacchan, feels the rumble in his partner’s chest. Kacchan’s noisy too, the illusion of self-control is fading fast.

“Oh, my God.” Izuku gasps. “You—,”

He’s what? Izuku doesn’t even know. His brain has left the building.

“Fuckkkk.” Kacchan growls at the same time.

This is not going to last long.

Kacchan gives them a few testing strokes. Deft fingers brush over sensitive skin, teasing, edging. He lets go, and Izuku’s about to shout a complaint, when he hears his boyfriend spit.

And wow, it’s so much better wet. This isn’t really wet enough, lotion would be way better, but, he’s pretty sure they’d both rather die than get up right now.

Kacchan sets a fast pace; they’ve waited way too long to take things slow, that much is obvious now. Izuku tosses his head back and cries out as it builds and builds. It won’t take much for him to burst. The sound alone is straight porn.

“You look so good.” Kacchan grunts. He has to adjust his grip. “Shit. So beautiful.”

Izuku has never thought of himself as beautiful, but the compliment makes his heart skip a beat. Kacchan really must think that, or they wouldn’t be doing this.

He looks good too, when Izuku can focus enough to look. Handsome, and sweaty, and scarlet.

(It smells exactly how Izuku thought it would. He’s never going to be normal in the locker room ever again. All he’ll be able to think about is Kacchan rubbing one out when he catches a whiff of his uniform between washes.)

Kacchan spits again, directly onto their cocks, lets it dribble between his fingers. It’s sticky, and sexy, and mouth-watering. He slips the heads together, works over them until Izuku is wailing. Just a handjob and he’s falling to pieces. His legs shake hard, partially from the exertion of rocking into the feeling and partially from trying not to come.

“Knew you’d be a screamer.” Kacchan mutters. “Hoped you’d be a fucking screamer. Can’t wait to fuck you, Jesus Christ. You’re gonna lose your voice when I’m done with you.”

“Oh, God,” Izuku screws his eyes shut. He can’t wait, either. Izuku can’t imagine fucking too much right now, he’ll implode.

“Katsuki.” He blabs. Izuku jerks harder into every touch. “Mmm. Yeah.—Fuck!”

Saying his name does something to Kacchan, the same way it does to Izuku. He’s rewarded with a punched out, breathy noise and a tighter grip. Another string of spit, dripping onto his balls.

“The fucking mouth on you.” Kacchan continues. “So hot. Can’t wait to fill it up. Bet you’d like that, huh?”

Oh, yeah, Izuku will drain him. He’ll suck Kacchan’s soul out.

“You’re—you’re one to talk!” Izuku squeals. “Way dirtier mouth than me!”

Kacchan humphs and smirks. He wrings his hand up and down, base to tip, enveloping them both. Izuku is losing his ever-loving mind.

“Keep this shit up and we might change that.” He teases.

“Nn, I—I don’t know how much longer I—,” Izuku cut himself off with a whine. He’s so close it hurts.

Kacchan uses his free hand to slam them into a kiss. It’s more teeth than lips. His fingers nest into Izuku’s curls but they’re gentle over the fuzzy, still-growing-back patch of hair.

“Oh, Kacchan.” Izuku blubbers into his mouth. His boyfriend’s pace starts to stutter, sloppy, but still firm.

“Gonna come for me, Izuku?” Kacchan whispers. “Come all over yourself for me, babe—Fuck, I wanna see it.”

More spit. So hot. They gulp each other’s air, choking on nitroglycerine, and Izuku nearly topples off the couch with how much he’s writhing. Kacchan holds onto him, keeps him anchored, but blasts him out of orbit. Izuku sees stars, planets, galaxies, the whole freaking universe.

“Ah—ah, oh, I’m—Kacchan, I’m—!”

“Fuck. Yes, fuck, Deku. There you go.”

He comes hard with a yelp, painting Kacchan’s fist and abdomen with white. His partner doesn’t let up, jerks them both off until Izuku can’t catch his breath. It’s fantastic, it’s supernova, it’s beyond reality. He’s practically sobbing by the time Kacchan comes too.

His orgasm is much quieter but still music to Izuku’s ears. He loops the groaning over and over, it’s his to keep. Hot cum laces his thighs, his happy trail.

They finally lapse into the cooldown. Izuku keeps balance on Kacchan’s shoulders and presses their temples together. Their scarred chests heave in tandem, sweaty blonde hair tangles with green. Izuku sinks forward, letting all his weight droop onto the man in front of him. His. Home. Izuku’s so happy.

It takes him a few minutes to refill his lungs. Kacchan traces shapes over Izuku’s shoulder blades. Dialogue from the forgotten movie buzzes, comfortable background noise.

“Wow.” Izuku finally rasps. “And to think you were gonna make us wait for that.”

Kacchan flicks him. “Shut the hell up.”

Izuku snuggles into him. He doesn’t care that they’re disgusting right now.

“I love you, Kacchan.” He says into his hair. “That was…really special.”

It was another level, actually. Izuku’s already itching to do it again. Sex is going to be…like, Izuku might die?

Kacchan snorts, but his flat palm skates up and down Izuku’s spine. He lightly massages the back of Izuku’s neck. Affectionate, soft. “Cheesy ass…”

Izuku assumes he’s going to leave it at that, but Kacchan’s nose brushes over his a few times, like a cat. A surprise kiss is pressed into his slick forehead.

“I love you, too, Deku...Now get off and shower with me, your jizz is drying into my fucking leg hair.”

Chapter Text

Katsuki wakes up to the smell of something burning, arid in his nose. He jolts, worrying he fried a fucking hole in his sheets again during a nightmare. His eyes snap open and he panics—this isn’t his room, where the fuck is he—

Oh. Right. Deku’s room.

Katsuki sinks back into the mattress, catching his breath. Realizes it smells less like a house fire and more like charred batter. He scoffs out a laugh, rubs his face. Kicks off the blankets.

Deku’s bed is smaller than his and loaded with pillows. Lack of space had them spooning most of the night. (Yeah, lack of space, that’s what it was.) The cracked curtains let in a tiny bit of sunlight, helping Katsuki blink into full consciousness.

Deku’s room is a train wreck, of course. Clothes, random pieces of gear, books, action figures, packaged protein bars all over the fucking place. He’s the type to leave his drawers open all the time to easily yank shit out of them. His closet is crammed full of pro hero merch but Katsuki swears he only ever wears the same five outfits. Katsuki knew he’d be a slob.

He had barked about the mess before they went to sleep last night, but Deku only laughed.

He climbs out of bed and pads to the living room, clad in nothing but boxers. His clothes from the night before are strewn out there somewhere.

Ah, no. Deku’s wearing his shirt. It hangs off his shoulders, too big. Not big enough to hide his perky ass in gray sweatpants, though. That’s…fucking cute. Damn. He suddenly wants to offer Deku all his old t-shirts.

“Kacchan!” Deku greets him brightly. Pink cheeks, messy hair. He turns away from the stove to greet Katsuki, spatula in hand. “Uh, so, I tried to make pancakes, but…”

“Is that what that stench is?” Katsuki rolls his eyes. He scoops up his pants from the floor and hops into them. Gets closer to see the damage.

“Jesus.” Katsuki snorts. A blackened disc of batter sticks to the bottom of the pan. Two more are cracked in half on a plate beside it. “How the hell did you manage this?”

Deku sighs and flicks off the burner. “I maybeeee got distracted on my phone and let them sit too long.”

“You think?” Katsuki teases.

Deku sets down the spatula on the counter. He twists completely to instead run his palms over Katsuki’s bare chest. It makes his breath catch. Memories from the night before carousel through his brain.

“Just trying to be sweet for you.” Deku says. He slides his fingers up to Katsuki’s face and steals him in a long kiss. No urgency behind it, soft, slow, lazy, a way to say, “good morning.” Warmth seeps like molasses through Katsuki’s ribcage.

Why had they been so fucking stupid and blind for so long? This is so much better than dancing around each other, walking on eggshells.

When they separate, Katsuki loops his arms around Deku’s shoulders. Holds him close. It’s not as difficult as it was before, showing some affection. He’s a little less embarrassed, even if he’s blushing. It’s still nice to know his feelings are reciprocated.

(Blegh, feelings.)

“Thought that counts, I guess.” Katsuki mumbles. “Even though you fucked up breakfast. Thanks anyway, nerd.”

Deku nuzzles him. “Anything for you.”

Damn him being cute again.

They sway for a minute and Katsuki breathes him in.

“Let’s go out for food, I’m hungry as hell.” He says eventually. Deku makes a pouty noise when Katsuki finally lets go.

“Fineeee.” He whines. Deku dumps the contents of the pan into the trash and plops it in the sink to soak with an unnecessary amount of bubbles.

“Can I get my shirt back?” Katsuki asks him, pinching the hem of it. “All your shit’s gonna be too small for me.”

Deku spins to face him again and smiles mischievously.

