Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

He and Eijirou had had a good thing going.

Being one of his closest friends (and one of the only people he could tolerate for more than a few hours’ time), Ei had been the perfect candidate for a roommate after graduation- hell, the only candidate, really.

Denki had asked, but Katsuki had been in his unholy technicolor disaster of a room more times than he could count, so the answer was easy. Ditto for Pinky and her hyper-feminine and frankly, eye-bleeding decoration style.

Sero had been up for consideration- a far better choice than the two before him- but the combination of the loud video games he likes and the lingering smell of weed that always hung in his room had nipped that idea right in the bud.

And of course, there was Deku, who probably wouldn’t have been horrible, but Ei had asked first.

So two weeks after graduation, they’d moved in together.

And it was fine.

Granted, Eijirou wasn’t the perfect roommate, but he was decent enough. He picked up after himself (for the most part), stayed out of his hair (when he needed him to), and most importantly, kept the kitchen neat as a pin, lest he incurs the wrath of a hungry and furious Katsuki Bakugou.

And it was fine.

Were there snags? Sure. 

Arguments? Yes.

Awkward moments involving unlocked doors that he’d sooner forget? Definitely.

But for the most part, it was good. A good thing. A thing he could trust in- hell, one of the only things he could trust in.

A good, sure, solid thing.

And then Ei had to go and fuck it up.

They lived together for almost five years. And really, five years is a long time, long enough that they’d experienced the gamut of highs and lows together: broken hearts (Katsuki), broken appliances (Eijirou), and broken bones (both of them- far too many times to count).

But through it all they’d had each other- always knew that the other would be there to crack a beer with on the couch as they nursed injuries after a hard fight or to share curry with while watching whatever dumb show is en vogue. The two of them had been through it all- seen it all- borderline approaching old married couple status- when the day had finally come.

Ei had called him over and sat him down, his jovial face uncharacteristically serious, as he told him that he wouldn’t be renewing his lease- that he was going to be moving out- that he was leaving him to move in with Mina, instead.

Betrayal. Utter betrayal. 

How could he do this-?? How dare he move out after all this time? And for what, his girlfriend of four years-?

Where was the trust? Damn it, where the fuck was the loyalty-??

He’d wanted to be a dick about it- wanted to just rage- complain- really let him have it-

-But damn, he couldn’t be mad. Not really. Not when Ei had that shiny, soft look about him, wide-eyed and excited, and fuck, who is he to complain when his friend- one of his best friends- is taking such a large step to something big-? 

So, digging deep into his shallow well of empathy for a hidden pocket of kindness, he kept his face calm- didn’t protest or yell, no- instead, he’d just slapped him on the back, congratulated him-

-and then excused himself to spend the rest of his evening drowning his sorrows alone in his room, stewing and irate and angry at everything.

But as fate would have it, somewhere across town, Deku was unknowingly sitting and having a near-identical conversation with Shinsou. He and Denki were ready to move in together- he wouldn’t be renewing- sorry for the late notice- whatever-

-And Deku being Deku, he’d been calm- understanding- happy for his friends and their bright future; very insistent that there were no hard feelings and that everything would be alright.

Which is how, pissed off and half-drunk at one in the goddamn morning, Katsuki received a very harried call from a very panicking Deku.

He’d just cracked another beer- glaring at his ceiling- tipsy and grumpy and wallowing in self-pity- when his phone buzzes next to him.

He looks at it with bleary, narrowed eyes. It’s the middle of the night- he’s not on call- who the fuck-?

But the moment that Deku’s picture and name flash upon his screen, he reaches over to grab it, suddenly alert.

Because Deku doesn’t call often and never this late.

Something must be wrong.

He accepts the call, holding the phone up to his ear and growling into it.

“You'd better be dying.” 

A squeak of surprise and then a bashful mumble.

“Don’t say that, Kacchan.” Deku begs, already contrite.

“Well, if you’re not dying, then why the fuck are you calling so late-?” Katsuki barks, taking another long slug of beer.

An indignant, offended sound.

“You said I could always call!” Deku counters, equal parts annoyed and hurt.

Katsuki whips over a shoulder to look at his clock, and sure enough, it’s late- late as balls. He shouldn’t even be awake. Neither of them should.

“Not at ass o’clock in the morning, nerd!” He quips, flopping his upper back down onto the pillows. “This had better be good.”

He leaves a deliberate silence as a wordless invitation, one that Deku immediately takes.

“I, uh-” He begins softly- and even as annoyed as he is, Katsuki can instantly sense it- can tell just by the split-second of hesitation in his voice that something really is wrong.

He softens himself by a third.

“C’mon, nerd, what’s got you all upset?” He asks, taking pains to ease some of the irritation out of it, “I can hear it in your voice, y’know. Spill.” 

The sound of relief that comes out of Deku is sweet, almost cute, and dumb as it is, it actually makes him feel better, because antagonistic as they might be with each other, they both know that at the core of it that they always have this: this space of safety- this place to be honest; that they always have the other’s support when they really need it.

Deku hems and haws a bit before finally spilling it out.

“It looks like I have to find somewhere new to live.” He explains, “Soon.” 

There’s a familiar sound of frustration- one that lets Katsuki know that Deku's gripping at his hair like he always does when he gets overwhelmed.

“Or, damn,” He whispers shakily, “-find a new roommate, at least.”

That gets his attention. He sits up suddenly, his brows furrowing.

“Wait, what the fuck?” He asks, “Why?”  

And then, with a sip of beer and a sardonic snort:

“What, did Eyebags die or something?”

A scandalized, sputtering sound.

“No, he didn’t die, Kacchan.”

And then, softer- quieter:

“Toshi’s moving in with Denki.”

Katsuki doesn't miss a beat.

“Gay.” He deadpans.

“Kacchan-!” Deku chirps, scolding and frustrated, “C’mon, I’m not messing around-”

That stops him flat.

H e’s not-?

He sets his beer down on his bedside table. There’s no way- it’s way too much of a coincidence.

“Wait, are you serious?” Katsuki asks, his brows jutting up to his hairline.

“Of course, I am.” Deku sighs, the sound heavy and exhausted, “-I mean, I suppose I should’ve seen it coming and all but I’m-”

His voice wobbles a bit, trailing off into silence so pointedly that despite himself, Katsuki can’t help but ask:

“What?”

A weak chuckle, soft and disarming.

“I’m kinda, um…freaking out.” Deku admits, his voice horribly feeble- small.

It squeezes at his heart in the way that only the nerd can- the way that makes him remember him like used to be; small and eager, reaching out to him with those grubby, little hands and those wide, wide eyes.

Katsuki sighs.

Throw him a bone.

“Hey, c'mon, deep breath.” He encourages, laying down on his back, “Everything’s going to be okay."

He hesitates for a moment. Should he tell him this?

Eh. Fuck it.

"And if it helps at all," He offers generously, "I’m, uh, kinda freaking out, too.” 

A thick silence.

“You-? ” Deku asks, astonished, “-About Toshi-? And- and- Denki-? That’s really weird, Kacchan.”

Katsuki sputters angrily, cheeks flaring.

“No, not about Sparky and Eyebags, dipshit.” He hisses, his face twisting into a childish pout. He releases a long, worn breath of air. “...About moving.”

Another pregnant pause, one where he can almost hear the gears clicking in that green head.

“...Wait.” Deku whispers, catching on, “You’re moving, too?”

His voice pitches high.

“Since when-? Does Eijirou know?”

Katsuki wrinkles his nose in disgust, turning onto one side with a sour expression.

“Don’t even talk to me about that traitor right now.” He grumbles.

Deku's surprise is evident, his voice a sputter.

“Traitor-? Eijirou-? What-?” He blurts.

Katsuki sighs, raspy and irritated.

“Ei’s moving in with Pinky.” He interrupts, his words like steel, harsh and hard and cold.

Another silence.

“...Oh.” Deku mumbles, the word more of an instinctive sound than a proper response.

A few terse seconds roll by before he makes another sound, and then:

“-Oh! ” He repeats, discovery dripping off of the single word.

Katsuki clicks his teeth.

“So yeah,” He drawls, rolling back onto his back and staring blankly at his ceiling, “Guess we’re both in the same fuckin’ boat or whatever.”

A pause.

“...Seems we are.” Deku returns.

His voice is low- cool- a far cry from the soft, chirping tenor he normally uses, so much so that it drags up Katsuki’s back like a fingernail, making the hair on his forearms rise to attention.

Fuckin’ weird.

A whole interrupted minute of silence passes. Neither of them speaks, but neither of them has to. There’s an entire conversation between them without saying a word- a whirling dance of thick subtext; the implication of this moment of revelation burrowing- digging- rooting deeper and deeper until Deku finally breaks the seal.

His words are soft. A proverbial tip-toe. A foot testing the water.

“...Kacchan, do you think-?” He begins to ask.

But twenty-ish years of history has made him an expert in Deku- a fluent speaker- a master interpreter- because, in an instant, he just knows; knows exactly what he’s going to say- what he has in mind- what he’s proposing.

“--No.” He hisses, pushing himself up to sitting.

An offended scoff echoes through the phone.

“I didn’t even say anything!” Deku protests, his voice going all huffy, the tone alone telling him that his hands are on his hips, his cheeks pushing out in that childish pout that makes every other person in the world lose their mind.

“Didn’t have to.” Katsuki rebuts, snickering, “I can fuckin’ hear that dumb green head of yours working through the phone.”

A groan.

“But-” Deku tries again.

“No. Absolutely not.” Katsuki doubles down hard, his free hand clenching into a fist.

“But Kacchannn-” Deku whines pathetically- childishly- enough that it almost makes Katsuki chuckle. What would people say if they could see this- their Symbol of Hope- pouting like a sulky kid-? 

Katsuki shakes his head, his brow furrowing.

“No. ”

Deku sputters a bit, clearly trying to conjure a convincing argument, but Katsuki’s had enough. He’s tired- halfway to drunk- grumpy and annoyed- and he doesn’t have the energy to listen to one of Deku’s rambling, muttered diatribes. Not right now, anyway.

“It would be-” Deku begins.

But he doesn’t hear what it would be because he clicks ‘end’ with his thumb, the call disconnecting with a satisfying little beep, Deku’s plaintive words dissolving away into the quiet, late-night ambiance.

He sets his phone down beside him, leaning over to down the remaining dregs of his beer. He’s about to let out a heavy sigh- flop back down and surrender himself to sleep-

-When suddenly, his phone rings again, buzzing loudly where he’d left it. He glowers at it, quickly grabbing it and peering down at the screen, only to see the nerd’s picture and name once more.

He knows he should ignore it, but for some reason (glutton for punishment, maybe), he presses the green button again, his voice growling out, annoyed and sharp.

“What.” 

“You hung up on me!” Deku cries, each word thick with betrayal, the barest hint of hurt clutching to the edges of it.

Katsuki huffs loudly, not falling for it.

“You’re being a dumbass!” He returns.

“I am not!” Deku argues, his tone suddenly ironclad and forceful, “It could totally work! Just listen-!”

Okay, that is it. Enough is enough.

Katsuki pulls the phone away from his ear with a snarl, holding it down in front of his mouth.

“Fuck off.” He hisses.

A squeak of exasperation.

“Kaccha-”

He presses ‘end’ again, the beep somehow less satisfying the second time, his eyes lingering on the photo of Deku’s face that remains until he gets too pissed and sets his phone down beside him with a grunt.

He reaches up with one hand, dragging it balefully over his face, sighing out his frustration into the silence, when his phone suddenly vibrates again.

His eyes flash open.

Oh, that little fucker.

He reaches for it, ready to accept the call and yell at him to eat shit and die, only to abruptly realize that it’s not a call at all, just a text.

Eyes narrowing in suspicion, he opens it quickly, a brief, cursory glance making him immediately wish that he hadn’t.

[Deku]: C’mon, Kacchan, it’s a good idea! 😃

He cringes deeply at the little smile- at Deku’s completely-normal-but-still-disgusting texting style; rolling his eyes heavily before typing a response.

[Bakugou]: No, it’s not. It’s a horrible idea.

Three dots appear almost instantly to show that Deku is typing back and even though he knows he should shut this shit down and go to bed, a childish part of him is almost intrigued; is curious to hear how Deku will try to persuade him.

Huh. Maybe he is drunk.

[Deku]: You’d be closer to the agency!

He actually snorts out loud. 

That’s your big pitch? 

Weak.

He types back.

[Bakugou]: I’d be closer to putting u in the grave.

Three dots and then:

[Deku]: Kachannnnn- 🥺

He can't help it: he groans out loud.

Christ, he can almost hear the annoying, plaintive whine, the sound so familiar that it’s branded into his memory, scratching at the ever-thinning line of his patience until it finally snaps.

He types one final text, his whole face curled into a look of deep annoyance.

[Bakugou]: omfg shut up and go to bed.

He sends it, waiting to see that it was delivered before turning his phone off completely and setting it on the bedside table. If anyone needs him, his pager is still there, but for now, he just wants to forget about it all- to turn off his head and go to sleep.

He grabs a pillow, hugging it to his chest, letting his breaths go long and slow, the world blurring, sleep coming fast.

Knock knock.

Katsuki's eyes flash open, immediately murderous, his entire body flaring with anger as he pushes himself up to his elbows and whips his head over to the drawn curtains that lead to his balcony.

Someone’s out there- clearly- and through the dim moonlight, he can make out an outline he knows well, one that is distinctly and disastrously Deku-shaped.

“Kacchan-??”  A voice whispers through the door, soft and pleading.

No way.

No fucking way.

He forces himself up to sitting, swiping one hand across his face.

“Oh, you gotta be kidding me.” He snarls, half-standing- half-stumbling off of his bed.

“I know you’re in there!” Deku chirps, “I can hear you stomping around.”

Katsuki stops at the door, pulling the curtain aside with a sneer.

“Fuck you, you little asshole, I don’t stomp.” He hisses venomously, his irritation only building as he takes in the goading glint of challenge in Deku’s eyes.

Deku crosses his arms over his chest and tilts his green head at him.

“Tell that to your neighbors.” He bites back acidly.

Katsuki releases an angry huff as he unlocks the door, turning the knob with too much force, the hinges groaning from mistreatment as he tears open the door and grabs Deku by the front of his hoodie.

“Oh, for fuck’s- get in here.” He snarls, hauling him in bodily and almost throwing him across the room, “What the hell are you doing here?”

Deku catches himself, nearly tripping over the ragged cuff of his All Might pajama pants in the process, taking the briefest second to center himself before turning back to him with squared shoulders and uncharacteristic sternness.

“I'm here to convince you to move in with me.” He states.

For a moment, Katsuki can do nothing but gape at him dumbly. Because if he isn't hallucinating, that means that Deku- Izuku Midoriya- the Symbol of fucking Hope- flew (or swung) to his building in the middle of the night in his goddamn pajamas to convince him to be his roommate.

This goddamn nerd- this fuckin’ idiot.

He’s so floored that for a minute he can’t speak: can't do anything but pinch the bridge of his nose in utter disbelief. 

“Jesus fuckin' Christ, Deku.” He mutters.

He hopes that'll end it- prays it'll be enough to make him leave- and yet, suddenly, Deku is drawing forward with his palms up, his eyes fucking shining with excitement.

“Just think of it, Kacchan.” He prompts, bright and starry, “Really think for a second.”

He holds up his hands and begins to count on his thick, scarred fingers.

“First, my place is way closer to the agency. Second, there’s good grocery stores and parks within walking distance. Third, an amazing gym. Fourth, the kitchen is way bigger- your room would be bigger and- and-”

And as he looks up with those wild, bright eyes, he apparently runs out of things to name, his mouth suddenly bobbing as he struggles to think of more to say.

Katsuki leans in skeptically.

“And-?” He goads, his nose wrinkling in distaste- his expression sour and unconvinced.

For a moment, Deku shrinks beneath it, his posture losing some of its confidence, and just when Katsuki is ready to claim victory- tell the nerd to drop it and go the fuck home already- Deku abruptly shoots up to his full height (which isn’t much) and balls his fists in sudden bravery.

“-And I’m an excellent roommate!” He cries, his face hard and determined.

There’s a moment then- briefer than a second- when Katsuki’s cold exterior cracks a bit.

But Deku pouts out his lower lip like a goddamn baby and in an instant, that wall ices back over.

Katsuki jerks his chin sharply.

“Tch.” He scoffs, “-Says who?”

Deku scrambles a bit, clearly caught off-guard by the question.

“Okay, well, Toshi-,” He begins, trying to find some solid footing.

Katsuki clicks his teeth.

“Pass.”

Deku frowns, but he soldiers on.

“Shouto-,” He offers.

Katsuki wrinkles his nose.

“Barf.”