“Oh, why, ‘cause of all your big muscles?” He reaches out and grabs Katsuki’s bicep with a greedy hand, damp from the faucet. He strokes it up and down. “Which way’s the beach, huh? Point the direction for me?”

“Oh my God, shut up. No, it’s ‘cause you’re a short stack. Your shirts’ll all be above my belly button.”

He ignores the way Deku’s touch makes his stomach swirl pleasantly.

“Hmm, Kacchan in a crop top? Maybe I shouldn’t give it back.” Deku winks, tilts up his chin.

Skank.

“I’m about to steal it back if you don’t.” Katsuki threatens, maybe with a little more rasp in his voice than intended.

“I’d like to see you try.” Deku grins, before sprinting out of the kitchen and into the living room. An electric zip of Black Whip skirts through the air, sticks to the bedroom door frame for leverage. Katsuki almost catches him, but falls short when Deku hurdles the couch. (He totally could’ve nabbed him, but using Katsuki’s Quirk indoors would fuck something up.)

“Brat.” Katsuki gripes. He rounds the couch as Deku slams the bedroom door shut in his face, giggling like a little kid.

It’s not locked, Katsuki throws it open with ease. Deku jumps into bed and hides under the comforter, laughter like music, or something else really, super gay. Katsuki tackles him.

“Nooo, it’s my shirt now!” Deku screeches. He doesn’t put up a fight as Katsuki tugs it over his head. Or when Katsuki kisses him.

“Mmm.” Deku sighs into it after a yelp of surprise. Quick reflexes have his arms wrapped around Katsuki’s neck in one second. They fall flat, Katsuki on top. Deku droops his legs open and wraps them around Katsuki’s torso. And that’s nice. Their whole bodies, glued together, bare-chested, hell fucking yeah. Deku’s necklace is a cool line smushed between hot skin.

Katsuki licks Deku’s bottom lip, uncaring that neither of them have brushed their teeth. His partner hums a second time and opens up for him. He tastes kinda like they were supposed to have blueberry pancakes. Sweet. Fruity. (Hah. Deku is fucking fruity.)

The gentle glide of their mouths doesn’t last long. Within two minutes they’re making lewd sounds and Katsuki’s sucking a hickey onto Deku’s right pec. Deku’s strong thighs squeeze the daylights out of him and Katsuki can feel his hard-on against his stomach. His own made itself known the moment they hit the mattress.

“Kacchan.” Deku breathes, brushing through Katsuki’s hair. He moans heavily when Katsuki mouths over his nipple. He toys with the other one, for good measure, relishes in the way Deku’s chest rises and falls faster. His fingers twist into the golden chain. His.

Katsuki moves to kiss him again, tingling all over. Why had he been so fucking jumpy about everything, this is—this is fun. This is nice.

Shit, this is nice.

Deku accepts the kiss, arching up when Katsuki’s hips push down. Deku’s hands scrounge around to clutch his biceps and maybe Katsuki’s flexes them, okay? Maybe he loves the satisfaction of knowing he can turn Deku on.

They kiss until his lips are numb and the rest of Katsuki’s body is on fire. Every once in a while a spark jumps off his palms but Deku either hasn’t felt it or doesn’t care.

“Izuku,” Katsuki breaks away to look at him. His boyfriend’s pupils are blown wide and his lips glisten with their shared spit. If Katsuki stares hard enough he can see his pulse jumping at the neck. He wants to press a kiss there.

Katsuki doesn’t even know what he was going to say. He really just wanted to look at him. He’s so goddamn lame, so obnoxiously in love, he’s—

“Can I give you head?” Deku pants from his place in the pillows. Then he bites his fucking lip. Katsuki splutters, more heat rips through his body.

Jesus Christ.

“Huh?” He gapes. Because there’s no way this isn’t a dream now, right? Deku just asking—

“Can I give you head, like, go down on you?” Deku repeats. His eyebrows raise in earnest. He grasps Katsuki’s shoulders.

“Holy fuck.” Katsuki says back, which isn’t an answer but it’s all he can come up with on the spot. His forehead splats into Deku’s collarbone.

Deku laughs and tries to tilt his face up, to no avail, “So, yes? No? It’s okay if not—,”

“No,” Katsuki says into his skin. Wait. Wrong. “I mean, no—as in not ‘no,’ it’s—fuck. Yeah. Yes.”

Of fucking course Deku can give him head.

Then Deku flips them, without warning. Katsuki grunts and tries not to pass out when his pants are yanked off in a flash. Deku reaches for the waistband of his boxers, but Katsuki lightly kicks him in the side.

“Hey, you too.” He complains. “Get fucking naked. I’m not gonna be the only one.”

He watches Deku roll his eyes playfully and shimmy out of his bottoms. Sweatpants and boxers hit the floor and Katsuki aches with how much he wants to have him. His mouth and the rest of him.

Actually, duh, he can totally have both.

Deku starts to climb between his legs again but Katsuki speaks up.

“Turn around.” He instructs, shucking off his own underwear. “Get on top.”

Deku’s green eyes fucking glint. He smiles like the Cheshire Cat. “I told you yesterday, Kacchan, you really do have million-dollar ideas in there.”

“Shut the hell up and sit on my face, Deku.”

********

“Gladly.” Izuku purrs. A shiver walks down his spine as he climbs into position, lowering himself over Kacchan’s chin. It’s been a while since he sixty-nined with anyone. A flame of self-consciousness whips through him, but it’s Kacchan, he’ll be fine. Better than fine, actually. He’s so excited that his ears ring.

“Holy fuck, you’re so hot.” Kacchan groans right away, immediately quelling his anxiety. His hands slap onto Izuku’s ass, a delicious sting. “Jesus, Izuku.”

Kacchan’s voice gets so hoarse. His sweaty fingers trace over Izuku’s body, down his lower back, along his hips. Kacchan spreads him, and before Izuku can even get a palm around his boyfriend’s dick, Kacchan’s mouth is on him.

Izuku jumps at the warm, wet sensation between his cheeks. Yes.

“Ahhh!” He cries into the air. His thighs clench right away and he rocks into it over and over, chasing pleasure. “Oh, Kacchan, yeah!”

Kacchan moans in response against his rim and Izuku sees stars. When a dexterous tongue begins to push into him, he threatens to fall apart. Izuku rides his face, whimpering.

“So good.” He whispers because he can’t manage anything louder. His head lolls to the side.

“Hey,” Kacchan pulls back just enough to get a word out, stalling the movement. His hot breath there, the vibrations of his words, wow. “Am I gonna do all the work here? Takes two to sixty-nine, babe.”

Babe, oh, it rockets through him. Izuku’s such a slut for pet names. He fists the sheets with a gasp at another onslaught from Kacchan’s mouth.

Right, getting to work.

He weakly drops to one elbow, whining, and takes the base of Kacchan’s dick with his other hand. He’s rewarded with a deep grumble, a tantalizing swipe of tongue at his core. Izuku feels Kacchan’s fingertips begin to play against him.

This is crazy. Insane. One for All thrums under his skin. If Izuku isn’t careful he’ll Float to the ceiling like in the coat closet.

Kacchan pinches his ass, another reminder to get going already.

It’s sexy when he’s so horny.

“Sorry, sorry, you’re just—really good at this, Kacchan, haaah.” Izuku mumbles. His hair sticks to his forehead, they’re both sweating so much already. The sizzling smell of Kacchan’s Quirk froths around the room. Delectable.

Izuku gathers himself as much as he can. He’s a pro at blowjobs. One of his specialties, actually.

He starts with a teasing lick around the pink head of Kacchan’s cock. The first brush of it makes Kacchan buck his hips, squeeze his ass harder. A strangled sound echoes behind him but he doesn’t let up on eating Izuku out. He feels the word “fuck” inside himself more than he hears it.

Izuku takes him further. Inches down, opens his mouth wide while his tongue laps happily. He slowly fills his throat all the way to the hilt. Under him, Kacchan’s thighs shake hard. He groans into Izuku.

And, oh, it’s perfect. Kacchan’s heavy on Izuku’s tongue, thick in his mouth. Izuku starts to bob his head, hollow his cheeks. Licks circles until his jaw is sore, but doesn’t dare stop. Builds a pattern that’s just inconsistent enough to keep Kacchan guessing.

Kacchan doesn’t stop either. Slathers his asshole with spit and then lightly presses a finger to it. Like he’s waiting for an okay.

“Yes!” Izuku pops off to call out. He doesn’t recognize his own voice, it’s gravelly from the blowjob and the wild passion whirl-winding through him. “Yes, do that, fuck me.”

Kacchan growls. “Nnnngh, Deku.”

Izuku really doesn’t care at this point if it’s fingerfucking or real fucking, he just wants it.

And he sure gets it.

Kacchan pushes into him with one digit, suckling his taint at the same time.

Izuku’s pretty sure he might die, right here and now. Society will collapse, because number one hero, Deku, will perish. Somebody else can deal with it.