And this must fray at what little remains of Deku’s patience, because that sunny face suddenly goes uncharacteristically severe- dark; his hands balling into fists- his voice dipping into a tone that actually makes his body go still.

“Kacchan.”  He grits.

It's jarring. The nickname is normally soft as cream, but there’s steel beneath it this time- ice- something dangerous and simmering-

-And fuck, if it doesn’t slap the words right out of his mouth.

Deku draws forward, looking up at him through furrowed green brows, one of his hands pointing to his chest.

“I have an amazing apartment. I have a room. I need a roommate.” 

His finger turns, this time poking Katsuki in the chest.

“You have been talking about leaving your place for months now-”

And at the mention, Katsuki suddenly comes back to life, smacking Deku’s hand away from him with a scowl.

“I have not-”

“-For months now, Kacchan.” Deku interjects sharply. “You hate the kitchen and the gym is too small and the elevator always breaks down. I’ve listened to you say it a thousand times.”

And suddenly, that harsh energy leaves him and he sinks into one hip, rubbing one hand tiredly over his face.

“I know that this is what we do,” He offers, “-that this is the stupid game we have to play before you’ll listen to me-,” His eyes glide up weakly, “-but can’t we just cut to the chase? For once-?”

And just like that- like magic- every quip and sarcastic response flies directly out of his head; leaving him with nothing to do but stare down at his friend with an exasperated expression.

He always does this.

Abruptly, that weary, green gaze is too much to bear- far too much- so he turns his head away, his voice a hoarse whisper.

“Christ, Deku-” He begins; his mouth going dry- throat going tight.

“I have a room.” Deku repeats levelly, “And you need a room.”

And then, like the sun emerging from behind a cloud, his smile returns; infectious and bright as he draws close enough to touch.

“It’s a good idea.” He reiterates warmly, his eyes going soft and crinkled at the corners, “You know it is. It’ll work out. It will. Now quit being a jerk and say you’ll move in with me.”

And there, looking at him, seeing the hope in his stupid face, Katsuki's refusals shrivel and blacken in his throat, leaving him momentarily mute.

In fact, the longer he looks at him, the more he sees it- that the Deku staring up at him now is no longer that scared, little quirkless boy or the sacrificial UA student who chased after him and called him amazing, but the person who knows him best- the person he trusts more than anyone else- his symbol of victory.

His best friend.

And god, it’s too damn much. 

He flicks his eyes up to the ceiling as if he could hide there- as if the answers are waiting there; staring at it for a moment and then another as he rolls the idea around in his head. He sucks in a deep, pacifying breath, ready to answer-

-When suddenly, Deku's voice is ringing through the air.

“...Kacchan-?” He asks, soft and gentle and bordering on scared.

Katsuki's eyes sweep down to find Deku’s, his heart stuttering on its beat as he sees how wide they are: how nervous- how afraid- his shoulders sinking- hands wringing.

And that’s all it takes. His hesitations and misgivings crack and crumble, his world-famous tenacity brought instantly to its knees by just a single word from his mouth- a single glance in those green eyes.

S tupid, fuckin’ Deku.

Goddamn you.

Goddamn you.

He lets out a long, beleaguered sigh before crossing his arms over his chest and fixing him with a withering glare.

“Tch.” He scoffs. “Fine, you psycho, I’ll move in with you.”

The thread snaps, the tension breaks, and Deku’s face cracks into a winning smile; his eyes shining as he flings himself forward- his arms pulling him into a deep, strong embrace.

“You will-?!” He asks breathlessly- almost as if he can’t believe his luck, “Kacchan-! ”

He buries his face into his neck, squeezing him in, and it’s too close- too warm- too strong.

Katsuki feels his cheeks heat as he shakes him off roughly, taking a retreating step away from him.

“Oh my god, don’t.” He groans, holding his arms up to keep him away, “Just...go home already, it’s almost two in the goddamn morning.”

And to his credit, Deku gives up the fight, not saying more, waving a single hand to show that the wave of affection has ebbed.

“Okay, okay, I’m going.” He assures, his voice fuzzy and warm, moving past him and through the door to the balcony.

He crawls up onto the railing, letting out a tendril of Blackwhip, ready to leap away, when suddenly, he goes still, turning and looking at him with an expression he doesn’t know how to read.

It’s subdued- soft- almost invasive; a look Deku’s given him a handful of times before in private, a look that makes him feel see-through. A look that rattles him down to his core.

Suddenly feeling uncomfortable, Katsuki makes his face hard- makes his mouth snarl.

“-Fuck’re you looking at-?” He asks, crossing his arms over his chest in a weak attempt to protect himself from that deep, viridian gaze.

Deku softens a bit, almost sinking into his body, the odd, indecipherable look replaced with something affectionate and familiar.

“Nothing,” He shakes his head gently, “-just-”

Katsuki stops for a moment, almost as if there’s something he wants to say and the silence is itchy enough that he can’t stop himself from asking:

“-Just-?” He prompts impatiently.

Deku's mouth presses together, the furtive thoughts in that stupid green head taking a backseat as he crinkles his eyes and smiles. 

“Thanks, Kacchan.” He whispers, leaping off of the balcony and swinging away without a sound.

It’s quiet then, almost accusingly so, and without Deku’s voice to fill the space, Katsuki, left alone in the silence, is forced to come to terms with the moronic thing he’d just agreed to.

He closes his balcony door and locks it behind him, turning around and walking back to his bed like a man facing the gallows, falling face first into it with a thump and letting his bedclothes muffle the deep, annoyed sound of frustration that comes out of him.

After a long moment, he pulls himself up.

“Shit.”  He runs his hands wearily over his face.

What the fuck have I done-??

Chapter Text

He moved on a brisk October morning.

And in all fairness, it was about as painless as a move could be.

Him being him, he’d already had all of his things packed and neatly wrapped and labeled and secured in boxes and storage bins when the day had arrived; the plan being to just take a few trips in a rental van and be done with it- to rip the Band-Aid and make this whole, stupid thing as painless as possible- to just put his head down and put it all behind him.

But of course, his dumb, fucking friends had other plans.

In typical Ei fashion (he doesn’t know why he’s surprised), he’d packed exactly three things before moving day; knocking sheepishly on Katsuki’s door first thing in the morning and asking for boxes and packing tape with big eyes and upturned palms.

Did he give him an earful about it? Sure.

Call him a fucking moron? Yup.

Did he still help him pack? Of course.

And to make matters worse, Pinky, Denki, and Sero came by a few hours later, seemingly to "help," their arms full of pizza boxes and six packs of beer, both of which were quickly consumed as they packed up the remains of the apartment.

And yeah, they’re all annoying and loud and can’t organize worth a damn, but as loath as he is to admit it, it was fun…in its own irritating way.

Fueled by junk food and dancing to Sero’s loud music, the apartment slowly emptied box by box; the evidence of the last five years dwindling away until suddenly, it was over. 

Done.

Their place was suddenly empty- this long stretch of their lives put behind them.

And despite his hurt ego and the still-simmering feelings of betrayal and annoyance and frustration, Katsuki had waited for the others to leave, making sure the coast was clear, before stalking over and pulling Eijirou into a deep hug in the quiet, empty room.

He held him close, patted him on the shoulder, buried his face into his neck-

-And reminded him with a growl that he was dead to him.

And Ei laughed and told him he loved him too as he’d pulled him into another hug, only laughing harder through the building tears when he’d shoved him away with venom in his eyes.

And that was that.

Deku was ready for him when he arrived in the afternoon, bright-eyed and way too excited, as usual. Apparently, Eyebags owns next to nothing (shocker), so moving out had taken him all of five minutes.

And together, the two of them unloaded the van piece by piece, leaving Katsuki to sort out the kitchen while Deku single-handedly squatted his sofa and bed at the same time (the strong little fucker).

Katsuki put away bowls.

Deku put towels in the linen closet.

They hung up his clothes and reassembled his furniture.

And then it was done.

He officially lived with Deku.

And it was fine.

Now, he’d never, ever say it out loud- would sooner die than admit it-

-but for all his stubborn assurances, Deku had spoken the truth: he actually is a good roommate.

He's surprisingly tidy in common spaces, respectful with noise, and decent enough to sequester his truly dizzying amount of creepy fanboy merch to the sanctity of his own room. He never leaves dishes in the sink, never plays music too loud, and never brings people over without first getting the necessary go-ahead.

It's not all perfect, though.

He can't cook worth a damn (shit, the dumbfuck could probably burn water), but Katsuki had always known that. Who could forget the time that Deku had somehow set the entire microwave on fire during second year? 

But what Katsuki didn’t know is that his embarrassing lack of culinary skill had reduced him to relying on whatever bullshit protein supplement his agent had him hocking in his off-hours, and fuck, he could only stomach watching Deku swallow down a cup of that green-brown sludge and instant noodles for three days before his patience broke and began to yell at him to eat real food.

“I don’t know how to cook!”

“So fuckin’ learn!”

“I don’t have time to learn!”

“Make time!”

“Kachannnnn-“

It's irritating. Maddening.

Fuck that voice. Fuck those stupid green eyes and his dumb wobbling lip and just fuck it.

He's getting soft. He must be. Because it only takes three shouted arguments and a truly pathetic set of puppy eyes before he’d finally given in and agreed to take over cooking for both of them. 

It makes sense, after all. The nerd was less than useless on this sort of bullshit diet and they worked together too much for him to be off his game, so cooking him good food and making sure he got properly fed was just logical. Plus, it’s easier to cook for two than one. It isn’t that much of a sacrifice.

When did he become such a goddamn sap?

It's hard at first. There are arguments, of course. And misunderstandings.

And yet, despite everything, it only takes a few weeks before they began to establish an easy pattern together, stumbling onto conflicts and solving them, working and weaving around each other the way they always had on the battlefield, and despite having years of friendship as proof, he almost can’t believe just how shockingly well it works, how...easy it feels.

He hated to admit it- loathed to admit it- but despite all their little spats and quirks, Deku was a good roommate- a wonderful roommate, really.

But apparently, even he- the pride of Japan- the Symbol of Hope-isn’t without fault. 

His first and only true flaw as a housemate appears one night a couple of months in.

Katsuki’s laying on top of his bed on a rare night off, scrolling casually through his phone, sipping a beer, and enjoying the silence. His ears prick as he hears Deku’s door open and close softly.

Nerd’s home.

And sure enough, like clockwork, he can hear the floor softly shifting and groaning; can make out footsteps as Deku crosses into his bathroom and back- can hear the soft fwump of a body hitting a bedspread. 

It’s second nature at this point.

For all the good things about this apartment; the great kitchen, the bigger bedroom, the walk-in closet, the balcony with the amazing view, the nerd had failed to mention one very important detail: that the wall between their rooms was paper thin- a late addition years after the initial construction to make a one-bedroom space into two.

And worse, it had become apparent after the first few days that their headboards had shared said wall, making it all too easy to hear anything and everything that occurred in the other’s room when laying in bed.

Katsuki had wanted to complain at first (of course, he did), but truthfully, it really wasn’t that bad. Every housing situation has its quirks and drawbacks and in the grand scheme of things, it wasn’t too much of a detraction from the other obvious virtues of the new place. So, he’d kept it to himself. No need to stress the nerd out.

He sighs to himself, ignoring it like he always does, going back to reading emails and watching his favorite cooking show-

-When he hears it.

A sound, quiet at first, almost like a whisper of air- then louder- breathy- and for a moment or two, he thinks (or hopes, really) that maybe Deku is just working out; doing squats or stretches before bed. Something mundane. Something normal.

It wouldn’t be uncommon for the nerd. Sometimes, Deku works out in the complex’s gym and finishes his stretching in his room before showering.

So that’s what he must be doing. 

Clearly, that’s what he’s doing.

And sure in that fact, he forcibly turns his attention back to his phone, watching a chef deglaze a pan with wine, satisfied with his logic, putting the thought away-

-Only for his all-too-reasonable explanation to die a wild, screaming death as he hears the first soft, airy, undeniable moan.

He’s suddenly sitting straight up, his whole body jolting like he’s been shocked- slapped- stabbed; his head whipping in horror to face the wall behind him as if Deku would be right there in front of him and not sequestered behind two too-thin sheets of drywall, his mouth suddenly going bone dry, his heart beginning to pound a panicked, confused rhythm that is only overtaken by another light, rattling moan.

His soul momentarily leaves his body.

Oh, what the fuck.

What the fuck.

It barely registers through his head before there's another sound, pleasurable and fluttering-

-and abruptly, his hand is flying to his mouth to hold in a deluge of words, the other gripping harshly into his comforter. 

Holy shit. Holy shit.

Trying to get a hand on the wheel, he takes a breath, forcing his brain to slow down and use logic.

Okay, don’t panic. Keep your fucking head. Think it out rationally. 

For all his unending nerddom, Deku is a healthy, red-blooded, mid-twenties man. Of course, he does this. Everyone does this. It would be weirder if he didn’t do this.

His hand loosens on his bedspread, that sharp jolt of shock beginning to peter off into something steady.

He suddenly feels like an idiot for being so shocked. He should’ve known that this would happen. Because eventually, down the line, something like this is bound to happen when you live with someone else. It’s part of having a roommate.

Hell, he’d caught Eijirou in compromising and embarrassing positions a dozen more times than he cares to admit: the time he’d gone to throw the trash out and locked himself out with nothing to cover him but an absurdly tiny towel- the afternoon he’d walked in on him and Mina fucking on his clean kitchen counters- and worst, the night that he’d honestly forgotten to knock and walked in on Eijirou, tied down to the bed and getting dicked down within an inch of his life as Mina pegged him from behind.

He shudders at the thought, but as horrible as the memory is, it actually manages to calm him a bit. Because if he could come back from that- survive that nuclear bomb of awkwardness with their friendship intact- then this was nothing, right?

He glances back at the wall behind him, the soft sounds accompanying his thoughts in the silence.

This is fine. It’s just human nature. Just biology. Just another man looking to blow off a little steam. Completely normal. Not weird.

It’s just Deku.

He clicks his tongue.

And so what if the sounds coming out of him are good, maybe even a little sexy, even-?

He frowns, crimson eyes flicking over his shoulder at the wall.

I mean, it’s not like he’s blind- not like he hasn’t noticed for years how hot Deku is with his strong, compact build. In fact, he’d be lying through his goddamn teeth if he said he hadn’t caught himself staring at him in the locker room at least a hundred times over the years, first in high school and now at their agency: red eyes trailing surreptitiously down wide, freckled shoulders- the line of his back- over the curves of his thick, perfect ass and down those legs: those legs honed by his shoot style until they were carved out of goddamn marble- muscular and biteable and--

He quickly pulls himself back from those dubious thoughts, screwing his head back on firmly.

That’s fine, though. Even if he did look, it doesn’t actually mean anything- not at all. He’d always chalked it up first to hormones and then to the very-healthy, very-normal thoughts of a man in his youth. 

And besides, it’s not like he ever did anything wrong- not like it was anything serious. He’s just gay as fuck and Deku is hot. End of story. Period.

At least, that was the story- the narrative he’d chosen and followed dutifully for years.

Or at least, it was.

But now, the tiny panting sounds coming through the wall begin to graduate into a peak, building beautifully- horribly- into a breathless, toe-curling moan-

-And God, it just might be the sexiest sound he’s ever heard in his life.

Katsuki’s chest suddenly stutters on its breath, his entire body shuddering. His torso instinctively peels back off of his bedclothes, his heart leaping up into his throat as the sound seems to pour over him like cool water.

He turns a horrified eye towards the wall as another one sounds, low and soft and aching and god, it’s like music- building and swelling and crescendoing, those breathy moans morphing into deeper, rumbling sounds, masculine and rich- each of them stabbing him right in the chest as he finds himself sitting- unmoving- frozen; too confused and conflicted and afraid to even begin to know how to react.

Jesus.

What is he-? 

What is making him sound…like that-??

Is he just jacking off-? Or-??

It’s a mistake to even think it- a horrible mistake- because the thought has barely caught in his head before he can almost see it in his mind’s eye like a movie playing in front of him:

Deku- Izuku- spread out on top of his ridiculous All Might-themed bedspread, toes curling into the fabric, his body shuddering with pleasure and writhing slowly as his scarred hand drags sinfully up and down his hard cock- his lips biting back tiny, shivery sounds- coos of pleasure; his curls sweat-damp against his temples- those green eyes rolling back in his head as his other hand reaches down down down and begins to tease at his ass-

“Ah-” Another moan; louder- sinful- begins to echo-

-And Katsuki finds himself slamming back down to Earth with the force of a Detroit Smash.

Oh my god.

Oh my god.

The thought of him- of shitty fuckin’ Deku- like that-? It should be disgusting- should be vile- but it’s- it's not- it’s not vile at all- it’s…overwhelming- horrible- beautiful; so much so that he’s suddenly out of breath- light-headed- almost fucking dizzy.