“Ooooh, my God.” Izuku bellows as his partner quickly starts dragging in and out. He finds his prostate in under a minute, like magic, a match made in Heaven. “Ka—Don’t stop!”

Katsuki spits above his balls. Izuku sees God?

“You don’t stop either, baby. Shit.”

There’s that baby again, Izuku’s gonna cry, it feels so perfect. He bears down hard and revels in the unforgiving rhythm. His cock leaks precum between their stomachs.

Izuku gets back to it, hoping this is the greatest head Kacchan’s ever had, hoping he’s returning the favor. His right hand joins his mouth, pumping slick saliva from base to tip. At the same time, finger number two pounds Izuku’s g-spot and he knows he’s going to come in about three minutes.

“Kacchan, you—you’re—fuck.” He screws his eyes shut when he chokes off for air. Kacchan must be able to breathe through his skin or something, because he’s barely taken any breaks.

“I’m what, Izuku?” Kacchan asks suddenly. His fingers, ugh, they slow down. Izuku arches his back to try and follow as they slip all the way out.

“You’re—,” Izuku searches for words. His mile-a-minute brain struggles for once, chocked full of hormones. “I-I dunno—why’d you stop, Kacchan? C’monnnn.”

“Hmm.” Kacchan runs his hands over the smooth skin of Izuku’s butt—and then he clutches his waist and tosses Izuku forward. Izuku’s tummy bounces off the mattress and he lands with his ass in the air. Kacchan spanks him, once, not too hard, and Izuku goes crosseyed.

“How about…I’m the best fucking boyfriend you’ve ever had? Huh? About to make you come untouched, baby.”

Izuku really wishes he wasn’t face-first in the sheets, because he’d give anything to see Kacchan’s expression right about now. But he’s also living for this.

Another crack of a slap and then—oh God, then—Kacchan dives back in, eating him out like he’s starved. His fingers push in, back to their breakneck pace from before.

Izuku overloads like an old computer. He keens and feels teardrops gather in the corner of his eyes. This isn’t even—Kacchan’s dick is going to destroy him. If he’s about to orgasm so hard from oral and a little intense fingerfucking.

“You’re—yes, you’re the best ever, holy wow. Number one, Kacchan.” Izuku babbles. He can hear Kacchan touching himself at the praise, can feel the dripping head of his cock smear the back of Izuku’s thigh.

“That’s right, Izuku, goddamn.” Kacchan licks a stripe over his asscheek, up to the dimple in his back. He strikes the same pulsing spot over and over and Izuku drools into the blankets.

It takes over suddenly, the absolute barrage of his orgasm. Builds rapid-fire in Izuku’s body like a hot coil. Winds and winds tighter until his whole frame is trembling. Izuku slams his hips backwards into Kacchan’s hand, his mouth, and wails when he comes.

Kacchan’s tongue backs off so he can watch but his fingers follow through. He keeps up the steady tempo even after Izuku’s made a mess underneath himself. One for All dances from his feet to his forearms, crackles green, and Kacchan makes a quiet, impressed noise behind him.

“Fuck, yeah,” His partner appreciates aloud. While Izuku pants and shivers Kacchan jerks himself off at the sight. He pushes the length of his cock between Izuku’s asscheeks, not fucking him, just teasing. Izuku squeals at the overstimulation but it morphs into another moan when he feels Kacchan’s hot load splatter his lower back.

A million times, wow.

“Ahhhh, Deku.” Kacchan exhales. He rubs his cum across Izuku’s skin, just a little, as both of them return to reality.

“God, you’re mine.” Kacchan says quietly a few moments later, surprising him. Izuku’s heart bursts at the verbal admiration.

He lets his head finally flop to the bed, totally spent. Kacchan’s clean hand scratches his back a few times and goosebumps trail in the wake.

“Mm, don’t sleep.” His boyfriend says gruffly before clearing his throat. “We’re still going to breakfast.”

He hears Kacchan leave the room in search of a towel to clean him off. When he comes back, Izuku laughs tiredly. “Kacchan, didn’t we just have breakfast?”

Kacchan spanks him yet again.

********

Since it’s fucking noon by the time they get to the coffee shop, it’s no longer breakfast. Katsuki’s stomach growls irritably but he’s otherwise in a good mood. A-plus morning, honestly. He’s walking on clouds.

Deku hangs off of him while they wait in line, clingy since their little romp. He keeps reading Katsuki funny tweets and showing him pictures of dogs dressed up like pro heroes from some goofy account. Katsuki doesn’t mind. If anyone gives them a look he’ll blast their face off. They both wear nondescript clothes and baseball caps, not in the mood for company. (Well, Katsuki’s not in the mood for company. He wants Deku all to himself a little longer.)

Deku orders a goddamned chocolate Frappuccino with extra whipped cream and syrup. Katsuki orders an iced latte, like a sane person, and two sausage-egg burritos for their protein.

“And a blueberry muffin!” Deku tags on. Katsuki allows it because he knows how Deku tastes after eating blueberries now, and he likes it. Katsuki pays for it all and Deku thanks him with a squeeze to the arm.

They take their food to a booth in the back corner and settle in, side by side. They watch the news absentmindedly while they eat and Deku rubs his foot against Katsuki’s ankle under the table. Headlines about a recent victory from Red Riot and Chargebolt scroll onscreen.

It’s not too busy right now. A few students scribble essays and some remote workers click away at their laptops. Chic, well-dressed business people have a meeting in the corner. Two teenagers geek over something on their Nintendo Switches three tables over.

Katsuki looks up when the entry bell jingles, out of habit. None other than Hawks strolls in, talking on the phone. He’s fresh off patrol by the looks of it, but this must be a place he frequents, because nobody bats an eye. An aproned employee waves and passes Hawks a brown paper bag labeled “Hwk BEC bagel” and a caramel macchiato. He shoulders his cell to his ear and takes the items with a thumbs up. Hawks hands the guy a bill, wiggles his fingers to say “keep the change,” and then slides into the booth right in front of them.

Katsuki bites down on his annoyance because Hawks luckily didn’t even see them. Maybe he’ll just leave soon and Katsuki won’t have to explain to their sort-of boss why Deku’s cuddled into his side.

Deku raises his eyebrows and then smiles behind his hand. When Katsuki doesn’t catch on, he taps his ear and points in Hawks’ direction.

Oh. Eavesdrop. Okay, sure.

“…the best chicken katsu you’ve ever had…um, no, it’s not ‘weirdly cannibalistic’ for me to eat chicken, I’m not a fucking chicken?…Whatever, screw you…Hah! Gladly. Soon, actually.—Anyway, yeah, I’m gonna pick you up. Shoto was going to at first but I may have Venmoed him, like, two hundred dollars to switch with me—Not a joke! I just wanna see you…Hm, no, I don’t value you any more than that, that’s your cap, babe. Two hundo. And you better make it up to me.”

Ew, vomit, if he’s talking like this, he’s talking to Dabi, for sure.

Deku snickers and they continue to listen. Hawks’ voice gets quieter.

“…Nah, don’t worry, we’ll bypass the ol’ estate, nooo pitstops. They can wait. We’ll go right to my place—oooh, our place? Cute, right? We’ll have to get a doormat with our names on it like a white woman on Pinterest would have…Hah! Uhh…damn, you are in a good mood today. Taste of freedom on your tongue?…No, stop, haha! I’m in public, hot stuff. But I like your thought process.”

Katsuki cringes and Deku smothers a laugh into his shoulder. Funny thing is, this isn’t the first time they’ve stumbled into one of Hawks’ conversations with Dabi. That idiot has no sense of privacy, apparently.

“Cool it though, only one day…Yeah, I technically do have work, but, trying to get somebody to switch with me again. I’ll ask Bakugou, him and Tokoyami work really well together. I’m, like, kind of his supervisor or whatever, so he’ll probably say yes.”

Katsuki’s eyebrow twitches.

“Huh? Yeah. So don’t worry your sweet little mind about it…No, I’m not being annoying, it’s called flirting.” Hawks laughs gently. “…Oh. Man, all right. Well, I can’t wait to see you. Everything’ll be fine, okay?”

Katsuki blinks at the way his voice gets soft. Reminds him of how he talks to Deku, sometimes. When shit’s difficult.

“…Love you…” There’s a long pause. Then, “Awww, you are in a good mood. Almost never say it back, it’s like pulling teeth to get you to—okay, okay. Yeah. See you soon. Bye.”

They hear Hawks set his phone down on the table. Katsuki gives it thirty seconds before he pushes to stand. So what if he just had a moment, or whatever. Hawks apparently thinks Katsuki is at his beck and call and that’s stupid as hell.

“Kacchan—what are you doing?!” Deku whisper-shouts, pulling his shirt sleeve. He slides out of the booth behind Katsuki, glued to his heels as he takes the three steps forward to stand before Hawks.

The winged hero chews on a huge bite of bagel. He chokes at the sight of Katsuki standing over him. Hawks pounds a fist to his chest and clears it with a swig of coffee.

“Bakugou.” He laughs awkwardly. His cheeks go pink. Caught. “Midoriya. Hey.”

Katsuki crosses his arms impatiently. Next to him, Deku steams with embarrassment that they were clearly listening. Who cares. Dumbass shouldn’t have those conversations in a coffee shop if he doesn’t want anyone to hear them.

“So, what are you asking me to do? Supervisor?” Katsuki’s jaw twinges.

“Hah! Oh, man.” Hawks sets down his coffee and bacon, egg, and cheese bagel. He folds his hands together on the tabletop. “Heard that, huh?”

“Obviously.” Katsuki snipes.

“Kacchan.” Deku pokes him hard in the side.

“Didn’t see you guys here.” Hawks admits. “In my own little world on the phone, y’know?”

“Clearly.”

“Uhh…” Hawks leans back against the booth. He sucks his teeth and drums his fingers then turns to face them. “Sooo. I need a favor, again?”

“Right.”

Hawks’ eyes roam the coffee shop and his voice lowers, even though no one’s paying attention. Now he has the decency to keep it down?

“…Dabi’s…getting out tomorrow. He served his time, good behavior, therapy, ‘vast improvement,’ the works, so he’s allowed to rejoin society on a super strict parole.”

Katsuki’s eyes threaten to jump from their sockets. Deku stiffens beside him.

“You’re joking.”

Hawks stifles a smirk. “Uh, no. Ankle monitor and all.—Don’t freak out, he’s—he’s different, all right? And he’ll be under my watchful eye and all that, and they’re suppressing his Quirk so he won’t be a danger to anybody, so...”

“Wow.” Deku finally says. “That’s…”

His boyfriend nods, probably reliving flashbacks too. Deku gnaws his lower lip and then lifts his chin definitively.

“Y’know what? People can change.” He declares. “If he’s a good person now, I commend him for it! And—I know if it wasn’t the right thing to do, Shoto wouldn’t let it happen. So, that’s great, Hawks.”

Hawks’ mouth slopes upwards in surprise. “Thanks, Midoriya.”

Goddamn softies. Katsuki grumbles.

“So, what, you need me to do your job again, so you can go pick up your hotheaded boyfriend from the slammer? And I’m just supposed to agree?”

Hawks shrugs and his wings flutter against the back of the booth with the motion. “Well, you don’t have to agree, I can ask somebody else—”

“Great. Do that. I’m not even supposed to work tomorrow.”

“Kacchan!” Deku hisses, slapping him in the bicep.

Katsuki rolls his eyes. “Ugh, fine! Whatever. I’ll do it. Only ‘cause Deku’ll have a coronary if I don’t, apparently.”

Hawks looks between the two of them. He grins like a conniving little bastard. Katsuki reads it on his face, he knows. It’s like a neon sign flashes above their heads, saying, “Katsuki Bakugou and Izuku Midoriya are fucking and Katsuki’s whipped.”

“Thank you, Bakugou.” Hawks says. “What did I say before, ‘love is weird,’ right? I appreciate it a lot.”

That motherfucker. Katsuki rolls his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Sure as hell is.”

“Awesome!” Hawks chirps. “I’ll have Tokoyami link up with you. Nothing crazy tomorrow, local, regular patrolling. Not even early! Ten AM shift. So you can…sleep in.” He raises his eyebrows and Katsuki wants to slap them off his face.

“Kacchan will be there!” Deku grips his elbow. Annoying, both of them.

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll fucking be there.”

“Great!” Hawks crumples the remainder of his bagel into the paper bag for later and snatches it off the table with his coffee. “If you’ll excuse me, guys, I gotta get back to it, this was just a little lunch break.”

He climbs out of the booth with an obnoxious flap of wings and pats Katsuki’s shoulder in passing.

“Catch you later? Enjoy your date!”

Katsuki feels his face flush hot. He blushes so hard he sees red. “Why, you—”

Deku clenches onto his elbow with an iron grip and waves. “Byeee, Hawks!”

********

When Kacchan leaves the following morning (after another world-crumbling hand job in the shower), Izuku calls up Shoto. He answers on the fourth ring and it sounds static-y like his headset.

“Hello?” Shoto greets. Wind buffets behind his voice, he’s definitely working.

“Shoto, I have so much to tell you!” Izuku squeals. He’s laid up in bed, kicking his feet.

“Oh, God, are you going to give me details about your sex life while I’m on the clock?” Shoto sighs.

Izuku laughs brightly and stares at his ceiling. “No, no, not details. But stuff happened, like, third base stuff. Amazing stuff. For being, like, the way he is, Kacchan’s actually a super sweet lover…I feel all special.”

Shoto chuckles. “Do you think he’d really want you talking to me about this? So glad I know Bakugou is a ‘super sweet lover.’”

“Probably not but I don’t care.” Izuku shrugs. “How’s Shinsou?—Actually, wait, we talked to Hawks…about Dabi? Kacchan’s covering his shift today. How are you doing with that?”

Izuku hears a scrape of concrete, Shoto landing on a rooftop. “Iida, I’m taking five.”

There’s a rustle while Shoto gets settled. “Hah, yeah, I hear Bakugou working a district over. He’s blowing stuff up, currently. No idea what’s going on over there…And, uh, I’m fine, I guess. Kinda strange but what can you do? We’ll see what happens. It could be…really good, for our family. But I’d rather talk about our boyfriends, to be honest.”

Izuku giggles. “Two ex-boyfriends talking about their current boyfriends.”

“I’d barely even call what we had a relationship, ‘Zu.”

“That’s true. Your turn, tell me about Shinsou. How are things?” Izuku plays with a stray string on his shirt. Kacchan’s shirt. Smells like his sweat.

“He’s…good.” Shoto exhales through his nose. “We match well together, oddly enough…I also…feel special with him, you know? We get each other.”

“Awww.” Izuku gushes. “Cuteee.”

“Yeah. He’s really sarcastic, and—hold on.”

Izuku waits, used to frequent interruptions when any of them call while working. Could be a few minutes.

“What, Iida?” Shoto asks, on the other line. “Seriously?—Yes.—No, I’m not far. I’ll be right there.”

“Shoto?” Izuku prompts, chilled at his suddenly-serious tone of voice. “What’s going on?”

A boom echoes into the speaker, deafening. Probably even worse for Shoto’s eardrums. Izuku swears he feels his own apartment shake.

“Shoto?” He repeats, hearing the whoosh of his friend flying through the air, gliding with fire and ice.

“Shoto, answer me, seriously.” Izuku begs. He squeezes his cellphone so hard it almost cracks.

Another boom. An explosion of mass proportion. Would level a building. There’s really only one person who could…He sits up in bed and wrenches open the blinds. Miles away, fat plumes of smoke waft to the sky. “What is that—what’s going on?”

“Uh...” Shoto finally says, strained from exertion. Ice crackles in the background. “Just…Iida joined in with Bakugou and Tokoyami. There’s a villain over here, a conjurer. She made a dragon? Monster. Sort of.—I gotta go, Izuku.”

“Wait!” Izuku yelps. “I can help, lemme just—I see it out my window, I know exactly where to go!” He stumbles out of bed and tears into his closet for a spare uniform. An old prototype, but it’ll work. He can be there in minutes.

“No, Izuku.” Shoto replies. “You know the rules, your partner’s with somebody else right now. They’ll give you a demerit, fine you—,”

“I don’t care.” Izuku growls. “I’m the number one hero, I can’t just—,”

Another blaring blast pairs with an ear-splitting roar. Izuku flies to the window to see something shaped vaguely like Godzilla shoot beams of blue into the air. Orange twinkles surround it; Kacchan’s Quirk. The swooping arc of Dark Shadow, the sharp sting of icicles. Iida must be on the ground, going at its legs.

“I’m on my way!”

He doesn’t hang up, puts the phone on speaker and wrestles into his gear. Izuku hears more noises like gunfire, the rush and sizzle of flames. He’s lacing his boots in record time when another giant detonation reverberates. Out the window, smoke smogs into an even larger cloud.

“Shit.” Izuku hisses. “Shoto—are you there?”

A clusterfuck of sounds scatter over the receiver. Yells, and Quirks, and the rumbling of the creature. Izuku affixes his own earpiece and swaps the call to it.

“Shoto.” He repeats, rushing to get out the door. He locks the deadbolt with hands that glow green already.

“Izuku,” Shoto gasps finally. “Don’t come here.”

A lick of anger flashes through him. He doesn’t care about the formalities. He’s going!

“No way, I’m leaving now—,”

“No, I mean—,” Shoto cuts him off aggressively. There’s a muffled thud and the hot whistle of firepower. “Go to the hospital. Immediately. Iida’s about to run Bakugou there. It’s—it’s bad.”