He feels like someone has dumped out his brain and replaced it with Jell-O- with rocks or slush; his thoughts garbled and disconnected- his chest beginning to heave as his heart starts to pound-

-And then, before he can make heads or tails of it- can understand anything at all, he suddenly feels it; insistent and unignorable.

He’s fucking hard.

He looks down at himself in horror.

Fuck-!!

Fuck fuck fuck fuck.

His roommate- his hero partner- his best friend of almost twenty years- is in the next room, touching himself, and he’s hard at just hearing it.

What in the fuck.

Disgusted and confused, he tries desperately to push it all away- to crawl back into the safety of his head, clawing at fleeting thoughts, kneeling and worshiping at the altar of rationality as he tries to logic himself out of culpability.

Okay. This is fine. It’s okay.

Getting hard is a biological response to stimulus; a healthy reaction to a very arousing scenario. It doesn't have to mean anything.

He’s only human. Only a man. 

Only a very horny, very gay man.

It’s fine. It’s fine. It’s--

“-Aaah~” Deku whimpers, his voice going breathy and high and broken.

It hits him so hard that he can actually feel his pupils dilate; can feel his lungs stutter over the dry suck of breath- can feel his hands actually beginning to tremble- his cock throbbing with need and-

-It’s not fine. It’s not fucking fine.

All it takes is that one sound- that one cry- and he’s suddenly dizzy from it; from the conflicting feelings- from restraint- from the blood rushing straight to his dick-

-but he doesn’t have time to feel guilt or anger or disgust because suddenly, there’s a sound; a single, moaned word coming through the walls.

“Fuck.”  Deku whispers- whimpers-

-And Katsuki's head goes utterly empty- his body boneless- god, he almost fucking chokes at it; at hearing his sweet, innocent friend swear like that.

His hard cock bobs against his stomach at just the sound of it, his hands clutching into his sheets with white knuckles, holding onto them like a lifeline as he waits- for what, he’s not sure.

A faint squeak of bed springs- a rattling sigh of an exhale- and then, a moan: soft and tremulous- honey-thick and drenched in sin.

“Fuck, pleeease-”  He whimpers- drawn-out and desperate-

-And there it is.

Katsuki’s throat goes dry enough to crack- his vision going black at the sides- the animal parts of his brain taking over-

-And what remains of his self-control is gone.

It’s a mistake- a mistake- he shouldn’t- he shouldn’t- this is his best friend- Jesus Christ, it’s Deku- but before he can find a reason not to; before logic, self-preservation, dignity, or propriety can rear their ugly heads, primal instinct is taking over and his hand is suddenly thrusting down into his joggers and curling around himself.

He has to bite his mouth shut to hold in the sound that threatens to rip out of him.

Holy fuck.

Holy fuck.

That first touch is like nothing he’s ever felt; divine- euphoric- sending a jolt of electricity through every nerve in his body- arching his back completely off the bed- arousal pooling low and hot in his gut-

-but as good as it feels, he doesn’t dare make a sound; his lips pressing together hard. Because if he can hear Deku so clearly, then the nerd will more than definitely hear him.

“Yes- yes-” Deku moans, the affirmative words prompting him- goading him- almost as if he’s beside him, whispering in his ear; a green-haired devil on his shoulder leading him down to hell.

His hand begins to move, squeezing himself hard, every stroke shooting pleasure through his skin- pleasure like he’s never felt-

“Fuck- don’t- stop-” Deku begs between panting breaths, desperate and hoarse.

-And he obeys instantly; pushes himself harder- going faster.

“Right- there-” Deku gasps.

And Jesus Christ, he burns.

He’s never been so turned on in his life. It’s better than porn- better than anything else- anyone else- and it’s here and it’s real and it’s- it’s Deku.

He closes his eyes and suddenly, he’s there with him; touching him- tasting him- running his hands over that perfect ass- gripping those hips- his fingers teasing at him- dipping inside him.

“Oh- oh, fuuuck-” Deku whines.

It's heaven. It's sin.

A shiver instinctively rips from the bottom of his fucking spine; so heavy that he has a swallow back a moan of his own. 

God, Deku probably takes cock like a fucking champion. He never quits- never backs down from a challenge- would probably look like a goddamn dream beneath him- would feel like heaven around him, tight and hot- those big, beautiful green eyes drunk off it- off him; that bitten mouth gasping and panting- that perfect ass taking him and taking him.

“Please-," Deku begs broken, "-please- I’m-”

His eyes blow.

Fuck, he feels the first sparks of it low in his groin, balls going tight, thighs shaking under it, head flinging back onto the pillows as he picks up the tempo, trying to chase him.

Deku’s voice almost breaks, his next words scarcely more than a splintered, cracking cry.

“Gonna cum- gonna-”

Holy shit, it’s the best thing he’s ever felt- so fucking incredible.

Jesus Christ, yes- yes - fuckin’ come for me, Deku, come for me.

“F-fuck- K-Kacchan-! ”

Katsuki’s heart stops.

He doesn’t even have time to suck in a gasp of utter dread- to breathe- to do anything at all- because at the sound of Deku crying out his name, gasped and broken and wrecked and perfect, he slips and falls- comes immediately- comes hard- ropes of white shooting across his abs and chest, his entire body going taut as a bowstring as the best orgasm he’d ever had washes over him- kicks him like a mule; his teeth gouging into his lips hard enough to nearly draw blood in an attempt to keep himself from making a sound as the overwhelming pleasure hits again and again- his body shaking from head to toe- writhing in sheets- hand clamping hard and desperate over his mouth-

-And seconds later, Deku follows him, high and breathless and utterly perfect, crying out.

“Aaah-!”  He moans, clearly too caught up in his own release to mute himself.

And fuck, even drowning in the pleasure- the horror- he can see it in his mind’s eye; can see his flushed, freckled cheeks and chest- his green eyes, fucked-out and hazy and delirious- those lips bitten from trying to keep himself quiet- his whole body trembling from the weight of his orgasm, cum-splattered and shaking and filthy and fucking perfect; that gorgeous mouth whispering ‘Kacchan.'

He releases his softening, oversensitive cock, his entire body still thrumming like a livewire as the shocks continue to course through his blood- his breaths heavy and hard-

-And then, like a punch in the gut, the post-nut clarity suddenly hits, hard and fast and brutal.

His eyes flash open.

What the fuck was that. 

What the fuck.

What the fuck.

His heart begins to pound with sudden dread, every nerve in his body on high alert as he comes to terms with the weight of what he’d just done- the evidence drying on his abs and chest- his head suddenly burying into his hands as if he could disappear behind them and fade away into nothing.

Deku.

His hero partner.

His best friend.

His stomach suddenly lurches.

I jacked off to my best friend.

I fucking came thinking of my best friend.

Like some sort of freak- some sort of sick, fucking pervert.

And then, worse- much, much worse:

Deku came thinking of me- he screamed for me-

-And it felt… good.

It felt so fucking good.

He lays on his bed, motionless and damp with sweat, and for maybe the first time in his entire life, he doesn’t know what to do; how to proceed- what to think- how to react-

-and so, crushed under the weight of it; of stimuli and discovery and fucking shame- he decides, for once, to be a fucking coward and just not react at all.

He waits there, nestled into mussed sheets, listening carefully as he hears Deku move around his room.

He goes to his bathroom (probably to clean up), hops in and out of the shower, pads around for a bit, and then, thank God, lays down on his bed with a soft thump and almost immediately falls asleep.

And the entire time, Katsuki holds himself impossibly still and silent like a thief in the night, terrified to be caught or heard, biding his time and doing his best to ignore the uncomfortable feeling of cum drying on his skin as he waits for the right moment to move.

It isn’t until he’s positive that Deku is asleep that he summons up the bravery to peel himself from his bed, slowly- silently; forcing himself upright and into his ensuite bathroom. 

He can’t even look at himself as he rips his soiled clothes off and pours himself into a shower; one so hot that it blocks out all of the terrible thoughts in his head- one so hot that he could almost pretend that the events of the last thirty minutes hadn’t happened- one so hot that he could almost just melt beneath it and cease to exist at all.

Stepping out, he towels off, willing his mind into deliberate blankness, dressing and crawling back into bed like nothing had happened at all.

He can hear the soft, easy rhythm of Deku’s breath through the wall and even though it nearly makes him sick, it’s also a comfort- a haven- something safe and dependable that he can cling to as he fights to keep his head above water.

He syncs his breathing to it, holding with white knuckles onto the tether that Deku had unconsciously provided, an undeserved feeling of relief sweeping him as he feels himself beginning to drift.

He falls asleep fast.

Chapter Text

Katsuki sleeps like shit.

He tosses and turns all night long, sweaty and uncomfortable, his dreams plagued with sights- scents- sounds- with green hair and soft breaths- his name echoing in his ears; the disastrous event playing over and over again in whirling, inescapable snippets like a goddamn broken record until finally, after what seems like hours of restless movement, he can’t stand it anymore.

He cracks his eyes, forcing himself awake, blinking away the remaining dregs of an unsuccessful sleep as the morning light streams through his windows and across his bedclothes.

Slowly blinking his way back to the mortal coil, he presses the heels of his hands into his eyes with a long, sustained hiss.

Fuck.

He feels like he’s hungover- like he’d been hit by a truck; his head pounding- body achy- and try as he might to shove the thoughts away and will his mind into blankness, they disobey, pressing themselves to the forefront of his subconscious- taking precedence over anything and everything else.

He opens his eyes, blearily staring at the ceiling.

What the fuck happened?

What the fuck was that?

Laying in bed motionlessly, his mind wandering, his gaze traces over the patterns in the popcorn ceiling with a deep frown.

Christ, this is going to be awkward. How the fuck is he even going to look at him? Share a room with him? Sit across the breakfast table from him and not imagine the sound of his name in that fucking voice-??

He groans low in his throat, running his hands wearily over his face, absently wondering how long he can hold out; wondering if he could just stay in his room and pretend that nothing happened-

-When his stomach abruptly growls, loud and insistent- the sound just enough to snap him out of it- to pull him out of the quagmire of what if; the pressing need for food momentarily outweighing the confusing whirl of feelings in his head.

He pushes himself up to sit, his face going sour.

What the fuck is he doing? 

He's not going to just sit here and hide.   

He’s a top-five hero, capable of bringing down a building with a single shot- breaking bones with a single hit- since when the fuck did he turn into such a goddamn coward? Since when is he afraid of anything? Since when is he afraid…of Deku-?? 

He thinks it over as he stretches his back and shoulders; the idea rolling around and around in his head.

He and Deku had survived a war together- had bled at each others’ sides- took hits for each other- trained together- laughed together- cried together- lived together.

Yeah, what happened last night was a weird fucking thing- sure, would be awkward- awkward as hell- but compared to the things they’d seen together-? Done together-?

This was nothing. It would be fine.

Now get the fuck up and quit being such a fuckin’ pansy.

Renewed by this new, stubborn strength, he kicks his covers off, pulls himself up tall, and walks out of his room with his shoulders squared and head held high.

As he opens his door, there’s noise from the kitchen, soft and low. 

Deku must already be up.

And sure enough, when he rounds the corner, Deku is there as expected; sitting at one of the bar stools at the kitchen island in an oversized Red Riot shirt and his stupid, ratty, decade-old All Might pajama pants with the holes at the cuffs, the upper half of his green curls tied up in a little tuft on top of his head, a steaming cup of coffee in one hand and his phone in the other, his eyes scanning it carefully (more than likely reading up on hero news, the damn nerd)-

-And seeing him there; so innocent- so damn cavalier- something suddenly shifts.

His arms won’t work. Or his feet. Or his head.

He's stuck.

He grits his teeth.

Damn it- goddamn it- he said it would be fine. It should be fine. But despite everything, Katsuki’s mouth goes dry at the sight of him. 

He tries to remember those assurances that had been so bold only a few moments ago- to remind himself that there’s nothing to be afraid of- but at a single glance at that green head, everything that had happened suddenly slams back into him, his heart beginning to hammer against his ribs as the true weight of it hits him like a truck.

Questions spill into his head; questions he didn’t want to consider- to touch- to validate. 

Does he know what happened?

Could he hear me like I heard him?

Had he called for him as some sort of sick joke? To let him know that he was listening? As some sort of mental game? To fuck with him-??

He finds himself sifting through thoughts for the answer, his overactive imagination tying ideas together with red string, each new idea cutting deeper and deeper and deeper-

-But he doesn’t have time to make sense of it- make a plan- do anything- because Deku notices him in his peripheral vision.

“Oh!” He chirps, turning over his shoulder with a gentle smile, “Morning, Kacchan-!” 

His lungs are being stupid and uncooperative- his head mushy and thick. He’s suddenly acutely aware of every pore on his body- every nerve- every muscle as he scans his roommate for answers.

But sure enough, there’s nothing dark in Deku’s eyes- nothing dastardly- nothing that shows any sign that he’s plotting; nothing but that soft, guileless innocence that he’s possessed since childhood, overlaid by a thick layer of early-morning haze.

He suddenly feels like an idiot for letting himself get so worked up; for needlessly digging for answers and meaning where there clearly aren't any.

He swallows deep and thick.

Don’t be fucking weird- keep your shit together- act fucking normal.

So he sneers instead, trying to act fucking normal.

“Morning, nerd.” He mutters, moving past him with large steps towards the coffee pot, reaching up into one of the cupboards to fish out his own mug, the spiky orange one that says ‘DIE’ that Momo made for him for his birthday.

A familiar thing. A comfort.

And trying to ignore the insistent tingle in his fingers, he pours himself a full, steaming mug, turning and leaning his back against the countertop as he takes that first, hot sip- trying his best to be the picture of nonchalance- to act fucking normal-

-Only to find Deku staring at him with a soft sort of impatience; the gaze heavy and intense as if he’s waiting for something.

It sets off every warning bell in his head; his body suddenly tense with alarm. 

Oh, fuck.

Fuck fuck fuck.

Everything crashes together in his head, his overactive mind raging and rushing and jumping to quick conclusions.

That’s it. He knows. He heard- he must’ve- and now, he’s waiting for him to admit it- to incriminate himself- Jesus, he’s torturing him- fucking toying with him–!

But as as he's about to succumb to paranoia- to panic- something suddenly juts out in his head, cleaving cleanly through the fear.

Wait.

That’s not right. That’s not right at all. The nerd wouldn’t dangle information like this- wouldn’t ever try to use something like that against him- wouldn’t toy with him or hurt him. No, the nerd would never do that.

And quickly realizing that he’s been quiet for too long and that Deku is still looking at him expectantly, he swallows it down hard and forces himself to respond.

“What.” He hisses, purposefully raising a disdainful brow.

Deku’s face lights with a quick flash of excitement at the acknowledgment; leaning forward onto his hands with a tender, dreamy look.

“What are the chances you’d be in the mood for pancakes?” He asks.

Katsuki goes painfully still as the question echoes, staring at him as if he’s grown a second head.

What…?

What the…fuck-?

“Pancakes?” He blurts; so surprised that he doesn’t stop to think of something smarter to say.

Deku nods voraciously, his eyes going bright.

“Please-??” He smiles, “I’ve been craving them for days and this is the first morning that we’ve both had off in a while. I’d make them myself, but I’d probably burn the kitchen down, y’know-?”

And yeah, that’s true, undeniably true-

-But at the same time, he suddenly can’t fucking breathe for some reason.

He must’ve gone somewhere for a moment- must be giving him a weird look- acting wholly unlike himself- because he blinks and Deku is rising to his feet, concern abruptly replacing that early-morning softness as he swings around the island and takes him by the forearm, those horrible, wide green eyes staring right into his fucking core.

“-Kacchan?” He asks- head tilting curiously.

“~Kacchan~! ” 

He can suddenly hear it in his ears; Deku’s voice moaning his name like a prayer- and he can’t help the harsh shiver that courses through his body at the memory of it.

“...Yeah-?” He manages, raspy and subdued- knowing he has to respond, but not having the strength to say more.

Deku’s eyes glide up and down, taking him in, his brows pitching up with concern.

“You okay?” He asks, scanning him fretfully.

His thick, scarred thumb brushes over his skin and the casual intimacy almost bowls him over.

No one else touches him like this. No one else would ever dare. He would never allow it.

His entire chest feels like stone as he forces himself to grit out an answer.

“Just fuckin’ fine, nerd.”

Deku frowns at him, clearly not believing him as he takes in his obvious distress; his tight lips and strained shoulders.

And of course, he does.

He knows him so well- sees him so well.

“Hey, um, don’t be mad,” He begs, gentle- careful-, “-but you look a little…off.”