Izuku goes cold. Frozen to the core.

“What?!”

His stomach threatens to empty itself and his heart stops beating. “How did that happen so fast, I—,”

“I know.” Shoto audibly grits his teeth. He coughs. “Backup is coming here—just go.”

Izuku chokes in panic.

And then flies as fast as he can.

Chapter Text

Izuku bursts through the sliding doors of the hospital with far too much speed. His boots squeal on the linoleum as he skids to a halt and a nearby nurse screams in surprise. Dozens of patients in the waiting room gasp and the receptionist drops the phone from her ear with a clatter.

Izuku breathes heavily and curls Black Whip back towards his body. Little fizzles of One for All dance over his skin.

“Where’s Dynamight?!” He shouts at a woman in scrubs, the first one his eyes land on. “He just—is he here yet?!”

Iida had to have arrived already. He’s so much faster than Izuku.

“Please!” He begs. The nurse shrinks back in a panic at his outburst. Izuku holds up his hands, trying to calm her, even though he’s the one yelling. “You have to let me see him! I—”

“Midoriya.”

Izuku whips around. Aizawa stands in the hallway, arms crossed over his chest. The heavy blanket of his Quirk befalls Izuku, like a shower of rain. Aizawa’s hair stands on end as Black Whip and One for All vanish.

“Calm down. Come here.”

Izuku inhales shakily. He rubs the back of his neck, embarrassed. His gut turns over.

“S-sorry, everyone.” He apologizes to the crowd, hurrying towards his former teacher.

Aizawa catches Izuku’s shoulder and steers him down the hall to another adjacent, empty room. It’s an unoccupied office with a big desk and a ton of scattered files. Banker boxes of paperwork line the walls. Aizawa urges Izuku to sit in one of the chairs and then finally eases up on his Quirk. It’s still there, settling around him like fog, but it’s not as constricting.

Izuku’s whole body trembles as he asks questions rapid-fire.

“Where is he? Can I see him? Is he going to be okay? Do you know—”

“Midoriya.” Aizawa repeats. He squeezes his shoulder again and it reminds Izuku of his mom, in the back of his head. He wants to cry like a little kid.

“You really do need to calm down.” Aizawa says. “If you act up too much, they’ll kick you out. You can’t be a risk to other patients.”

Izuku doesn’t care.

“Is he here? Did he make it?” His eyes well up with tears. What if Aizawa says something horrible? What if Kacchan’s in a coma, what if he never wakes up, what if he’s already—

“He’s here. Iida got him in incredibly quickly. He’s in emergency surgery now, so you can’t go see him. I’m sorry. I know that’s hard.”

Izuku scrubs his eyes and looks up. He fights a hiccup. “You have to let me see him, Mister Aizawa. Please. We’re partners.”

Aizawa nods. “I know you’re partners. But that doesn’t mean you can barge into an operating room, Deku.—Hey, keep breathing for me. Don’t hold it.”

“No, we’re…,” Izuku shakes his head. He swallows hard and wipes his face again. “I mean we’re partners.”

He hopes the emphasis comes through, even though his voice is uneven and strained.

Aizawa inhales in surprise, raises his eyebrows in the slightest.

“Oh…Well. Hm. I should’ve seen that coming, I guess…But even so, Midoriya, you have to wait. They’re working to save his life right now. You can’t interrupt.”

Oh, God. Izuku’s going to throw up. He presses his palms into his forehead as waves of nausea wrack through him.

“What—what happened?” He nearly whispers, feeling like he’s been stripped down to the nerve endings. Everything is too bright, too much, too loud. Izuku feels raw.

“And what are you doing here?—And can you just, please, let me see him? Shoto said it was really bad. There’s gotta be a—a glass, like, wall, or something? Like in a movie? Where people can see? Please, Mister Aizawa. We just…”

Izuku chokes.

We finally got it together, is what he wants to say. We just found each other, after being side-by-side our whole lives.

Aizawa plops a hand into his hair paternally.

“Bakugou’s parents are out of the country for work. I’m here because I was nearby, and I’m still an emergency contact for all twenty of you. The creature…” Aizawa sighs. “Iida said Bakugou tried to jump into its mouth, ‘to blow it up from the inside.’ Sure sounds like something he’d do. The thing bit down on him though, and blasted him with one of its beams while it had a hold of him. He’s gouged pretty bad and their biggest concern is spinal damage…and his heart, obviously. It’s already, you know, compromised…But they think he’s going to pull through.”

Compromised.

Yeah.

“They think?” Izuku spits. He tucks his head between his knees and glares at the ugly pattern of the tile below. Izuku almost gags a few times and then salt slips down his cheeks. It’s too much. Kacchan hasn’t been hurt this bad since…

Since the war.

Izuku had nightmares for years, after that.

He’d said, “I love you, Kacchan!” this morning. He’d said, “See you tonight!”

And Kacchan had given him a big kiss and told him to, “Have a good day, nerd.”

Izuku sobs quietly into his hands. He hears the chair beside him scrape the floor as Aizawa sits down. Izuku’s mentor rubs circles into his shoulder blades, letting him cry.

“Did they say how long?” Izuku manages to ask. His voice is pathetic right now, that’s what Kacchan would say. He’d call him, like, a “whiny little baby.”

“No. I didn’t even get to talk to the head doctor. A nurse relayed it all. And Iida went back to the field, to help Shoto and Tokoyami. Nejire was dispatched to fill in Bakugou’s spot and Mirio and Tamaki were sent in as well.”

Izuku sniffles. “That’s good.”

“Yeah.” Aizawa agrees. “They’ll take them down fast.”

Izuku cries until he can’t anymore, until his head pounds and his eyes itch. He isn’t sure if it’s been fifteen minutes or forty-five. He sits up slowly so the room doesn’t spin.

“Thank you for being here.” He tells Aizawa weakly.

The other hero gives him a final pat on the back before letting his hand fall in his lap.

“You’re still my kids.” Aizawa admits after a pause. “…Even if you’re twenty-five year old brats who don’t pay back a hefty bar tab.”

Izuku can’t manage a laugh right now, but he snorts something close to one. He appreciates the attempt at humor in such a dark moment.

“Just hold out, all right?” Aizawa continues gently. “They’ll let us know as soon as there’s an update.”

Not “as soon as he’s out of surgery.” Not “as soon as he’s okay.”

Izuku doesn’t like that phrasing.

He shudders for air and pulls out his phone to let their friends know the situation. He hopes Shoto and the others are out of battle by now, or soon. He hopes the “Bakusquad” sees his message quickly.

And then he waits.

Izuku counts those ugly floor tiles. Four times. He chews a hole into his cheek. He measures his breathing to stave off another panic attack and then times the minutes it takes for the air conditioner to kick on again after it shuts off.

Izuku’s phone buzzes in his pocket but talking with their friends is too overwhelming right now. They’re going to ask questions, just like he did, and he won’t have answers.

Aizawa takes a phone call in the hallway, plays some Tetris. He goes to get two cups of coffee and soggy sandwiches from the cafeteria but Izuku declines both. It’s well into the evening now but Izuku isn’t hungry.

He’s empty, and hollow, but filled to the brim with anxiety. It gurgles through him, sick and sticky. Clogs his insides.

The ticking clock technically passes time, but it sure doesn’t feel like it. Worry laces Izuku’s bones, sinks heavier the longer it goes without a word from any of the medical staff. He’s been tapping his foot for God knows how long and Aizawa lets him.

What would he do if it was Mic in there? Would Aizawa demand to see him? Pull rank?

Maybe.

Izuku’s heart picks up as he mulls it over. Izuku’s the number one hero, he should pull rank. He should demand to see Kacchan. He’s never—he’s never felt important enough to make an order like that, but…

He could, couldn’t he?

Nobody would’ve said "no" to All Might, back in the day.

And Izuku’s basically, well, he’s the Symbol of Peace now. He can at least put some pressure on them. He won’t freak out this time, but he can insist on seeing his partner. Aizawa won’t like it, but.

Izuku clenches his fists. Clears his throat to try and muster up a commanding presence.

And. And.

And his brain shuts off because the door opens.

An exhausted-looking woman turns the knob. She wears wrinkled scrubs and holds a plastic clipboard in her free hand. Her slicked-back hair frizzes free from bobby pins. Izuku notices a thin indent circling her face; the impression left over from a mask.

“Eraser?” She says. “—And, Deku, hello. I’m Bakugou’s doctor.”

Izuku stands with a start. He doesn’t even hear her name, fuzzes over Aizawa greeting her and the typical pleasantries. It sounds like they know each other, like they’ve met before. But Izuku’s chest is caving in. His brain is imploding between his ears. He wants to scream.

“Well?” Izuku urges rudely, cutting them off. He clenches his jaw so hard his teeth threaten to crack.

She isn’t fazed, thankfully. She must get it, in this line of work.

“I apologize.” The doctor sighs. “I know you’re eager to hear how things went. It was…a much longer surgery than anticipated. But Bakugou is doing well, all things considered. You can see him now, if you’d like, Eraser. I want to go over some notes with you.”

With Eraser? Just Aizawa?

Izuku’s going to bawl again. It makes sense. He’s the emergency contact. Aizawa’s the only one technically allowed—

“Deku’s going to join us.” Aizawa states, laying a placating hand on Izuku’s shoulder. Like he knows Izuku was about to raise hell. There’s a dulling sensation over his body again, the leaden weight of Quirk suppression. Aizawa’s warning him not to flip, glaring at him with his good eye.

“If there’s any flack for that, I’ll deal with it later.” Aizawa assures her. “Though I really don’t think Bakugou would protest.”

The doctor nods, clearly too tired to argue.

“All right. Come this way.”

Thank God. And Aizawa.

The walk to Kacchan’s room is a blur of fluorescent lights, sterile, metallic smells, and mechanical chirps. They pass multiple employees and patients, but it’s all a fractured maze. Izuku has no idea what time it is or how far they walk, he just trails after Aizawa’s shoes like a lost dog.

The doctor finally stops at a thick wooden door. She quietly pushes down on the paddle and steps inside. Dim light makes Izuku squint at first, but as soon as his eyes adjust he bolts for the shoddy hospital bed.

Aizawa grabs his hood, jerking him to a sudden stop.

“Careful.” He advises quietly. As his fingers unfurl, Izuku goes still. He chills at the sight before him.

“Kacchan.” He mutters, heart lurching.

His partner is hooked up to countless wires and machines, like a cyborg. The beep of the heart monitor is steady, ear splitting, piercing through Izuku’s soul. He approaches slowly, frowning.

An oxygen mask covers the bottom half of Kacchan’s face and the straps flatten his hair to his head. His entire torso is encased in a hard brace and below it are layers upon layers of gauze. One of his legs is in a full cast. An IV jabs into the crook of his elbow, feeding a slushy, neon pink liquid into Kacchan’s veins.

“We don’t think there will be any significant, lasting damage, once he’s healed.” The doctor explains, voice low. As if Kacchan is sleeping, instead of drugged into unconsciousness. “Maybe some future spinal arthritis, but that happens to a lot of us as we age. Ingenium’s speed was crucial in this case, as were the actions of his other teammates.”

Izuku squeezes his eyes shut. He owes his friends everything. He can’t wait to thank them.

“It’s going to be a long healing process. The medication we’re giving him now, through that IV, it’s from the Quirk of one of our healers. It boosts the body’s natural processes, but, Bakugou took some serious damage, so it will still be slow. He’s lucky that his skin and organs are already used to massive explosions, or the firepower from the creature’s beam could’ve been fatal on the spot.”

Izuku’s lower lip trembles. He steps up to the bedside and coasts his fingers over Kacchan’s forehead, down one eyebrow. She’s right, he’s barely even singed. The ends of his hair are just a tiny bit frayed. Everything else is just beat to all hell.

Izuku presses a hidden kiss to his hairline, blocked from view with his back to the others. At least Kacchan’s warm. He’s alive. Relief starts to wash away some of the gunk in his throat.

“We’re going to hold him here another twenty-four hours or so, until he’s totally stable, and then we’ll transfer him to your agency’s recovery center.”

“Can I stay here?” Izuku asks, watching the rise and fall of Kacchan’s chest. It’s a question, sure, but he won’t take “no” for an answer. They’ll have to actually drag him out of here. They’ll have to sedate him, or something, to get him out of here. Shoot him with a tranquilizer like an animal in the wild.

He feather-light holds a thumb over Kacchan’s pulse, relaxes further when he finds it. The tension in his body starts to wane.

Aizawa and the doctor murmur behind him. Izuku prepares for an argument, but is relieved to not need one.

“That’s no problem, Deku. As long as you’re out of the way for his next round of check ups and medications.” The doctor succumbs. “My shift is over once I input these charts, but, the next on-call doctor will chat with you about his transport tomorrow. Good night.”

She slips out of the room.

Aizawa steps up to stand beside him. After a moment of quiet, he says, “Bakugou’s always been stubborn, huh?”

Izuku smiles a little at that. He reaches down and clasps Kacchan’s hand with his shaky one. Kacchan runs hot, like always.

What would Izuku have done, if things had been worse? He looks down at his boyfriend, his world.

“Yeah.” He agrees with his mentor. “He sure has.”

********

Katsuki’s body aches. He swims between sleep and consciousness, confused as to why he feels like he’s been run through a goddamn meat grinder. Tries to lift his head but he’s too sluggish. He grunts.

A familiar voice beside him stalls. Two voices? A conversation.

“…think so!”

Kirishima?

“He’s gonna be so mad, he just left.” The other chuckles. Kaminari?

Katsuki stirs. Fights to open his eyelids. He squints immediately when a harsh white light glares into them.

“Aw, yeah, he is. Bakugou? Hold on.” There’s a quick patter of feet as someone moves. He hears the flick of a light switch and the room dims.

Katsuki finally comes to, blinking into the gray.

“Kiri?” He grumbles. His tongue is lead.

“Hey, buddy.” A heavy hand falls onto Katsuki’s wrist, squeezes. Stays there comfortably. “Rise and shine.”

Katsuki tilts his neck just enough to see his friend sitting at the bedside. His red hair is pushed back into a headband and he wears loose gym clothes. Next to him, Kaminari grins, dressed the same.

“We missed you, Bakubro.” The blonde says. “You’ve been a real Sleeping Beauty the past few days.”

Katsuki almost asks “what happened” but it trickles back slowly. Mushy, though. His memory is fucked up.

“You guys okay?” Katsuki mumbles.

“We’re fine, we weren’t in battle, silly.” Kaminari explains.

Then, white-hot panic strikes through him. Katsuki tries to sit up, even though shit hurts.

“Deku?” He gasps.

“Hey, hey, hey.” Kirishima’s hand slides up to his shoulder, flattens Katsuki gently to the thin mattress. “Don’t do that. Deku’s totally fine. He wasn’t there, either.”

Katsuki eases down with a sigh. His muscles scream even just from that. “Okay.”

“He’s barely left your side, actually, but we just made him go get something to eat downstairs. Pretty sure he’s been surviving on hospital jello and Saltines.—But I’ll go get him.” Kaminari says, standing. “He’ll flip out if he hears you woke up and we didn’t tell him. Be right back!”

Kaminari leaves in a dash.

“How do you feel?” Kirishima asks with a tiny nudge. “Want me to get the nurse? They can give you more pain meds or whatever.”

“No.” Katsuki shakes his head minutely. “I feel drunk or some shit. Don’t like it.” He manages to look around the room. It’s a small boxy one, like Deku had been in after his head injury. They’re at the agency, then. Midmorning sunshine glows from behind the curtains. On his opposite side is another chair and a small table. He recognizes one of Deku’s hoodies, an All Might backpack. Three books and a huge stack of paperwork. He’s been camped out here, just like Katsuki had.

“How long?” Katsuki asks, still foggy. He clears his throat. Speaking is a big effort, at first.

Kirishima offers him a sip of ice water from a mini cup with a bendy straw. “You’ve been under, like, four, five days. You’re doing loads better. The IV they’ve been giving you made from somebody’s Quirk is a miracle drug, man. Think they said you can go home sorta soon.”

Katsuki hums and blearily rubs his eyes. The tube pricked in his elbow twinges. Kirishima hands him a damp towel to wet his face and within a few minutes Katsuki feels halfway human again.

“You had on this horrible brace thing and a huge full-leg cast.” Kirishima laughs. “Looked like a plastic Barbie doll—Well, a Ken doll? I think the boys are Kens. Anyway, they took it all off yesterday, ‘cause you’re healing so well.”

Katsuki sighs and glances down. He’s so fucking stiff but he looks all right, all things considered. A paper-thin hospital gown and tattered white sheet cover his body. And a green, plaid blanket he recognizes from Deku’s apartment.

“I’m good at fighting, I’m good at healing, what did anyone expect?” He mumbles.

Kirishima snorts and twists around to look for something. “You hungry? I think you can have soup? They left some in case you woke up.”

“No, I’m—”

Katsuki jumps at the squeak of rubber shoes and a thud when someone crashes into the doorway. A familiar, scarred hand grips the frame and stops the rest of Deku’s body from flying down the hall. Kaminari’s laughter echoes behind.

“Kacchan.” Deku says, already choked up. He steps into the room and his chest heaves with each breath. He looks like he hasn’t slept in one hundred hours.

Katsuki’s down real fucking bad, because relief rushes over him at the sight of his partner. It’s a cool, soothing breeze. The smell of his house after a long trip. A roaring campfire, his favorite jacket, ice cream in the middle of summer, a really catchy song that he plays twice in a row on the train.

Fuck him, Katsuki’s heart monitor beeps a tiny bit faster. Fucking bitch of a machine.