And he’s right, of course. He is off- completely off; disastrously unbalanced like a planet careening off its orbit- a compass losing its true north-

-But he can’t tell him that- he can’t- so he tries his best to think of something to say, his overworked head grasping for a thread- something that would make sense.

And suddenly, thank god, he finds it.

“Nightmares.” He manages, hoping that Deku will let it go- not ask more-

-And sure enough, there’s recognition in him then; a soft, sad tilt to his mouth- a tightness in his jaw.

Deku knows about the nightmares from the war. He’s one of only three people in the world who knows.

His scarred hand goes slack.

“Oh, okay.” He responds, backing away to give him space, his expression going warm, “Forget I asked. You don’t have to. I’m sure I can handle it.”

He turns away, busying himself as he reaches for a bowl.

“How hard can it be, right-?” He asks himself with an excited little smile, “You cook pancakes in a pan, don’t you-?” He laughs. “I mean, it’s in the name.”

There’s a crossroads and Katsuki finds himself suddenly slamming into it as Deku continues to quietly mumble beside him. The more he’s observed, the more he believes it: 

Deku doesn’t know what he heard; has no idea what happened. 

And yeah, it’s a relief- a huge relief- but he doesn’t have time to dwell on it because Deku has gone still beside him; is staring at him with those wide, innocent eyes like he’d asked a question and is waiting for the answer.

Katsuki sighs.

Not now. He can’t do this now.

So he cuts himself open and shoves all those thoughts down deep- somewhere untouchable; a hidden part of his subconscious where those dangerous feelings can go to wither and die- because Katsuki doesn’t have time for them now. Or maybe ever. He has pancakes to make.

He jerks away from Deku harshly like his presence is poison, his mouth turning down into an all-too-familiar scowl.

“What, and let you fuck up my kitchen?” He asks, looking him over with a sneer, “Not a chance in hell.” 

He turns to the nearest cupboard to get out another large bowl, not missing the amused breath and gentle chuckle beside him.

“Now make yourself useful and cut up some strawberries.” He orders over his shoulder, one brow raising as he cocks his head towards the fridge, “You can handle that, can’t you?”

And when he looks down, Deku’s eyes are crinkling with sudden warmth; the worry easing away into peace.

“Yeah.” He smiles.

They each begin their tasks.

Deku cuts the strawberries quietly, his hero news podcast playing softly in the background. Katsuki prepares his mise en place with his usual precision, mixing the ingredients one by one until batter begins to slowly form.

And despite his desire to turn it all off and not think about it- to just let go and proceed on autopilot- his unruly brain refuses to cooperate; nearly humming with questions as his hands absently work.

What does it all mean?

Deku’s lived here for a while. He must know about the walls, right?

He frowns deeply, his hands coming to a sudden stop.

Probably not, honestly.

Actually, it would be just like the nerd to not realize something like that, and would be just like Eyebags to not say a thing. For all his snide remarks and sassy quips, he is nothing if not loyal to a fault; in fact, his discretion may be his crowning virtue- his one saving grace. But in that case...

He steals a glance at him over his shoulder.

What does it mean? Why did he call for him? Think of him? Like that-?

He pinches his eyes closed.

Use logic.

Logically, he’s an attractive guy. He knows he is. And perhaps it’s possible that Deku’s noticed it the way that he’d always quietly noticed Deku. And there would be nothing wrong with that at all. Everyone’s entitled to their little fantasies- their taboo thoughts.

Shit, he’d had them before himself- had definitely pictured his friends during solo sessions: Eijirou’s wide, biteable shoulders- Denki's lithe, little waist- Shouto’s gorgeous eyes and neck and mouth- hell, there was even that one weird time that the thought of Camie’s big tits got him off and he’s gay as fuck.

He looks down at the bowl of batter, quietly puzzling over it.

Honestly, that’s probably it. After all these years, any attraction Deku has to him is more than likely aesthetic. Nothing more.

And fuck, is that a relief- a weight off his shoulders- a cleansing of that remaining guilt. But if that’s so- if that’s the case- then why does the thought of it make his heart sting? Why does he suddenly feel so…disappointed? 

He pours a scoop of batter into the hot pan, trying to unravel the conflicting thought as it sizzles softly.

What the actual fuck is he disappointed for?? This is good. This is the best-case scenario. He’s safe. Deku didn’t hear- doesn’t know- everything can stay the same- nothing has to change.

But.

He flips the pancake.

Then why does the thought of it make his heart sink?

The thought has barely crossed his mind before the answer suddenly hits him between the ribs.

His hand grips tight around the spatula.

Does he…want Deku to know that he heard him-?

Does he want him to know how good it was-? How…right it felt?

He goes deathly still as he unconsciously, accidentally stumbles across a dangerous thought- a dubious feeling; a dazzling piece of forbidden fruit that entices him in even though he knows he mustn’t touch.

Because it did feel right. 

It did. 

More right than any of his other encounters- honestly better than any of the people that he dated.

It had been scary and messy and confusing and inopportune, sure, but-

-But there had also been a relief in it; a scratch on an itch he’d never been able to reach- a line in the sand he’d never dared to cross- the first, fresh breath of air after hours of breathing in smoke.

And with that knowledge firmly tucked into his head- circling through his blood- Katsuki suddenly…feels something.

Something that renders him silent; that inexplicably makes him want to draw closer. Something that makes him feel way too soft inside; a chocolate bar left on a dashboard in summer- a popsicle abandoned to melt and dissolve in the sun.

He glances over at Deku surreptitiously, trying very hard to keep his gaze covert. 

The nerd is leaning on one elbow, silently sneaking pieces of strawberry off the cutting board like the little shit he is, his eyes still glued to the screen of his phone.

It’s classic Deku: soft and sweet and kind and well, annoying.

And he's always been like this, hasn’t he? There’s nothing different; nothing new.

His eyes narrow.

Then what-?? What is it? What’s different? What had suddenly changed-? Shifted things so drastically-?

Is it him-? Is it because he finally, for once, put down one of his iron walls-? Opened himself up to a new possibility? Pushed the boundaries of their relationship? 

He clenches his jaw tightly.

There’s no one he trusts like Deku. They’ve always been close- intimate, in their own, unique fashion; fiercely protective of each other and affectionate in a way that can only be purchased with time and sweat and blood. And even though he’d never admitted it aloud, he’d always thought that he was attractive- a fucking specimen of a man; powerful and compact and beautiful in his own scarred, baby-faced way. And all that he could live with- all that he could endure- ignore.

But.

He swallows hard, hating the way his hands suddenly go clammy; the way his whole body suddenly goes cold.

But that broken call of ‘Kacchan’ had sparked something; a flame on the tinder that he’d never let himself light- the final step he’d never let himself take. But now that fire is lit; it’s lit and- and-!!

He looks at him, his throat going tight- his stomach tying into a hard knot- and maybe it’s the still-sleepy look in his eyes or the dumb little scrunchie holding his hair up, but staring at him in the morning haze- at his green eyes- his freckles- his adorable, horrible little smile- his head suddenly rings with the memories of his voice and the undeniable pleasure he’d felt-

-And he feels it.

It’s there, in their kitchen, with a pancake sizzling in the pan and the scent of cinnamon and strawberries in the air, looking at his face- at his best friend- at stupid, fuckin’ Deku- that he suddenly knows it in an instant; knows it just at a glance. 

He turns back sharply, staring at the backsplash as a wave of heat rushes into his cheeks- his heart suddenly pounding, his hand shaking around the spatula.

He can feel the words on his tongue- rattling in his head- clarity washing over him and rushing into his lungs and throat and choking him.

Oh my god, that’s it.

Feelings.

For Deku.

He has fuckin’ feelings for Deku.

The lights all suddenly come on, the doors suddenly flood open, and in a wild, head-rattling rush, years’ worth of odd instances and tense moments suddenly make sense.

All the nights joking around and watching movies- sprawling over each other on couches. The days sharing lunches and cooking meals- fighting at each other’s sides- crying in each other’s arms. The bickering and laughing- that odd, fierce protectiveness he feels- the way that his iron barriers are almost immune to him and his soft words. The odd fluttering feeling he gets when he looks at him too long. The way he can never make himself look away from him in the locker room. The way that he would burn the world for him- kill for him- die for him.

He suddenly feels like a fucking idiot for not realizing it earlier; for needing to hear the sound of Deku screaming for him in the throes of orgasm for it to drill into his thick, stupid head.

But now, he knows.

I have feelings for Deku.

It barely even registers and he’s suddenly drowning in it- in the salt-water sea of clarity; memories and feelings and thoughts rising into his mouth until he feels like he’s fucking suffocating- gasping- sinking- dying--!!

“Kacchan-? I think you’re burning that one.” Deku calls helpfully.

His soul suddenly slams headfirst back into his body. He looks down in horror, only to see a puff of black smoke billowing up from the pan, and in an instant, his hands are moving, flipping it quickly before turning and tossing it into the trash can with a hiss.

He swallows hard, one hand coming up to his forehead, his eyes wide, his heart pounding.

“Fuck.”  He whispers softly.

After a moment, he can hear the stool scraping on the floor, the soft pad of Deku’s steps, and then, suddenly, the nerd is at his side, giving him a teasing nudge with his hip.

“When I asked for pancakes, I didn’t mean burnt ones.” He heckles him.

And for once, Katsuki couldn’t be more grateful. He can’t handle soft right now- can’t handle sweet- can’t handle any of Deku’s usual, gentle care. But this he can handle.

He turns to him venomously, smacking him on the bicep with the spatula.

“Fuck you, nerd, I’ll fucking burn you.” He hisses, his stomach and chest suddenly melting as Deku tilts his head back and laughs, the sound sparkling and bright and far too adorable.

His heart twists.

Jesus Christ, he’s beautiful. 

How did I miss it-??

Deku wipes his eyes, giving him an affectionate pat on the shoulder that makes his whole body fucking shudder.

“Okay, Kacchan.” He murmurs, retreating away back to his damn strawberries, thankfully not noticing the pink on his roommate’s cheeks.

And with him at a safe distance, Katsuki can finally breathe again, at least, enough to finish cooking.

He makes the pancakes one by one, a stack eventually appearing on Deku’s plate and then his own.

He sits beside him quietly as they eat, far too overwhelmed by his discovery to even attempt conversation, but luckily, a quiet meal isn’t out of the norm. The pancakes are good (of course they are, he’s the fuckin’ best), but as objectively good as they are, he can barely eat them. They taste like ashes on his tongue.

But even so, Deku digs in, eating them with aplomb; dousing them in strawberries and whipped cream and syrup.

“These are so good-!” He exclaims with full cheeks, his tone just a step below rapture, and goddamn it, even that makes his ears heat. 

Katsuki forces himself not to look- to stare down at his plate; his voice rough with contained emotion.

“‘Course they are.” He grumbles. “I made them.”

Deku chuckles lightly and then turns to him, leaning onto one hand, his face like an angel’s as he hums a soft sound and whispers:

“You’re amazing, Kacchan.”

It’s such a simple thing- a phrase he’s heard a million and one times- and yet, his heart thumps a single, hard beat- and for the first time, he actually lets those words soak into him; pooling into his blood and bones and skin.

He looks at him- at his adorable, morning-soft face- and he finds, with utter horror, that he’s suddenly on fire with the desire to grab him by the neck and fuckin’ kiss him.

And that alone is so fucking insane and overwhelming- too much, it’s too goddamn much- that Katsuki just shuts down- turns away with a grimace to hide his flushing cheeks- burying his face into one hand and grits:

“Don’t talk with your mouth full, nerd.”

Chapter Text

Feelings.

Feelings are fuckin’ stupid.

Feelings are for teenagers and dumbasses with nothing better to do. And he has better things to do.

And yeah, sure, he’s had feelings before- or at least, he thought he did- but everything he’s ever felt, everything he’s ever known utterly pales in comparison to how he feels about Deku now.

Because it only takes that single discovery in the kitchen and suddenly, he’s hooked- addicted- can’t stop fuckin’...noticing things- things he’s never noticed before (or perhaps, never let himself notice before).

Like how unbelievably and unfairly hot Deku looks post-workout, his bangs held back with a headband, his torso carved from marble- skin glowing- his neck sweaty and delicious- his small, compact body all muscle and brawn and power- the drool-worthy way his suit gets caught on that thick, perfect ass- those fuckin’ legs!

Or god, how fuckin’ cute he is when he’s tired after a long day; how gently he mumbles between yawns as he tries to stay awake during their movie, insisting that no, Kacchan, he isn’t falling asleep, he’s just resting his eyes.

The sweet way that he nestles onto the arm of the couch when he should just go to bed. The stumbling, sleepy walk back to his bedroom after Katsuki barks at him to go to sleep.

Or Jesus, how disgustingly and heart-meltingly kind he is when he’s talking to kids- to civilians- even to people who don’t deserve it.

How kind he is to him; especially when he doesn’t deserve it.

He notices. And notices. And as days slip by, it just gets worse: he just keeps seeing things- feeling things- and fuck, he doesn’t know what to do.

There’s something inside of him that nearly screams with every new discovery- a snarling, pacing, prowling wolf that howls with impatience; an immature, childish, restless part of him that wants to just…get it over with- put himself out of his misery- stop torturing himself and just tell him what’s going on and how he feels.

But at the same time, god, it’s a risk. A huge risk. A leap of faith that could drastically change everything- that could potentially end this tenuous friendship built of years’ worth of shaky steps and ramshackle shingles, and as brave as he pretends to be- as unaffected- as self-sufficient- he knows deep within himself that losing Deku would be like losing a limb- like breathing with one lung: would be unthinkable- devastating for too many reasons to even name.

So he keeps his mouth shut.

He tells himself- convinces himself that the key is to just be normal; to keep things as they’ve always been- that with time, maybe those new, awful feelings will fade away, or more hopefully, that someday, there will be a shred of proof- something to show that the feelings are reciprocated- that Deku feels the same way.

And if that day comes, he’ll tell him. He will.

And while it’s a long shot, it gives him something to hold onto; something to look forward to.

So he puts his head down and tries to forget it- to act normal- to treat Deku as he always has.

And at first, thank fuck, it actually works. They go about their respective routines; cooking and working and kicking ass and hanging out with friends and watching movies together. 

And yeah, sure, sometimes, the nerd will look at him with those soft, soft eyes and that perfect, gentle smile and those awful feelings flare and sting like an unscratchable itch- burn deep like a bruise- and it’s not good, but it’s fine.

He’s Katsuki fucking Bakugou.

He can handle it.

And yeah, it takes effort- sure, it sucks- but he can keep his head on- his eyes straight- his gaze fixed. He can do it. He can. Until he gets proof. Until he knows that Deku feels the same way. So that's what he does.

Until it happens again. 

It's late at night a few weeks after the first instance- at an hour that Katsuki should be sleeping- when suddenly, he hears it: the sounds he’d been waiting for- dying for.

Deku’s voice curls through the wall, wispy and soft- high and breathy and divine. It starts quiet, barely a whisper, and then it builds- grows- swells and pitches until his moans are singing through the air like music, his filthy, whispered words like fuckin’ poetry as he begins to touch himself- wind himself up; pleading to no one- begging into the night air.

Somewhere, absently, Katsuki knows he shouldn’t: that it’s unsafe- unwise- irrational- that it will only lead to heartbreak and disaster.

But the weeks of waiting- weeks upon weeks of bated breaths and careful observations and pounding heartbeats have made him weak- a weak, stupid man- because he can’t make himself stop, can’t control himself as his hand reaches down and curls around his cock; his thoughtful, smart, rational arguments dissolving into nothing as he throws his head back and loses himself to euphoria- abandons himself to indulgence- to the siren’s song of that silken, tenor moan.

He listens with closed eyes and muted gasps, touching himself slowly in time with Deku’s soft pants, falling blindly into the rhythm, his back arching and flexing with it- that same incredible, incomparable pleasure swelling and driving him insane as he builds himself up to the peak, following Deku’s lead like a dog on a leash- listening- waiting- hoping against hope for the proof he’s waited weeks for- the confirmation of reciprocation.

They build to the end together, breathing in sync the way that they always do- always have- and god, it’s good- god, it’s so fucking good- it’s coming- he’s going to hear it- he’s going to know-!!

He tilts his head back into his pillow, exposing his throat- prying open the parts of himself that had long been welded shut- cracking himself open to Deku’s mercy; his eyes pinching closed as he holds himself on the edge and disregards his dignity and fucking prays.

Say my name, Deku.

Say my name.

Please, baby.

Please.

It doesn’t come. 

Deku hits his peak with a sound that’s so beautiful that it’s almost criminal; a wordless, perfect sound that hits him in his bones- rattles him down into his very soul. 

But he doesn’t call for him; not for Kacchan or anyone else.

And that weeks-long, tightly-held question is suddenly, cruelly answered.

Katsuki feels his heart splinter and crack as his body instinctively snaps and tumbles- his stomach turning as cum paints his chest; the overwhelming pleasure of hard orgasm interlaced with sharp, icy disappointment as he works himself through it until he’s shaking from overstimulation and unable to take it for a second longer.

And when he's done, still trembling with pleasure- with despair, he releases his cock; his hands coming up to his face like he could hide behind them- disappear into them.

He grits his teeth together to hold himself silent as his chest begins to tighten.

He should’ve known.

It was a fluke. A fuckin’ fluke.

Deku doesn’t have those feelings- doesn’t want him like that. He’d probably called his name that one time on instinct- as nothing more than a guilty, little pleasure. 

And drowning in that knowledge, he sinks further into his hands, pressing them tightly against his mouth to try to hold in the unholy scream of anger- of fury- of utter devastation that begins to bubble through him as he forces himself to come to terms with reality.

Because this whole time- all these weeks that he’d waited and prayed and fuckin’ pined- it had been nothing; nothing but a passing fancy- an indulgent fantasy.

He’d been given an inch and he’d taken a mile- had heard his name once and convinced himself that there had to be more; had tricked himself into thinking that there was a future in it- that somehow, Deku might have feelings, too. 

And now that rug has been pulled; the hazy dream shattered like a brittle pane of glass- the fantasy running through his fingers like white sand.

It takes every bit of his world-famous strength not to dissolve into his pillow and sob.

Stupid. Foolish. Pathetic.

Idiot.

Idiot.

He doesn’t sleep that night or the night after, tortured through the early hours with cruel remembrances of the sound of that voice, those moans, and the one name that he didn’t hear.

Three days later, it happens again.

And again.

And again.

He knows he's pathetic- knows that it's hopeless- and yet, each time, he goes still as death: listens- waits- hopes.

And god, he tries; tries to be strong- tries not to fall in- tries to keep his hands away- but no matter how hard he tries, that voice somehow pulls him in, melting his wax wings until he can’t resist- until he’s plummeting; reaching down and touching himself like the pathetic, disgusting bastard he is- knowing that it’s a horrible mistake and still doing it anyway- building himself to the pleasure that he begins to realize that he can only get with Deku-

-Only to have his hopes doused by shouts of ecstasy- by moans that don’t quite form syllables- by gasps and cries that don’t make the one word he’d give his entire soul for.

And though it hurts- burns- he adjusts.

Is it easy? No. 

But manageable.

Manageable like taking down a gang of criminals single-handedly or saving countless lives from a natural disaster.

Possible- doable- but not without pain. Not without damage.

And that’s what the discovery of his unrequited feelings leads to. Pain. Damage.

Weeks go by.

Weeks where he drops everything at that first signal; that first sound. Weeks where he lays pathetically in bed with every sense trained towards the wall; ears pricked- hands shaking. Weeks where he promises himself that this is the last time. Weeks of shattering pleasure- bone-deep disappointment- of ever-deepening self-loathing. Weeks where his shameful, hidden feelings only grow.

And grow.

And grow.

◈◈◈

'

He’s in his office, hunched over what seems like an endless stack of reports- a daunting endeavor after the mess of a week that they’d had- poring over an insurance form in his right hand and a witness statement in his left-

-When suddenly, there's a knock on his door. A familiar green head poking in. A voice that he’s grown to hear in his worst nightmares and softest dreams.

“Hey, Kacchan?” Deku asks plaintively.

A sighing breath.

Instant relief.

He swivels around in his chair until he’s facing him, endlessly grateful for this sudden distraction, because if he had to read one more form, he was going to actually lose his mind.

“Yeah?” He asks, setting down his forms and looking him over, “What’s up?”

And that’s when he notices it; Deku’s hunched posture- his twitching fingers- his puppy eyes.

He knows Deku too well- can read him as easily as a picture book. And from his body language and expression, he sees it instantly: he wants something.

“Could I ask you a favor?” He asks sheepishly.

Katsuki smirks.

Ha. Called it.

He leans back in his seat, his arms crossing proudly over his chest.

“Shoot.”

Deku smiles, the action strained and thin, like he’s already preparing for Katsuki to outright refuse whatever he’s about to ask as he tucks himself meekly into the office.

He closes the door behind him, sinking into his shoulders, the action making him suddenly look years younger, and for a second, Katsuki can see the shadow of the past- sees Deku as he used to be; shy and small and awkward-

“Could you finish my last two reports for me?” Deku blurts, finding his courage- clasping his hands in front of him-, “Just the last two robberies from this morning?”

Katsuki’s so surprised that he can’t do anything but blink dumbly at him for a moment.

This is weird. Really weird. The nerd loves paperwork- inexplicably finds immense comfort in the monotony of it. In fact, it’s usually Katsuki that asks Deku to fill out reports; never the other way around, so this is quite the surprise.

He leans forward onto his knees, looking him up and down with sharp, scrutinizing eyes, all-too-keen to milk this for all it’s worth.

“Why, where the fuck are you off to in such a hurry?” He teases, raising a single blonde brow.

Deku’s eyes suddenly cast aside, his face flushing a stupid, awful, perfect shade of pink: his hands suddenly wringing- words stuttering.

“Oh, I, um-” He mumbles softly- “You see, it’s- that is-”

Ugh. It’s so damn cute that Katsuki can’t help but grin wolfishly, poised and ready to tease him half to death; to drag it out of him- to make that flush deeper- darker.

He leans on one hand, smooth and taunting.

“What, you have a date or something?” He asks sarcastically.

It goes far too quiet. Deku doesn’t answer, only flushing and nibbling on his lip anxiously.

The air goes thin. His stomach bottoms out. The hard shell around his heart quietly cracks.

He sits up tall in his chair.

“Holy shit, you have a date.” He breathes weakly, fighting around the sudden tightness that fills his chest.

Deku’s blush is so adorable that it ought to be criminal.

“...Yeah.” He manages, eyes casting down demurely.

Everything goes terribly still.

And for the first time in years, Katsuki has to fight against the sudden sting of tears in his eyes; has to fight against the traitorous lump that begins to form in his throat.

No. No.

He should’ve known.

It was only a matter of time.

Deku is beautiful and kind and strong- one of Japan’s most eligible bachelors: how long did he think it was going to be before someone snapped him up? 

What had he honestly expected? 

It's still sinking into his guts- souring his stomach- when he realizes that Deku is still looking at him- clearly waiting for a reaction; his scarred hands nervous fingering at the hems of his sleeves- teeth biting anxiously into his lower lip-

-And despite the way his insides are shredding with sudden grief, he knows that he needs to answer- that Deku needs him- needs him to be his friend.

So he pulls his shit together, trying to act like his normal self; screwing his face into something hard and sharp and looking at him like a hawk as he leans back in his seat and crosses his arms over his chest.

“Who.” He prompts gruffly.

And luckily, the sharp, familiar tone seems to snap Deku to attention; seems to shave away a bit of that tension. He waves his scarred hands in front of himself in embarrassment, a soft, shy smile curling his mouth.

“No one you know.” He explains easily, “A civilian.”

Katsuki’s blood suddenly boils.

A civilian.

A fucking civilian-!?!

Deku is one of the most powerful heroes alive- the smartest- the kindest- and he’s- he’s-!!

He takes a deep breath, trying to get a hold on himself.

This isn’t his business. It doesn't matter what he thinks. It’s Deku’s decision- Deku’s choice. He can see whoever he wants, hero or civilian, it doesn’t matter.

But even so, his heart pangs, heavy and painful. He tries to breathe- to calm himself- and when he looks up again, Deku is still staring down at him, his teeth still worrying his bottom lip, nervous and frightened, and damn it, if he can’t have him, he’s at least going to do the next best thing and protect him.

“Name.” He demands, leaning forward.

And blessedly, Deku’s face suddenly loses its softness- its fear- his expression going purposefully flat with sudden cynicism.

He wrinkles his nose.

“Absolutely not.”

Katsuki scoffs and sputters, almost offended.

“Why the fuck not?” He demands.

Deku sighs, rolling his eyes heavily as if the question is somehow beneath him.

“Oh, c’mon, Kacchan,” He raises a brow like he’s unimpressed, leaning lazily against the doorway, “I know you: you’ll look him up in the database the second that I walk out this door.”

Katsuki freezes.

Him.

Another pang; a shot straight into his gut.

He squeezes his hands into fists.

Get it together.

“Tch.” He clicks his teeth, turning his face away in a weak attempt at disdain, “So what if I do-? I gotta make sure you’re working with the best.” He crows, shaking his head. “No friend of mine dates a loser.”

It slices at his throat like a razor the moment he says it; the word twisting his stomach until he feels like he’ll vomit.

Friend.

But Deku doesn’t seem to mind it; in fact, he actually seems flattered, his face softening considerably.

“That’s…oddly sweet, I guess,” He chuckles softly, his gaze quickly casting down, “but I don’t need you to go give a shovel talk for me.”

A flicker of verdant eyes; amused and affectionate.

“I can handle myself, Kacchan. You know that.” 

And yeah, of course, he can- he’s the Symbol of Hope- the bravest- the boldest- but- but-!!

He swallows over it hard, his mouth suddenly full to bursting with the things he wants to say, but he can’t, so he just grits:

“Yeah yeah-” He mumbles dismissively, his eyes shooting down at the paper in his hand to try to escape- to hide- to shield himself.

“-And he’s not a loser.” Deku insists defensively, his voice far too gentle- far too tender around the edges, “He’s…nice.”

Katsuki feels his whole body clench.

Nice.

Nice is what you call someone when you know next to nothing about them- what you say when there’s no better adjective; when good or funny or interesting would be a step too far. 

Nice is plain. Nice is boring. Nice is weak.

And that, at least, gives him comfort, or at least, it would if Deku’s face weren’t so pink- if his eyes weren’t so hazy- if he didn’t look so… smitten.

Because he likes this guy. Not him- not his Kacchan- but a stranger. 

And god, he suddenly wants to scream; wants to sob and rant and feel something break in his hands, because no one else should be able to do that. No one else should be able to make him look so happy- to inspire such clear affection.

No one but me. 

And suddenly, after weeks of pressing it down, he feels it again- that intense urge to say the hell with it and just fall to his fuckin’ knees and tell him how he feels: the urge to spill it out- confess it- confess everything.

But he can’t- he can’t. Deku’s seeing someone else- it wouldn't be right.

And so, he tries his best to answer like he should.

He forces his eyes upward.

“He treat you right?” He asks, shooting for blandness- for disinterest- and falling short; his tone thin and weak.

Deku looks at him quietly for a moment, scrutinizing him, a whirl of emotion sequestered in green eyes, before answering softly.

“Yeah.” He nods, something nameless and fleeting flickering across his features. “He’s good to me.”

And nope- he can’t look- not for another second; so he turns his eyes back down to the papers on his desk, pretending to study them, the action far too telling- far too deliberate.

“How long?” He asks, feigning nonchalance.

Deku hums thoughtfully.

“A month-?” He guesses, “Wait, no- “ He shakes his head, “-two.”

Katsuki freezes.

A month. 

Two.

He feels sick.

“Didn’t think it worth mentioning?” He asks, still not looking up, his tone uncharacteristically icy at the edges.

He can see Deku shrug carelessly in his peripherals, never one to shrink before his venom.

“No point.” He rebuts. “Not until I thought it was serious.”

A stab. Brutal. Merciless.

He’s mentioning it now. Which means--!

“-And-?” He forces himself to ask- waiting- hanging by a thread- dancing on the knife’s edge.

“-And it is.” Deku returns, answering the question he hadn’t asked, “-Serious, that is.”

He clenches his jaw so hard he’s sure his teeth will snap out of his skull, but he doesn’t say anything- doesn’t scream like he wants to; only responding with a bland:

“Hm.”

Silence.

“...Are you mad-?” Deku whispers, soft- so soft- drawing close.

Katsuki clenches his fist around the insurance form in his hand even as he knows that he’s wrinkling it beyond repair.

Yes.

Mad. Furious. Heartbroken.

And at the same time:

Not his fault. Don’t. Don’t.

So he does his best to calm himself; to be as normal as possible.

“Why the fuck would I be mad?” He asks with truly impressive blandness, cocking a brow at him as if the question is far below him.

Deku worries his hands in front of his chest; an action of yesteryear- a movement that makes him look so young- so nervous- not the Symbol of Hope, but a tiny, quirkless boy- the one who had chased him for years- held out his hand for him- his friend- his rival.

“That I didn’t tell you.” He admits, soothing- tender.

It strikes in the softest part of him; piercing through his brittle armor and sinking into him painfully and he can’t break down- not now- he can’t- so he forces those walls up higher and stronger through sheer will alone, his voice scarcely more than a cold, distant murmur.

“Not my business who you fuck, nerd.” 

He means it to be careless- cavalier- and yet, he suddenly feels saliva pooling in his mouth as his knee-jerk, instinctive answer uncovers something he never wanted to think of.

Deku with someone else.

Deku fucking someone else.

Calling someone else’s name in that high, breathy, beautiful tone.

Deku chuckles awkwardly beside him, one hand reaching up to pet the back of his neck sheepishly.

“Right, guess not.” He mumbles shyly. “Sorry.”

The air goes thick- tense- flooded with all the things he wants to say- do.

But as always, duty reigns him in- holds him firm.

“...I’ll do your fuckin’ reports.” He eventually sighs.

A soft, happy gasp beside him and suddenly- horribly- Deku is on top of him- around him- everywhere: the scent of cedar shampoo flooding his nose as he launches himself into Katsuki’s chest and pulls him into a deep embrace.

“You will-?!” He asks rapturously, squeezing him around the middle and burying his face in deep, “Oh, that’s-!!”

He knows he should respond normally; hiss and growl and shove him away- call him a moron- yell- be a dick. But he’s weak; he’s so, so weak. And so, he doesn’t fight; simply allowing the touch and grunting:

“Say one more word and I’ll take it back.”

And Deku, too excited by his own luck, just chuckles and gives another firm squeeze.

“Right, right.” He breathes warmly, leaning his head affectionately down onto Katsuki’s shoulder; the ends of those soft green curls brushing his neck, his cheek pressing over his collarbone.

He remains there for far too long, and when he finally does speak, his voice is a whisper; the familiar words soft and gentle and…sad?

“Thanks, Kacchan.”

Torture.

It’s torture.

It takes every bit of his self-control not to turn his head and kiss him- consume him; take him in his hands and just fucking tell him how he feels, because suddenly, those steadily-growing feelings that he’d been trying to ignore- to shove down for weeks- months- are building- growing- hitting a peak- a crescendo- a point of no return.

He looks down at that green head: the curls he desperately wants to kiss- the body he would give his soul to touch- and despite himself- despite self-preservation and dignity and pride and knowing that he can’t- god, he can’t- he feels himself slip and fall off the cliff, his last, pathetic wall of defense shattering like glass.

He instantly understands it. Knows it without the shadow of a doubt.

I love him.

I fucking love him.

It hits him like a wave. Strikes so hard that he nearly bowls over.

He sucks in a dry breath, his eyes suddenly darting up and away into the fluorescents above him, hoping against hope that the intense light can dry up the tears that are abruptly welling up in his eyes.

Years’ worth of events- of long-buried and untouched feelings- of things he'd never understood before- suddenly make sense. This is why no other relationship had ever been satisfying. This is why everything else had seemed lacking. It wasn’t because of anyone else or even because of him, really.

It was because he’d unconsciously been in love with him- Izuku Midoriya- Deku- all along; because, when compared to him, no one else could hold a candle. Not even close.

His hands tense around him.

But.

But Deku doesn’t feel the same. And how could he- why would he after years of him treating him like a pest- like a burr that he’d never been able to buck- like some sort of burden-??

Now true, they've come a long way since then- reforged their friendship in iron and blood and broken bones and tears, but that doesn’t excuse the years of mistreatment- his gruffness- his rudeness- his cruelty. 

He looks down at him; at his curls- at his cheek pressed against him.

He swallows hard.

Deku is all softness- kindness; gentleness and quiet strength and chivalry and nobility. Deku mentors children and volunteers at homeless shelters and works with the quirkless and rehabilitates former villains.

He’s the goddamn Symbol of Hope. The pride of Japan. The savior of all.

Deku doesn’t deserve someone like him; someone loud and brusque and prickly and sharp- someone who’d spent years teasing and bullying and terrorizing him. He deserves softness  kindness and gentleness and tenderness and all of the things he’s not. He deserves better.

So, even though it fucking hurts, Katsuki doesn’t pull him in- doesn’t turn his head- doesn’t say a word. He remains still with Deku leaning on him- soaking up every single moment of contact- not touching but just being- the way a friend would- the way he should.

Deku eventually sits up, his expression distant and almost dazed as he backs away, giving his arm a friendly pat.

“Better go.” 