“You idiot!” Deku says all of a sudden, startling Katsuki with the passion in his tone. Pure fury. He stomps closer and he’s clearly trying to look angry and menacing, but he’s fucking cute, and his green eyes are watering, and his cheeks are splotchy, and all Katsuki can do is offer a half-smile.

“If you weren’t so hurt right now I’d slap you!” Deku’s eyebrows jut down. “I can’t believe you—you were gonna ‘blow it up from the inside’—that’s so stupid, Kacchan. How brash can you be?!”

Katsuki wants to say, “you’re one to talk,” or something else snarky, but it doesn’t happen. He lifts his hand and holds it palm-up. He just wants him closer.

“Shut up, Deku. C’mere.”

Just like on the couch, back in their friends' living room.

An invitation.

Deku’s eyes widen and his cheeks redden darker. He’s normally not the one to blush between the two of them, and it’s so endearing that Katsuki threatens to melt. His boyfriend cuts a quick look to Kirishima and Kaminari.

“Kacchan.” He protests quietly, tilting his head to their audience. A stray tears runs down his face. Katsuki wants to wipe it so badly.

He rolls his eyes.

“I don’t give a shit—Hey, bozos.” Katsuki announces to his friends, “Deku and I are together and I’m gonna kiss his fucking face right now, so if that bothers you, make yourselves scarce.”

Katsuki makes another waving motion, urging Deku closer.

Kirishima gasps and coos from the side. “Aww! Everybody totally already knew that, but it’s nice to hear!”

“Man.” Kaminari pouts from the entry. “I owe Kyouka money now. She said you were never gonna admit it out loud!”

Deku walks up to his bedside and takes his hand, still sniveling. His skin is cold from the AC always blasting in the agency building.

”Kacchan can be slow with that kinda stuff.” Deku tells them, more little tears in the corner of his eyes. His angry demeanor finally breaks.

Yeah, too slow. Like, years too slow.

With his free hand, Deku smooths back the hair on Katsuki’s forehead. Katsuki closes his eyes into the touch and Deku gives him a chaste kiss a moment later.

“You guys are seriously too cute, are you kidding me?” Kirishima exclaims. Motherfucker is clapping.

Deku laughs gently and wipes his eyes but doesn’t let go of Katsuki’s hand. He pulls the chair closer and plops down.

“Maybe you guys should make yourselves scarce anyway.” Katsuki huffs. “You’re fucking annoying.”

Kirishima grins but scoots towards the door with Kaminari. He squeezes Katsuki’s good ankle on the way out, like it’s a hug. Katsuki lets him.

“Such a way with words, Bakugou.” He teases. “Glad you’re okay, man. We’ll give you guys some privacy.”

“See ya later, lovebirds!” Kaminari salutes, and the two are gone.

Deku’s lower lip wobbles again but he bites down on it, fighting back even more tears. Big ass baby.

“I’m so happy you’re awake…I thought…It was bad, Kacchan. Iida and all the doctors, they saved your life…You really were reckless.”

“…I know.” He says, because he does.

He was just trying to be the best, like always. He had wanted to get it done in one fell swoop and kick the thing’s ass into next week. He had wanted to prove himself. That’s his drive behind every battle.

“We…” Deku looks over Katsuki’s entire body and then clasps his fingers with both hands, finally meeting his eyes again. So green, so beautiful. Twinkling like emeralds.

“We’re the strongest we’ve probably ever been, I know. But…I feel like we’ve never had more to lose, Kacchan.”

The words hit Katsuki like a blow. He’s not wrong.

“We aren’t kids anymore, I know that. We’re powerful now. And we’re always…,” Deku smiles, “We’re always gonna be competing for the top. We’ve really blossomed into being heroes, I think. But…I couldn’t do it without you, okay?—Or, that’s to say, I don’t want to do it without you…So please, be more careful.—And I will, too. I know I’m being kind of a hypocrite here, but, I promise, I will.”

Katsuki hums. He lets his head fall back to the flat pillow because apologies escape him like they often do, and saying anything else meaningful will make him too goddamn emotional.

“Okay.” He whispers eventually. He unlaces their fingers to touch Deku’s cheek. His boyfriend lets out a tense breath, like he’d been holding it since the accident.

Katsuki nods. He’ll do anything, for Deku.

“I promise, too.”

----

Katsuki’s next visitor comes in the following day, while Deku is washing his hair. He’s not quite ready to stand in the shower for long periods of time, so Deku had filled a bowl with sudsy water and went to work.

Deku’s rinsing out the last of the conditioner when Hawks drops in, unannounced. He’s in street clothes, holding a big, stupid vase of flowers. A “Get Well Soon!” card is shoved between the stems.

“Hawks! Hi!” Deku greets him, pouring one more cup of water over Katsuki’s bangs. He quickly towels them dry to keep water from his eyes.

Katsuki speaks up once his vision is clear.

“Oi,” He says to the hero, “What are you doing here?”

Hawks shrugs and sets the vase down on the side table. It’s a pop of color in the otherwise antiseptic room.

He smiles as usual, but his red wings droop low. Maybe he’s tired. “Came to see how you’re doin’, Bakugou.”

“He’s so much better!” Deku chimes in excitedly. “He woke up yesterday and they think he can go home tomorrow!—Gonna be a bit of a break from the field, but, that’s okay. Right, Kacchan?”

“Tch, are you my mom?” Katsuki snatches the towel and wipes his forehead. “I can answer for myself, y’know? I’m not seven years old.”

Deku ignores the snipping like usual and goes to dump the bowl into the sink in the bathroom.

“I’m fine,” Katsuki explains a beat after. “Been better, but the worst of it’s behind me, they said.”

“Right.” Hawks nods. He hovers awkwardly, picks at one of the leaves on the flowers he brought. They’re a vibrant mix of petals, all ones Katsuki doesn’t know the names of. Deku probably does. He’s into that dorky, girly shit.

“Uh. I actually.” Hawks looks up. He locks eyes with Katsuki and then deeply bows his head. Deku returns to the room at the same time, pausing in surprise with the empty bowl in hand.

Katsuki blinks.

“I came to apologize.” Hawks admits. He stares at the tile floor and swallows. “If I hadn’t asked you to cover my shift, you wouldn’t be here. Should’ve been me, fighting the other day. I should be the one in the hospital, Bakugou, not you.”

It falls silent enough to hear a pin drop. Hawk’s doesn’t lift his head from its lowered position.

“…What the shit?” Katsuki eventually sputters.

Hawks looks up in confusion. His wings flap in the slightest, a nervous tic.

Katsuki glares at him. “You’re saying ‘sorry’? Why?”

“I…I just told you why?”

“…Are you dumb?”

“Kacchan!”

Katsuki waves a hand dismissively. “You don’t need to apologize, Hawks. I mean, should you, ‘cause I did your work for you again? Yeah—”

“Kacchan! Seriously?!”

“Look.” Katsuki sighs and sits up a little straighter, even though it makes his abdomen sore. He gestures to his body. “This is all a hazard of the job, okay? I was being a little careless. But I signed up for this, way back in high school. Even if you were there a few days ago, doesn’t mean you’d be here, anyway. Shit happens, it’s…it’s no sweat, or whatever. It was a mistake. Things go wrong, nobody’s fault. So, shut up with your damn apology. I don’t wanna hear it.”

Hawks looks taken aback. He eventually shakes his head, smirking. He crosses his arms and both wings perk up higher than before, like he feels a bit better. “All right, kid, if you’re sure.”

“I've said before, don’t call me ‘kid’!” Katsuki barks, but he’s too slow-moving right now to do much more than that.

Deku settles down at Katsuki’s bedside and starts to comb his hair. Fucking embarrassing.

“That was really nice of you, anyway, Hawks.” Deku says affirmatively. “But besides, you took off work for a good reason! It’s all right.”

Katsuki quirks an eyebrow. “Where’s Hothead at, anyway? Aren’t you supposed to be, like, his parole officer or something like that?”

Hawks laughs out loud, like he gets a kick out of that. He glances around the room, ensuring no one else is there, then slants his head back, towards the hallway.

Deku and Katsuki both bend comically far to the side to peer around the doorway. Out in the hall, a tall man leans against the wall with his hands in his jacket pockets. He’s got a baseball cap on and bleach-white hair pokes out from underneath it, like (half of) Shoto’s. He wears black jeans and a Hawks hoodie from one of the pro-hero merch lines. Even from this distance, Katsuki can see that his skin is no longer purple and marred. There aren’t anymore staples. He’s been healed properly, after all these years.

Dabi stiffens at the attention. He lifts one hand half-heartedly in an uncomfortable greeting, then he looks away. He folds his arms like he’s trying to shrink smaller.

“He’s lingering.” Hawks explains, voice quiet. “Feels weird being here. The World’s Best Dad and I share this agency building, y’know? It’s…awkward. Plus, well, most people don’t like him, so.”