He rises to his feet, makes his way across the office, and then, just before he goes, he turns and hovers in the doorway, his eyes crinkling with tender affection, his voice loving and gentle.

“Bye, Kacchan.”

And then, all too soon, he’s going- he’s turning- walking away- into someone else’s arms- to be loved by someone else-

-And Katsuki's heart crumbles like dust- fear overwhelming him until his body is suddenly, abruptly turning- rising up; his voice suddenly shouting.

“Oi-!” He calls instinctively, sitting up in his seat, his hands clenching on the arms of his chair with enough strength to make the wood groan.

At the loud sound, Deku stops in the doorway, turning over his shoulder with wide eyes- hopeful eyes-

“Yeah-?” He asks, curious- 

Katsuki stares for a moment, his jaw bunching- fists clenching- heart breaking.

I love you.

He grits his teeth, seals his heart behind stone, and forces it out:

“He so much as looks at you wrong, and I’m breaking his fuckin’ teeth in.”

For a moment, Deku goes wide-eyed- still- silent- 

-And then the moment passes and he moves again; leaning against the door frame with a shaky laugh, his mouth turning into a small, watery smile.

“Okay, Kacchan.”

He turns and walks away.

The door shuts behind him with a click.

The sound of his steps fades into nothing.

And alone and safe in the sanctity of his office, Katsuki sinks into his chair, staring down blankly at his desktop- at the papers there- when something small and delicate inside him abruptly, noiselessly shatters.

He takes in a deep, rasping breath, and then something suddenly drips down in front of him, smudging the ink of the insurance form he’d been holding.

His chest begins to rattle as a sob forces itself, unwanted, out of his lungs.

And then, the paper is falling to the ground, forgotten- his head falling into his hands- and he’s crying- fucking crying: pathetically- pitifully- tears running in thick rivulets down his cheeks as he’s hit by it: by the full weight of just what he’s lost.

Chapter Text

Loving Deku is a death by a thousand cuts.

His soft, chiming ‘good morning, Kacchan-!’  Cut.

His laugh, sparkling and adorable and perfect. Cut.

The line of his body in his hero suit. The unfairly beautiful flex of muscle and modest displays of inhuman power. Cut.

That fuckin’ smile. Cut.

The way his hand feels clutched around his forearm- reassuring- grounding; the feeling of it resting on his shoulder- the way their fingers lace for a combo move- the bone-deep warmth and comfort that his touch provides- that only his touch provides. Cut.

It only takes a few weeks before those tiny, slicing cuts are suddenly deep, gouging stabs- open, festering wounds- before even the color green has him feeling sick. But he doesn’t have a choice. He’s already in too deep. Far too deep. Twenty years too deep.

And after everything they’d experienced together-? Everything they’d shared-? He’d endure a million cuts for Deku. A thousand seems small in comparison.

But even so, there are times when it’s almost unbearable. 

He tries his best to go about his life as he always has- to be respectful- normal; to turn away when he can- temper his words- hold himself still- push it all down. 

He tries not to notice how many nights Deku begins to spend away from home- how many times he leaves work early; tries and fails to rip his eyes away from the small love bite that appears one morning, peeking out just above his collar like a cruel joke- like a taunt. He tries- he tries–!

But how long can a man live without blood? How many cuts can a man take? How many slices down to the bone can a single person endure before they finally succumb? He doesn’t know; doesn’t want to know.

And yet.

And yet, he knows- knows without the shadow of a doubt that he’d give every drop of blood without hesitation or question; would lay himself at his feet, knife in hand, neck bared, if he asked it. Because Deku is worth any pain; is worth every single one.

◈◈◈

Katsuki is in the living room, sprawled across the sofa. He’s on call for the night, and that means no bars or booze or weed or parties to distract him, so he’s reading; trying to escape his own misery for a few hours in the comfort of fiction.

And it’s working- or at least, it was- until Deku comes into the living room and sits beside him.

“Hey, Kacchan-?” He asks, and god, even now, after two decades of its use, the nickname still has the power to rend him still- hold him steady- break his heart.

He uses his finger to mark the page before glancing over at him.

“Mm?” 

Deku leans in, eager and sparkly and far too cute for his own good.

“Can I ask you something?” He asks, his brows raising high- his whole face light up with an expression of hope and anticipation.

A jolt of some unknown emotion shoots through his veins.

“Yeah?” Katsuki asks, trying to ignore the sudden shock that courses through his gut. He gives him a confused frown, looking him up and down. “The fuck’s got you all nervous?”

Sure enough, Deku’s leg begins to bounce anxiously, his jaw tight like he’s pumping himself up to do something dangerous. 

“Well, um, that is-” He begins, shaky- unsure-, “Would it be okay if I had someone over tonight?”

The weight of anticipation goes flying off his shoulders. The tension in his back ebbs away; his body relaxing back into the cushions. He inwardly sighs with relief even as his face is held in careful neutrality.

He shrugs absently.

“Yeah sure, whatever.” He looks back down, resuming where he left off, finishing the final line before turning the page.

Deku blinks- goes very, very quiet for a moment before drawing closer- far too close, curiosity clinging to the edge of every word.

“You don’t…mind-?”

No, he doesn’t mind. Of course not. Not at all.

If he has people over- if he’s here- it means he can’t be with--

He doesn’t look up from his book.

“Tch, I don’t care what you and your nerd friends do.” He says, finally tearing his eyes away to throw Deku a self-satisfied smirk. “Just tell Cheeks not to drink all my beer this time, huh? She still owes me a six pack from the last time.”

Deku’s face falls, his skin suddenly blanching, his hands toying anxiously on the hem of his shirt.

And that alone is a warning bell. Katsuki’s stomach does a quick, harsh flip.

“No, Kacchan, I mean-” He amends, his words small and timid.

He deliberately looks away.

“Do you mind if I have someone over?”

It’s coy- a cautious tiptoe around what he’s actually trying to ask, but he doesn’t have to say anything else. Katsuki knows him too well; understands instantly what he’s getting at.

His throat goes tight. This isn’t his friends. Isn’t one of their dumb game or movie nights. He isn’t asking him to endure Tenya’s incessant chiding about following the rules or Shouto’s deadpan questions or Cheeks’ loud laughter or Shinsou’s dry quips or even Mirio’s awful jokes. He’s asking if he can bring his boyfriend over. To spend the night.

Katsuki suddenly wonders if a top-five hero can die from something as poetic- as pathetic as a broken heart.

He looks back down at the page in a weak attempt to not have to look at him.

“Your mystery guy?” He asks, his voice unnervingly flat.

Deku hesitates.

“...Yeah.”

He swallows down the remaining shrapnel bits of his shattered heart, praying to any god that’ll listen that Deku can’t see the devastation on his face.

“...Fine.” He mutters with a little too much hostility, turning the page again. “Just keep it down.”

Deku deflates a bit, drawing back, clearly stung by his coldness, before getting up from the sofa, turning, and walking away.

“Thanks, Kacchan.” He throws over his shoulder; that soft, loving voice gone slate-dark and lifeless- disappointed- hurt.

Katsuki waits, unbreathing, until he hears the click of Deku’s door to close the book, throw it haphazardly onto the coffee table, and bury his face mournfully into his hands.

Deku leaves some time later, dressed far nicer than he usually does. His hair is tidied, the faintest murmur of cologne hanging off his sweater, and though Katsuki tries not to notice, he does, anyway, his chest clenching tight, because Deku looks good- handsome- bright-eyed and beautiful.

But Deku doesn't say anything to him. He doesn’t make a fuss like he normally would. Doesn’t stop to chat or gush about his plans or talk about…anything, really- only strolling past him where he sits, clearly and deliberately not looking at him, just grabbing a jacket and calling a muted, flat goodbye absently over his shoulder as he goes.

And even though it’s all wrong- clearly wrong- Katsuki does his best to play his part, giving a sharp nod of acknowledgment, a gruff grunt of acceptance, watching in despair as the man he loves disappears through the door to go be loved by someone else.

It clicks.

And Katsuki breaks.

◈◈◈

Deku is a good roommate- a great roommate- and so he dutifully texts him some time later, as any good roommate would.

[Deku:] We’re heading over now. ETA 15 or so. We’ll be quiet. Promise. 

It’s considerate. And of course, it is because Deku is considerate. And as much as it hurts to know- stabs into him mercilessly, the warning is a balm- a relief- a few cards back in his hand. So he closes his book with a snap, rising from the couch and making his way back to his room. 

There’s a small, indignant part of him that hates himself for being such a coward- for running and hiding away instead of confronting the problem head-on- for sequestering himself in his room to stew and pine instead of doing something-

-But what other choice is there? What realistically could be done? Deku’s coming home with his boyfriend (a sharp pang at the thought alone)- what is he supposed to do? Meet the fucker and pretend he doesn’t loathe his guts? Try to be civil? Act like he doesn’t want to rip him limb from limb-? Pretend he can’t hear as the two of them go into Deku’s room and--?

Ice floods his veins as his body and mind simultaneously come to a sharp, screeching halt.

He hadn’t thought of that. Not until now. Not until this very second.

Jesus Christ, the wall.

He’ll hear. He’ll have to hear everything.

Listening to Deku by himself is one thing: by himself, he can close his eyes and imagine- wish; picture himself there with him- touching him- tasting him- kissing him and loving him. But if someone else is there- another man’s voice- his words- his...sounds-?

He suddenly wants to vomit; bile actually shooting up into his throat, acid and sour and nauseating. He swallows it down heavily, his slow steps picking up speed as the panic builds- carrying him down the hallway and into his room. He slams the door behind him, his thoughts racing- eyes darting around for some kind of an idea- a saving grace- something to grab onto-

-And suddenly, like magic, the universe throws him a rope as he sees his headphones sitting on his desk where he’d left them after his last workout, almost calling for him in his time of need.

That’s it. That’ll work.

He’ll just listen to music- go to sleep early. It’s nothing out of the norm; won’t set off any warning bells- won’t give him away- 

-and that way he won’t have to know- to hear; to listen to the sound of Deku being touched- loved- screaming out someone else’s name. 

He tries to swallow down the thought; pressing it forcibly to the back of his head as he quickly changes out of his clothes and into pajamas. He snatches his headphones from where they lay, jams them roughly into each ear. He grabs his phone, flops down on the bed, and puts on one of his favorite albums, turning the music up to an almost unholy volume until he can feel the rhythm shaking his bones; closing his eyes and letting his body drift away to the heavy beat- sinking away into the sanctuary of music.

He stirs, his eyes cracking dryly.

He must’ve somehow nodded off, even with the volume on the highest setting.

Good. That's good.

Determined to stay the course, he shifts a bit to get comfortable, the cord of his headphones catching on his pillows as he twists and turns; the movement just enough to dislodge a bud from one of his ears.

After so much sound, the sudden absence of sound is enough to jar him- rouse him- and he finds himself blinking in the moonlight; disoriented and confused and-

-And with one ear free, even half-awake, he can suddenly hear voices- male voices; one he knows- another he doesn’t- and he suddenly feels utterly sick to his stomach as the pieces suddenly, horribly fall together.

His skin goes ice cold.

That’s them- that’s them- no- no-!

He can’t- he can’t-!

His hands flash up; shaking- trying to put his headphones back on straight even as his hands refuse to cooperate- still clumsy and sluggish from sleep.

Come on come on come on-!!

He’s going as fast as he can- untangling the cord with shaking fingers- trying to get them back in his ears- 

-when he abruptly realizes that the voices are…yelling.

He goes still.

Yelling. 

They’re yelling at each other.

And as confusing and strange as it is, it's better than the alternative, so, curious, he slides his headphones off to listen.

“-was an accident-! ” Someone cries.

That’s Deku. It’s Deku and he sounds…upset.

“It was no accident!” Another voice responds, high and angry.

Mystery guy. Deku’s boyfriend. It must be.

“Please lower your voice!” Deku pleads desperately- and suddenly, it's like Katsuki can see him- can picture the look on his face; tight and terse and-

“Oh no, you don’t get to tell me to lower my voice.” The other voice responds, clipped and sharp.

“Please calm down!” Deku gasps wetly; an edge of unsprung tears clinging onto it.

And that's all it takes.

Suddenly, Katsuki is sitting up in bed, wide awake, some unknown fire flaring in his blood- shooting through his veins. Because Deku is upset.

This fucker, whoever he is, is upsetting Deku. And that alone is enough to force him to his feet.

He quietly slips off of the bed, taking soundless steps towards the wall, pressing his ear to it until he can clearly make out the conversation on the other side.

“Oh, don’t you dare, Izuku. Don’t you dare-!!” Someone hisses; low- venomous-, “You said ‘never again.’ You promised me. You swore it and I believed you-!”

Katsuki's free hand tightens into a fist, his mouth turning down into a grimace at the tone of it.

No one should speak to Deku like that. 

“Tadashi-”  Deku pleads, placating and remorseful.

Katsuki's jaw tightens.

Tadashi. That’s the fucker’s name.

“Please!” Deku begs, over the abrupt sound of footsteps, “Let’s just take a second and talk about this.”

More footsteps, this time moving away- towards Deku’s door, maybe?

A frustrated hiss.

“We have talked about it, Izuku. We have.” Tadashi responds.

Katsuki can hear the doorknob turn- the creak of hinges- the soft squeak of the one creaky floorboard outside Deku’s door.

Oh. They’re going into the hallway.

He hesitates.

This is a private conversation. It’s rude of him to listen, honestly inappropriate. He knows that he should put his headphones back on and mind his own business. He knows. He does.

And yet, something inside him- something selfish, perhaps- or protective, maybe- tells him to follow; to listen. So he moves as silently as a shadow, tiptoeing across his room and putting his ear against his bedroom door.

“I can overlook a lot of things:,” Tadashi continues, the decrescendo of his voice and the sound of footsteps telling Katsuki that he’s going into the living room, “-your hero work- the sporadic hours- having to leave in the middle of dinners and dates- the middle of the night.”

A heavy, weary sigh.

And though instinct screams within him, Katsuki can't help himself.

He noiselessly turns the knob and opens the door, poking his head out into the hallway. The coast is clear and even though he knows he shouldn’t- that this doesn’t involve him- he quietly steps out into the hallway to hear better.

“I could forgive it.” Tadashi’s voice is terse- tired. “I could forgive all of it."

Sudden tenderness softens the harsh edges of his words.

"Because I like you, Izuku. You’re sweet. And good. And because you’re a hero. The best hero. The Symbol of Hope.”

A thick silence, one so tense that Katsuki almost feels it on his skin from where he’s eavesdropping.

“But I can’t forgive this, Izuku. I can't.” He whispers.

The gentle tone suddenly goes razor-sharp- cold; steely in a way that makes Katsuki's hair stand on end.

“I deserve better than this- I deserve-”

“-I know.” Deku's voice interrupts, almost cracking at the edges with remorse, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to- I didn’t want to-” 

A thick, painful pause.

"...I never wanted to hurt you." He croaks.

Another beat.

“I know." Tadashi whispers softly. "But what you meant doesn’t matter, Izuku, because you still did it.”

Katsuki can’t help but swallow, curiosity gnawing deep.

What did Deku do-??

“Tadashi.” He pleas weakly, the floorboards squeaking under his feet.

There's a sudden hiss- almost a snarl.

“Don’t, Izuku. Don’t you fucking dare.”

There’s something about his voice then; something furious and icy and angry that sends a warning shock up Katsuki’s spine- that prompts him to reveal himself- act- move.

Deku can handle it- of course, he can- but at that tone- and at Deku, of all people- every nerve in his body is screaming- his mind wailing at him to protect- and before he can stop himself, his traitorous feet are moving, rounding the corner and stepping out into the living room.

“What’s going on in here?” He asks, crossing his arms over his broad chest, pressing the slightest hint of threat into it- of authority; enough that anyone with a lick of sense would back down.

Both of them go still at the sound of his voice.

Deku’s eyes shoot to him, his soft face abruptly draining of all color- going white as bones as he looks from one to the other in a panic, hands twitching like he’s desperate to grab one of them and run- and for a moment, he doesn’t understand.

But then, Tadashi turns and he finally sees him- his face-

-and Katsuki has to hold onto the wall for balance as his mouth falls open into a wide, indecorous gape.

Because Tadashi is tall- very tall and broad- with wide shoulders and thick arms- a narrow waist- an arm full of tattoos- sharp features- high cheeks- a strong jaw-

-And blonde hair. Ash blonde hair. His eyes are blue, but if he closed them, they could pass for brothers- twins, even.

And not knowing what the fuck else to do, Katsuki just stares for a moment, his heart leaping up into his throat- his breath caught in his lungs- his eyes so wide that they hurt- before slowly, slowly turning to his roommate.

“Deku-?” He rasps, any semblance of his world-famous strength leeching out of him as he looks at him weakly, not understanding or perhaps understanding too well, his heart starting to pound.