Hawks chuckles and scratches the back of his head.

Katsuki prepares a retort, something along the lines of, “most people would be fucking right,” but he holds his tongue.

Meanwhile, Deku runs a fine-toothed comb through his hair and scratches his scalp. Towels off his neck and smoothes over the skin with a soft hand. There’s a warm blanket over his lap, has been this whole time. And his boyfriend’s things in a pile on the table.

There’s a lesson in there, somewhere.

Katsuki thinks about it, what Hawks said before, how “love is weird.”

He thinks about his partner at his side, no matter what or when. About not taking Deku’s hand in the river, a childhood summertime, a lifetime ago. He thinks about spitting in his face, and insinuating he end himself, and all the other hatred Katsuki used to spew. He thinks of name-calling, degradation in its worst forms, vicious anger, burning jealously, punches thrown.

He thinks of sludge monsters, and pouring rain, and forgiveness. He thinks of disappearances, panic, resurgence together like the tide to the shore, always. He thinks of clutching each other when the world was ending.

He thinks of home. A cute voice calling him “Kacchan,” for a long time.

Katsuki was never a fucking villain, their stories aren’t the same, but he knows better than most others do that people can change, like Deku had said. He knows it intimately.

Katsuki’s mom washed out his mouth with soap more than enough times, and he’s cleaned plenty of blood off his knuckles. He’s cried himself to sleep and torn himself apart with regret, so he deeply understands the sour taste of remorse.

If Katsuki can turn over a new fucking leaf, if he can be happy, and in pathetic, sappy love…

“He’s all right.” Katsuki mutters eventually to Hawks. “He shouldn’t feel like he can’t show his face here. Guy’s done his time, or whatever.”

Hawks ticks his head to the side like a goddamn cockatoo and then breaks out in a grin, like he’s astounded. “Thanks, Bakugou. Here I am to pour my heart out and you’re the one being all sweet. I appreciate that. We appreciate that.”

“Don’t fucking push your luck, birdbrain.”

Hawks holds up his hands in fake surrender and then begins to back out of the room.

“Hey, relax, I’m getting out of here. Just wanted to drop by, send my best wishes, see if you’re alive and all that.”

It feels better, now that things are back to normal. The air isn’t so tense, with Hawks’ usual banter coming out to play.

“Yeah, yeah. I obviously can’t be taken down. I’d like to see somebody fucking try.”

“Thanks for the flowers, Hawks!” Deku says brightly, on Katsuki’s behalf. “We’ll let you know when we can get back to work.”

“I’m sure you will. And, hey, Midoriya, I’m guessing I don’t have to tell you to keep an eye on him?”

Hawks is such a shit-eating bastard.

Deku wraps an arm over Katsuki’s shoulders and smushes their cheeks together. It’s not entirely unwanted.

“Nope. I’ve got him.”

Katsuki doesn’t shove him off.

********

Kacchan’s been home for almost a week when Izuku finally gets up the courage to bring up something important. His partner’s significantly improved and can get around on his own without a problem. He’s feeling so good that he’s even allowed to do low-impact workouts, or go for walks with Izuku.

It’s after one of these walks, sitting in the breakfast nook at Kacchan’s apartment, that Izuku asks. The maybe-scary thing. It takes him a bit to get it out, though.

“What’s got you so fucking jumpy?” Kacchan snaps at him between bites of noodles. He always complains about Izuku’s “shitty street food,” but tends to eat it anyway.

“‘M not.” Izuku protests with a grumble. He pushes his meal around in the plastic container.

“Yeah, you are. I touched your knee under the table and you shot four feet in the air.”

“I’m ticklish.”

Kacchan sets down his chopsticks. “You’re full of shit, is what you are. Tell me.”

“No, it’s nothing.”

Kacchan deadpans. “‘It’ being ‘nothing’ means it’s something. I can speak your dumb little language, babe. Spit it out already, c’mon, Deku.”

Izuku takes a deep breath. The “babe” gets him, of course it does. He shuffles around a piece of carrot, pokes it with the chopsticks and then throws caution to the wind.

“Okay, fine…Kacchan, I wanted to ask…if you…want to move in together?”

The quiet after is so profound that Izuku almost faints. A long, heavy pause that sets his teeth on edge.

And then Kacchan laughs. Loud and genuine. His real laugh, not his mean, sarcastic one.

Izuku’s so shocked that his eyes go wide. “What’s so funny?!”

“Izuku,” Kacchan shakes his head when he finally calms down. “Baby, look around. We basically are living together. I can’t believe you were so freaked out to ask me that.”

He grabs Izuku’s cheeks and manhandles his face to make him look around the room. He’s right, really. Izuku’s books are on the shelf and his laptop sits open on the coffee table. His Playstation migrates back and forth between their places, with two controllers. His headphones are charging in the bedroom, next to his memory-foam pillow. His travel coffee tumbler is full of dish soap in the sink. Two pairs of Deku’s shoes are lined up by the front door and his rain coat hangs in the entryway closet, next to his umbrella.

“Your shit’s all over the place. I can barely tell what’s mine and what’s yours anymore. Half my shirts are missing because they’re at your apartment. Jesus, hun, relax.” Kacchan scoffs at the apparent nonsense and picks up his chopsticks again. “No duh I’ll move in with you. Splitting rent too? Fuck yeah.—But we’re finding a new place. For somebody who always wears the same five outfits, you’ve got a lot of goddamn clothes and I’m not giving up any closet space. Let’s get somewhere bigger.”

Butterflies flit around in Izuku’s belly like they constantly do around Kacchan. Their own place. It sounds good. It actually sounds like a dream. Most days he still isn’t even convinced this is real.

Their place. Their place! Kacchan said “yes” so simply. Like it’s nothing, not a big deal, he wants it too!

Izuku reaches across their plates to snatch the chopsticks from Kacchan’s hand and set them down. Kacchan starts to protest but is cut off when Izuku yanks him into a hot kiss.

He tugs on the front of Kacchan’s shirt and hums into it, letting go with a pop when he’s finally satisfied.

“I like the sound of that, baby.” Izuku smirks. Giving him a taste of his own medicine.

Kacchan’s red in the face but his mouth curls up playfully.

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah.” Izuku shoots back, running a teasing finger down Kacchan’s sternum. He trails it further, all the way down to the drawstring of his sweatpants.

Kacchan raises his eyebrows, twisting in the chair. “Wow. I agree to move in with you and you throw yourself at me? Still surprising me with how easy you are, Deku.”

Izuku starts to untie the knot, heat flying up his back. “You like it.”

Kacchan suddenly grabs his wrists, hard. Izuku’s heart skips and he looks up. That’s kinda…thrilling.

“Maybe let’s not do this at the dining table?—Not this time at least.” Kacchan suggests.

Izuku giggles and lets himself be pulled to his feet. Kacchan herds him to the bedroom, hands under his shirt. His palms sweat already. That heady, sweet nitroglycerin. Izuku gets high on it now.

“Izuku,” Kacchan says out of nowhere, lightly pushing Izuku until his knees hit the mattress. His insides swirl when he falls to his back.

“What?” Izuku’s already pulling his own shirt off. He’s giddy, he’s so in love.

Kacchan climbs over him, red eyes blazing. A cozy shade of pink blooms from his neck.

“You know something,” Kacchan sighs, “…I did almost die and all…”

Izuku frowns, thrown off. “…Uh, yeah? I—I don’t wanna think about that right now, Kacchan, why are you—”

Kacchan leans down quickly, starts kissing the skin underneath Izuku’s ear. He sucks down his jaw, along his neck, over the chain of his necklace, down to his collarbone. Kacchan brushes wet spots back up until he’s at Izuku’s lips again, and they kiss until his heart threatens to burst. Izuku relishes in it. He arches higher so their torsos collide.

“Just sayin’,” Kacchan finally rasps out, breaking apart from him. His eyes sparkle, such a pretty shade of ruby.

“I almost died without having fucked you, Izuku. And that’s just sad, y’know?”

Izuku freezes, can’t hold back a whimper. Arousal shoots through every single one of his nerve endings, like whiplash. Molten lava pools between them, at the junction of their hips.

“Oh.” Izuku says, stupidly. His brain’s in his dick now, and his dick is lined up with Kacchan’s. Wow. This never gets old. This will never get old. Izuku’s addicted.

“Yeah.” His boyfriend says, quietly, uncharacteristically. Gently. Fiery lips work over Izuku’s bare pecs and then Kacchan’s fingertips skate down his abs. They pause at the waistband of his pajama pants.

Izuku’s thoughts ricochet inside his head, like a pinball machine. Ding, ding, ding, winner. He prays what he says next comes out coherently, because he’s already drunk on sensation.

“We should change that, huh, Katsuki?”

Kacchan downright groans. It reverberates through Izuku’s ribcage, vibrates into his very being.

“Yeah, baby.” Kacchan says, voice husky. “We really fucking should.”