It can’t be. It can’t.

And when Deku looks at him, his face is the same; pale- horrified- like he’s at the edge of tears- like he’s a breath from dissolving.

His voice is wobbly and wet. His hands are visibly trembling.

“Kacchan.” He whispers.

Tadashi starts like someone had shocked him, his blonde head whipping down, his mouth opening into a sudden, deep gasp.

“Kacch--?” He begins hoarsely, looking from Katsuki to Deku and back and--

Something suddenly dawns on his face, like the pieces of a long-attempted puzzle are finally dropping into place. He looks at them each one more time before he releases Deku like his touch is burning him, taking slow, backward steps away in retreat, his face a mask of abhorrence.

“Oh my god.” He whispers, first in surprise-

-And then in disgust.

“Oh my god.” He hisses.

Deku steps towards him.

“Tadashi.” He beseeches him, reaching out with a palm up, but Tadashi shakes his head, his expression going dark with betrayal.

“I should’ve fucking known.” He hisses, his big hands clenching into fists.

Deku’s face is pale and drawn as he visibly swallows, the desperation clear in every feature as he moves forward slowly- carefully.

“Tadashi, please,” His voice drops, his eyes darting back and forth between the two men in the room, “Can we just-?” 

He gestures towards his bedroom, his hand extending-

-When Tadashi abruptly bristles, his hackles rising like an angry beast's as he reaches out and forcibly slaps his hand away.

“Don’t you fucking touch me-!” He suddenly shouts, taking a threatening step forward.

Deku shrinks, pulling his hand back and cradling it into his chest, those green eyes beginning to swim, and even though he’s the pinnacle of power- the Symbol of Hope- Katsuki is suddenly murderous- boiling; lunging forward like he could protect him from anything.

“Hey-!!” He barks, wedging himself between them, putting his body in front of Deku like a shield, “Don’t talk to him like that-!”

But Tadashi, bastard that he is, doesn’t back down, only digging his heels in and glaring back at Katsuki with hatred in his eyes, his words venomous and sharp as he points at Deku.

“Me talk to him-?” He asks, sneering, as he looks him up and down, “You talk to him.” 

He leans in closer, bold and fearless, his eyes narrowing, his lip curling back to expose his teeth.

“You talk to him and find out just what he’s been doing all this time.”

There’s a dry, horrified gasp from behind him and suddenly, Deku is rushing forward, only to stop in his tracks as Katsuki holds him back with his arm to keep them apart- to prevent this from escalating any more than it already has.

“Tadashi, stop-!!” Deku shouts, “Don’t-!!”

But Tadashi holds his ground, his brow furrowing.

“No, Izuku,” He shakes his head, “-I’m not going to stop- not until you tell him about all of the times that you were in my arms-”

Katsuki has to swallow down vomit.

Deku audibly chokes behind him; the fear in his voice high and sharp as glass.

“Stop-! Please-!!”  He wails brokenly, trying desperately to claw his way out as Katsuki holds him back.

And hearing Deku cry like that?

It’s enough to break him; enough to snap what remains of his restraint- enough to shatter the thin hold he has on his self-control.

Katsuki turns back, lunging like a predator, grabbing Tadashi by the shirt and pushing him forward until his back thuds against the wall, the force of it knocking the wind from him in a graceless rush of air.

“He said stop-! ” Katsuki snarls.

But Tadashi doesn’t hesitate- doesn’t let the force knock him off his trajectory.

“-All of the times that you were with me.” Tadashi soldiers on, not even bothering to look at him, his face a mask of poison and fury as he glares at Deku over his shoulder, “All of the times that you called for him--”

Katsuki sucks in a dry breath, surprise making his hands go momentarily lax in the fabric; his whole face falling- his heart stopping.

There are steps behind him- Deku is scrambling towards them- his breaths harsh and rasping and desperate.

“No-!” He screams-, “No, please-! Please-!! ”

Tadashi’s voice lowers to a hiss as he leans close to his ear.

“-screaming for your Kacchan as I fucked you. ”

Everyone goes silent then, quiet enough that there’s no sound other than Deku’s muted, sobbing breaths behind them.

And despite what he’d just heard- despite the way his hands are fucking shaking, the need to protect is so strong that it fuels him- fills his mouth like blood, and before he can temper himself at all; remind himself that this is a civilian and not a villain- he’s growling like a wild animal, a breath away from snapping his smug neck as he looks at him with unfathomable hatred and gives him a hard shake.

“That’s enough.” He snarls, low and dark, “I suggest you shut your fucking mouth.”

But if Tadashi is anything like him (and he suspects that he is), he isn’t afraid. In fact, the fucker has the gall to sneer down at him like he’s beneath him.

“There’s nothing else to say.” He responds sharply.

And as much as he wants to hurt him- throttle his pretty face- beat him within an inch of his life for making Deku cry- he somehow finds the inner strength to uncurl his fingers from his shirt- to let him go- to back away with his hands in the air.

He gets a safe distance away, standing defensively in front of Deku like a human shield, before gesturing roughly to the door.

“Get out.” He hisses.

Tadashi scoffs disdainfully, looking him up and down as if sizing him up.

“Gladly.” 

He turns, grabbing his jacket and keys from the counter, sneering at Deku in disgust as he does, and just the gesture of it alone fills him with blind, unspeakable rage- with anger so hot that for a moment, he doesn’t think.

Tadashi is opening the door- about to step through- when Katsuki springs forward, his arm shooting across the open space with a loud slam, effectively holding him in.

He looks at him with sharp, narrowed eyes.

“You come here again-,” He rasps, so angry that he can barely speak, “-you hurt him again- you even fuckin’ look at him-,” 

There’s silence save for the crackling sound of the wood sizzling under his hand; a beat where everyone waits- where no one breathes.

He shouldn’t say it- he shouldn’t- he’s a hero- meant to protect- to save.

But for Deku-

-for Deku-?

“-and I’ll fucking kill you.” He finishes, his teeth bared- his veins singing with anger.

Tadashi’s eyes widen slightly- flickering to one and then the other- the surprise and recognition evident for the briefest moment before settling again, his face going almost blank as he levels him a cool, understanding look and suddenly, Katsuki can see it.

He knows.

“Fine.” Tadashi responds, quiet- toneless-, “-You can have him.”

He ducks under Katsuki’s outstretched arm, giving Deku one last, disdainful glance over his shoulder. His expression shifts- hovering somewhere between anger and…sadness. 

He sighs.

“He was never mine, anyway.”

And then, he’s gone- disappeared down the hallway.

Katsuki closes the door with a heavy, unforgiving slam.

And suddenly, they’re alone.

Chapter Text

The air is thick enough to cut through as they stand at opposite ends of the room, Deku’s quiet, sobbing breaths the only sound in the tense air.

Katsuki stands unmoving by the door, so completely overwhelmed with whatever the fuck just happened that he doesn’t even know where to begin.

With the adrenaline ebbing away, his head finally settling back down onto his shoulders, and the world ceasing its spinning, he knows he should say something- do something- but for a few moments, he can’t speak- can’t move; the events and discoveries of the last few minutes roiling and twisting so hard in his head that he feels dizzy, almost sick.

A hand comes up to his mouth, clasping over it in a flimsy attempt to hold everything inside.

He looked like me.

Jesus, he looked just like me- sounded like me.

Feeling oddly and uncharacteristically weak in the knees, he takes his hand from his lips, reaching out and clinging onto the still-smoldering wall like his life depends on it-

-And for a minute, he remains there, just breathing, trying to get a handle on himself- on everything- and then, when he can finally think again, he summons up his courage and he looks.

Deku is still in his spot on the other side of the room like he’d been frozen to the ground or turned to stone, maybe; his face pale- so, so pale, his entire body shaking like a leaf. His eyes are red-rimmed and wet and wild and so wide that he can clearly see the whites even from across the room.

And god, it hurts to see Deku like this: it stings- fucking burns. But before he can do anything- summon up some hidden and never-before-seen cache of comfort within him- find something soothing to say- something to take that horrible look off of his face, those green eyes are gliding to him slowly, so goddamn slowly, coming into horrible, terrified focus.

He sucks in a breath and holds it. He waits.

No one speaks.

No one says anything at all, but the silence itself speaks; the remembrance of Tadashi’s cruel, vindictive words lingering in the air like fading tendrils of smoke.

'All of the times that you called for him-'

Katsuki’s stomach turns.

All of the times. 

Not once or twice, but multiple times.

Too many to be a fluke.

Katsuki doesn’t dare to hope, but even so.

'-screaming for your Kacchan as I fucked you.'

His Kacchan.

His Kacchan-??

He’d never thought that he’d be anybody’s- never thought he’d ever deserved to be Deku’s- that fate would ever be kind enough to give him a chance- but at the thought of it alone, he suddenly can’t breathe. 

One of his hands comes up over his chest, feeling the hammering, pulsing beat, afraid to his goddamn bones of what he knows he needs to do- of the thing that he has to ask- of the confirmation that could save or damn him. But there's no more time- no point in running or hiding or deflecting- they're here now- at a point of no return-

-And god, he has to be brave.

He looks across the room, meeting those pitiful, terrified green eyes, and when he finally gets the strength to speak, his voice is pathetically hoarse.

“Deku.”

Deku’s head suddenly jolts up like a scared rabbit, looking at him with an expression that shatters him; an expression of anguish- of desperation- of pure, cold fear.

“Kacchan.” He manages, shaky, choking over a wet gasp of breath, “Kacchan, I-”

His small chest is beginning to heave, the panic spiking and building in his eyes. His head begins to frantically shake.

“I don’t know what to-” He whispers, “-I- I don’t-”

Seeing him like this is horrible- it's awful.

He wants to rush out that door and beat that Tadashi bastard into the dirt for doing this to him- for putting him in this position- for forcing his hand- but somehow, he manages to ignore the urge, focusing on what’s most important. 

He takes a single step toward him.

“Was that the truth ?” He makes himself ask, hating how pitiful he sounds- how hopeful he sounds, “Was he telling the truth-?”

Deku goes so still- deathly still, gaping at him open-mouthed for only a second before he suddenly collapses in on himself, his sweet, beautiful face crumpling horribly for only a second before he buries his head into his hands and starts to cry.

And despite the fact that he’s seen Deku cry a thousand times, his guts suddenly, achingly twist.

Because this is different. 

This is wrong.

He grits his teeth and steps towards him, trying to ignore the slithering wrongness of the sound of those tears- trying to soften himself.

“Deku.” He tries again.

“I’m sorry-!” Deku suddenly sobs, his voice loud and broken even with his mouth muffled behind his hands, “I’m sorry, I- I don’t know why- I just- I’ve always-!!”

Katsuki halts, blinking numbly.

Always-??

A sudden rush of hope swells within him like a cresting wave, beautiful and dangerous and enticing.

He takes another bold step.

“Answer the question, Deku.”

He tries to sound strong, but the words come out wounded: pathetic and hoarse.

“Was that the truth?” He asks, swallowing hard. “You’ve been calling for me?”

A stillness goes over Deku then, almost as if Katsuki’s words alone could calm his panic.

He manages to catch his breath, slowing himself deliberately. Wiping his eyes roughly on the heel of his hand, he suddenly looks up; his soft, mournful expression morphing until there’s a flicker of bravery in those tear-filled eyes- determination on his wobbling lips- his hands balling into fists as he pulls himself up tall.

There’s one more moment before he speaks; a split-second of electricity crackling between them as they stare into each other’s frightened faces- a rip in time before the eventual thunderclap that will decide everything forever.

But Deku must lose his nerve at the last second as he looks at him because his head is suddenly bowing again, his eyes pinching closed like he’s ready for a blow- ready for rejection- for pain.

“...Yes.” He gasps, the single word like a gasp of relief- cathartic; like he’s waited for years to say it. 

Maybe he has.

“I called for you.” He admits, his head jerking up, those eyes looking at him- looking right into him. “I’ve-” A wet gulp. “-I’ve been calling for you. I’ve called for you for…” 

And then, horribly, that bravery shatters and his face breaks, and suddenly, tears are falling down his face in streams.

“...for so long, Kacchan.” 

And before Katsuki can breathe- can begin to understand- Deku is continuing.

“....for so long.” He repeats.

There's a wet sob. A suck of air.  And then, his head is suddenly peeking up, tear-stained and wrecked and utterly shattered. 

“And you never called back.” He weeps.

Katsuki can do anything but stare; isn’t sure whether he wants to laugh or scream or fall right to his knees.

Because all these months- all this time that he’d tortured himself- chewing over the pulverized bits of his heart- thinking that there was no way that Deku could ever feel the same- that he could never be enough for him- that he deserved better-

-And the nerd- that stupid, damn nerd- had been calling for him: calling for him all along.

His heart screams. It soars. It falls.

He doesn't know up from down- can't even find the words he wants to say.

“I thought I could handle this.” Deku sniffles pathetically, “I really thought I could. I’d already done it for years, so I thought it would be okay- that we could just continue as we always had, but-”

His brows draws downward.

“-But then I was stupid enough to ask you to move in.”

His expression softens, his bitten lips letting out a dry, rueful chuckle.

“I think, somehow, I thought it would get better when you did- hoped it would get better- that the proximity would help me get over you.” He explains weakly.

He grimaces to himself in disgust, green eyes sliding closed in an expression of sorrowful acceptance, his words a soft, gutting whisper.

“But it just got worse. It got so much worse. I couldn’t stop looking at you,” He admits, his hands coming up to his face, “-couldn’t stop thinking of you- you were so close and I wanted to touch you so bad and my heart was breaking and I-”

Katsuki almost chokes over a sharp inhale, his head spinning under the weight of it.

Oh, fuck.

Oh, fuck.

How did he miss it-?? How in the fuck did he miss it-???

He swallows hard, bringing his eyes up.

“Deku.” He tries weakly.

“And I know-!” Deku suddenly wails, cutting his words off at the ankles, “I know that you don’t- that you’d never- not with me-” He explains, looking down at his feet in shame as another tear drips down, rolling off his chin and onto the floor, “-never with me.” 

Katsuki opens his mouth to speak: to refute it- to try and say something- but before he can, Deku’s eyes are rising, looking towards the shut door where Tadashi had stood only moments before, the tiniest flicker of light returning to his gaze.

“So I thought that maybe- just maybe- if I could- with someone else.” He hiccups softly, wiping at his cheeks, “If I couldn’t have you, then I thought that I could try- that maybe I just needed-”

He doesn’t have to finish. Even without knowing him as well as he does, it’s crystal clear what he’s trying to say.

Deku just needed to get away from him.

Just needed to fall in love with someone else.

Katsuki's jaw tightens at the thought.

It makes sense. He can’t fault him for it, really. In fact, he can only fault himself: for years of neglect- years of pushing him away- years of being a slave to his own stubbornness and ego and not seeing just what he had.

He tilts up his eyes, squaring himself, opening his mouth to say so, only to freeze in his tracks as Deku looks at him with a soft, wistful smile, the expression on his face momentarily abandoning its heartbreak and going tender- almost dreamy.

“And then, I met Tadashi.” Deku explains. “And I thought 'this is my chance.'”

His brows furrow.

“I thought that I could love him- thought that it would work. But-”

That softness abruptly shatters like ice; pale, cold grief overtaking it, his eyes welling up as he shakes his head mournfully.

“-but he was so like you, Kacchan,” He breathes through the tears, “So like you and I knew I shouldn’t- that it was…wrong- unfair- cruel- that it wouldn’t be the same- but-”

His voice cracks pitifully. His shoulders shake.

“-But it was the closest I’d thought I'd ever get.” He sobs.

Katsuki has to reach out and clutch the closest piece of furniture to keep himself upright.

“So I tried; thought- hoped-” Deku continues, weeping, “-dreamed, maybe- that I’d- that he and I would-”

Again, Katsuki sees right through it- straight into the heart of the man who’d been his biggest rival and closest companion and hardest heartbreak and dearest friend.

Deku dreamed that he’d be able to love Tadashi.

That they’d be happy together.

That he’d finally, finally forget me.

Deku looks down at the ground, his eyes brimming over with tears, his mouth curling into a somber, wobbling smile.

“But Tadashi- Tadashi-,” He gasps the name like it hurts him, “-he was-” A hard swallow. A grimace. “-He was too much like you- it was too much and I couldn’t- couldn’t stop myself from-”

Katsuki's stomach turns.

He couldn't stop himself. Couldn't stop himself from picturing me. From calling for me.

And sure enough, the moment he thinks it, Deku cracks and breaks in front of his eyes, the full weight of what he’d done suddenly seeming to slam into him with full, brutal force. His green head shakes in sharp disgust: mouth wobbling- a single, dry heave shaking his chest and shoulders. 

“Oh, god.” He sinks down into his hands and sobs through painfully gritted teeth, almost heaving with disgust. “Oh, god.”

Katsuki's chest clenches tight.

He needs to help him. He needs to comfort him. And yet, knowing all these things, for some reason, Katsuki can’t move- can’t do anything but watch the revulsion build on his face, because never since the war has Deku looked like this; so broken- so utterly destroyed- so desperately in need of comfort and care and love- 

-and like it had that one fateful day so many years before, before his head can catch up, his body is suddenly moving on its own, stepping forward on weak knees, an arm reaching for him- for the one who’d always, always reached for him.

“Deku, that’s-” He begins, raspy and dry, ready to throw himself at his knees- hold him; do anything to take that awful look out of his eyes.

“I know, okay-?!”  Deku suddenly cries, whipping his head up, drawing back and away from his touch like a wounded animal, “I know. I know what you must think of me.” 

He takes a step back and then another, his head shaking as he stares at the floor, tears dripping down his face and dotting the floorboards in his wake.

“That I’m disgusting- pathetic- a fucking…monster; for using someone like that- for hurting him like that- and I am- I know I am, but-”

His eyes finally look up; looking right at him, his scarred palms rising in an act of pure submission; a symbolic showing that he’s ready to be hated- to be hurt- laying himself open to take whatever punishment that Katsuki is going to give.

And just when Deku seems ready to collapse beneath it, he suddenly lets out a soft, broken chuckle- his brows pitching high; that soft, lovely mouth just barely turning up at the corners, the tiniest glimpse of Deku- of Izuku- of the selfless, gentle man he loves shining through the dark, gouging cracks.

“-but god, Kacchan, it was all I could do.” He whispers.

A fresh wave of tears cascades down his cheeks as a hand clutches desperately over his chest- over his heart.

“You put your blade in me twenty years ago; sank it in deep and twisted it when you took it out. And now-?” His mouth trembles like he’s afraid to say it, “I’m cut up. I’m wrecked. I’m-”

His hand clenches, trembling around the bunched fabric.

“-I’m…torn inside. Damaged. Twisted. There’s no space for anyone else. No one else fits.”

Katsuki stomach writhes at it- his heart shuddering on its beat- and then, suddenly, Deku is frowning- almost snarling; his face twining into the most frightening expression he’s ever seen on him, his scarred hand clutching so hard into the fabric above his heart that his knuckles go bone white.

“You ruined me, Kacchan.” He rasps, cold and accusatory, “Ruined me for anyone else- for everyone else.”

And then, suddenly, the tension snaps, the anger flowing out of him until those green eyes are staring blankly- lifelessly; like every bit of his spirit has been sucked away. His hand relaxes in the fabric.

“And that emptiness-?” He asks numbly, “I will have to live with it forever.” 

Another tear rolls down his cheek. 

“I will be here- calling for you- waiting for you- feeling like this- forever.”

It hits him like a brick; his heart suddenly overflowing with so much that he feels his knees wobble traitorously beneath him.

Feelings pound into him; a veritable meteor shower of emotions.

Relief. Joy. Frustration. Pain. Fury. Love.

He’d wait for me forever.

Call for me forever.

No one else fits.

He sinks into his shoulders, a hand coming up to his mouth, and for a moment, he says nothing.

But then, like magic- like fate has struck him open-fisted- he suddenly, abruptly knows what to do- what to say. Like it’s been carved into his muscles and bones- like it was tattooed into the back of his head.

He finds his voice.

“Deku.” He rasps, taking a step forward.

At the sound of his name, Deku’s head shoots up, that horrible blankness leaving him as his wet, green eyes go wide with sudden terror. Seeing Katsuki's advance, he lets out a dry sound of alarm, backing away with his hands raised in defense.

“Kacchan, wait-!” Deku begs, scrambling backward clumsily over his feet, “Wait, please don’t-!” 

But Katsuki doesn’t stop; moving forward like an unstoppable juggernaut.

Deku scurries away as quickly as he can, his words growing more desperate with each step.

“I’m sorry- Kacchan, I’m so sorry- I’d never- never wanted to- please-!!”

His back hits the wall behind him with a thud and with nowhere left to run, he gasps, looking back at the wall in horror and then back up to him, those green eyes wide and pleading, mouth visibly trembling, breaths panting and soft and short- fear and worry etched in every line of his face.

They wait there in silence, each second’s pause slamming into them both like a physical blow.

Katsuki’s hands are shaking so hard; his throat dry as dust- his heart so full that it feels like it’s cracking at the seams- too much- he feels too fucking much.

And when the silence drags on too long- when he can’t stand it for one more second, Deku lifts his eyes.

“Kaccha-”

They should talk. They need to talk. There’s so much he needs to say, so much he needs to apologize for, and he doesn’t mean to- doesn’t mean to-

-But he forgets it all at the soft whisper of his name, the word swallowed whole as the thread snaps and Katsuki lunges; as his hesitation shatters- as his self-control explodes- as he takes Deku- his Deku- by his stupid, adorable cheeks and sweeps down and finally, finally kisses him.

The world splits. 

His ears ring.

There’s a soft, surprised squeak out of Deku’s throat- his body going tense as a rope set to snap, the surprise and shock apparent as his hands instinctively curl into the fabric of his shirt.Part of him (the rational, reasonable part) says too much- stop- stop-

-But Katsuki doesn’t stop- can’t stop; pressing his entire body against Deku’s like he could shield him from anything- hold him in this moment forever- feeling every bit of perfect skin- every trembling muscle- sweeping his head down and claiming him fiercely by the lips over and over and over like he needs it to survive, and god- Jesus fuckin’ Christ, it’s exactly like he’d dreamed- fantasized. The nerd is so small and soft and pliant and perfect and god, he smells good- tastes good- feels so good- and suddenly, like he’s waking up, Deku abruptly jolts under his hands, releasing him and then pressing him away, their lips breaking with a sharp gasp, his hands gripping him at the shoulders and pushing him back until they’re at an arm’s length, staring at each other with wide, wide eyes.

The only sound is their combined breath, heaving and panting.

Their eyes dart in time, almost in sync; looking the other over for answers- questions- for some sign that this is wanted- that the feelings are mutual- that this is okay- and Deku, always the braver of the two, finally breaks the silence, his words nervous and rattling and breathless.

“K-Kacchan, what-??” He swallows over it like he almost doesn’t dare to believe it, “What are you-??”

And yes, it makes sense. This must be a shock- such a shock after years of nothing but platonic affection- after a lifetime of gruffness and disinterest and anger and rivalry- but Katsuki’s fucking shaking- on fucking fire- drowning, he's drowning; needing so badly taste him again that he can’t give him the answers he deserves- can’t take the time to explain- can’t do anything but stare at his mouth like an animal- at those perfect lips like he could devour them.

He hisses- snarls impatiently into the charged air- and then, before he can stop himself or think of anything intelligent to say, he’s goddamn begging.

“For fuck’s sake, Deku, fucking kiss me.” He pleads, hating the cracking edge to it- the desperation in it- the blatant, unconcealed desire in it.

Katsuki leans his head down close- so close- but he doesn't bridge the gap. He needs Deku to do it- to cross the line- to reciprocate- to make this real.

But Deku is utterly motionless, his eyes plastered open wide, clearly too overwhelmed to move or speak: only staring up at him- not understanding- unblinking- and dignity is a luxury he can’t afford now, not now, not when everything is on the line, so for the first time in his life, he discards it- abandons it- shoves it away hard.

He takes Deku’s soft, flushed face into his palms, wipes the half-dried tears away with his thumb, wrenches open every wall inside him, puts his ugly, wicked heart into those scarred hands, and begs.

“Please.” He whispers; weak- vulnerable-, “Deku-”

He can feel the tears rising.

“-Izuku-” He amends, his own voice nearly like a stranger’s in its gentleness- it’s unsheathed affection.

He suddenly feels weak- so weak- and before he knows it, his head is bowing down, his forehead resting against Deku’s- his fingertips grazing into that soft, soft hair as he closes his eyes and prays.

“-Please.”

A beat of silence. Just one.

And the sudden, breathless sound that Deku makes about near breaks his heart.

It’s joy. It’s pain. It’s euphoria at its basest level: the kind of shit that monks train for- that fanatics sing of- but it barely has time to echo before Deku’s hands are reaching up, grabbing him at the back of the neck, pulling his mouth down and kissing him back so hard that he loses his breath- his balance- and to his pleasure- his relief- that tension snaps and Deku’s entire body suddenly melts into his body with a tremulous little sound of utter bliss; pooling into his arms- his touch- the stiffness dissolving away as his hands wrap possessively around his neck, clinging onto him, his mouth opening- chin tilting up eagerly- letting him take what he wants- giving himself over.

And Katsuki can't help the sudden, shocked moan that comes out of his throat at it.

It’s odd; unpracticed and a bit clumsy at first, and yet, at the same time, perfectly matched the way they’d always been: balancing out the other’s flaws- brightening the other’s strengths until it all suddenly clicks together like the cogs of a wheel.

“Kacchan.” Deku gasps against his lips; enamored and dizzy, “Kacchan.”

Katsuki shudders.

His name, said like this, in the way he’d dreamed of? It presses every forbidden button in his head- flips every awful switch- sets every inch of his skin on fire.

Again.

Again.

Again.

He lets the sound of his own name drip over him like honey, gooey and warm and sugar-sweet- drawn forcibly out of that perfect, bitten mouth-

-and when he’s almost out of breath, he pulls himself away and spills out his deepest secret into the minute space between them.

“I heard you call for me.” He grits, thin and weak and far too needy, “I heard you.”

Deku’s chin jerks up, sudden surprise and incredulity in his eyes. He chokes over a wet breath.

“You-?” He begins.

“Yes.” Katsuki gasps. Another kiss. “I heard you say my name when you-” He swallows. “-Just once. Only once. And it was all it took.”

He wraps his arms around him- pulls him in tight until their bodies are flush; the need to hold him so great that he can’t help himself. 

“That was all it fuckin’ took- Christ, I’ve been fuckin’ dying for you, nerd. For months now.”

Deku just gapes, his entire face flushing.

“You heard-?? You heard me-??” He asks.

“Every single time.” Katsuki rasps. “I heard you through the wall- again and again and again.”

Another kiss, hard- consuming- possessive. His fingers dig into his hair- his nape.

“I’ve been waiting and waiting- listening to you- praying to hear my goddamn name- to prove to myself that what I heard wasn’t a fluke.”

Deku gasps.

“It wasn’t-!” He blurts. “It was never a fluke. You’ve never been a fluke, Kacchan, not to me.”

His head begins to shake; a fresh wave of tears welling in his eyes.

“You’ve always--!”

Katsuki smiles weakly.

“Always-?” He asks.

“Always.” Deku confirms, nodding hard, clutching his shirt, and giving him a shake for good measure. “And god, I’m sorry- I’m- god- I’m so, so--” 

His head begins to bow; resting against Katsuki’s shoulder- nuzzling into the base of his neck. And it’s heaven- it’s fucking heaven.

Katsuki pulls him in tight.

“It’s okay.” He hushes him, his hand patting over those green curls; smoothing his fingers through them- reveling in them- in the touch he was never allowed to have.

“I just- I can’t believe it.” Deku laughs shakily, “This must be a mistake.” 

His eyes dart up. 

“Kacchan, why-?? Why would you ever-??”

Suddenly rage flares through him like a lick of flame.

Not at him- not at Deku- never at Deku- but at himself.

Because, for years, he’d pushed him away- treated him like trash- hurt him and shoved him down and told him he was worthless. Of course, he wouldn’t believe it. Of course, he would feel this way. And now, seeing the confusion on his face, he wants so badly to soothe him- assure him- pet him and care for him and gently build up what years of his own bad behavior had broken down.

But he doesn’t know how to do that; doesn’t know how to be soft and sure and steady. So he does what he knows.

He reaches out whip-fast, taking Deku by the chin with as much gentleness as he can muster, pulling their mouths together into a searing kiss. Deku goes silent and pliant beneath it, melting like butter into his arms, and when he has him silent once more, Katsuki wrenches his mouth away just enough to hiss, "Shut up.” 

Deku blinks, suddenly coming back to reality, his brows furrowing, mouth ready to protest.

“No, you can’t- I don’t- I don’t deserve- ” He begins, trying to wriggle out of his touch- some of that strength coming back to him- that beautiful fire that he loves so desperately.

But Katsuki doesn’t let him- won’t let him: his grip tightening- mouth twisting into a snarl.

“-I said Shut. Up.” He interrupts, “Shut the fuck up. I don’t want a single word of your self-deprecating bullshit, you hear me? I don’t want it.”

Deku ceases his squirming, searching his face for answers.

And knowing he must- that this is it- the moment to be brave- he digs deep within himself and forces himself to speak.

“I want you just as you are, you stupid nerd.” He grits, gripping in tighter around his jaw, “So give me your guilt. Give me your pain. Put all of it on me. I can take it. I can fucking take it. I can take everything you have and everything you are. So give it to me.”

Blessedly, Deku goes entirely limp in his arms, staring up at him like he’s something divine- like he’s never seen anything so amazing in his entire life.

And at that look- that fucking look- Katsuki softens as much as he can; that hand on Deku’s jaw smoothing into the closest thing he can manage to a caress as he looks down with half-lidded eyes and murmurs:

“Because right now, I don't want anything but you.”

Chapter Text

The world is a funny thing. A strange place. A whirling maze of contradictions.

This is a world of superhuman abilities, of incredible people, people just like him, who have the strength to invade minds and destroy buildings and change the fabric of time and reality itself-

-And yet, even in a world like this, a world of endless possibilities, Katsuki never thought- never dreamed that it was possible; that any of this was possible. Never dreamed that after so many months of pain and disappointment, he'd finally be tasting Deku’s mouth, touching his skin, feeling his curls (soft, so soft) under his hands.

Never dreamed that he’d be pulling him into an embrace, strong, scarred arms winding around him, loving and encompassing, his perfect body shuddering under his touch as Deku’s legs wrap snugly around his waist- as he hoists him up and carries him down the hallway and into his bedroom.

He holds him aloft, his weight easy and grounding as he kicks the door closed behind him. He sets him down in front of the bed, holding him by the hips and kissing him gently, and god, Deku makes the softest sound, a moan so light it’s almost a gasp- a purr; like the tips of feathers teasing up his spine.

“Kacchan.” He croons, the gentle, innocent sweetness that he’s come to know and adore suddenly blurring, bleeding into something thick, something greedy and hungry; the soft emerald of his eyes going dark with want- with desire-

-and seeing Deku like that-? Looking at him like he’d always dreamed he would-?? He suddenly can’t take it; can’t slow himself or contain himself- not for a minute more. 

His hands flash out, desperate and hurried, as he begins to claw at clothes, his cock rapidly filling at the dreamy look of pleasure that shines in that sweet face- the look of pride; his mouth growling out in impatience.

“I need you.” He rasps, “God, nerd, I fucking need you.”

Deku moves forward, placing himself into his hands and laying himself open like a sacrificial lamb, those beautiful verdant eyes going hazy and warm, his mouth finally, finally regaining that smile- that horrible, beautiful smile; the one that brings countless fans to their knees- the one that he would sell his soul for.

“I need you.” Deku breathes in return, his voice simultaneously laced with affection and seduction, and fuck, he’s never heard him sound like that- not outside of his own, sick fantasies.

Their clothes are suddenly a suffocating barrier between them; an unforgivable roadblock standing between him and his deepest desire. He suddenly wishes he could harden his hands into claws like Eijirou- produce flames like Shouto- hell, even make acid like Pinky- anything to rid him of that damn cloth that’s keeping him from tasting that freckled skin.

His hands scramble for the hem of Deku’s shirt, clumsy and clammy and shaking from desperation, his mouth managing a single, gritted word.

“Off. ” He orders. Deku nods, his throat letting out a sound of breathless delight; clearly all too eager to comply.

Two sets of strong hands spring to action, gracelessly tearing at each other’s clothes and limbs between deep, claiming kisses, and Deku, that fucking demon, actually starts to smile against his mouth- to breathlessly laugh into his kiss- bubbly and buzzy and happy. 

And hearing him like that-? Knowing how much he wants this, too-? Every drop of blood in his head races down south so fast that he almost feels dizzy.

Deku’s shirt gets caught on his curls for only a moment and then it’s on the floor and he’s standing before him, bare-chested and flushing and freckled and scarred and perfect.

And of course, he’s seen him undressed before- seen it a thousand times- but not like this- never like this. This time, he actually gets to look, and so he does, leering openly; shamelessly.

“Fuck.” He gasps, reaching out with a single hand, tracing over divots of scars and curves of muscle that he’d never let himself touch, his cock only getting harder as Deku leans into it with a shivering sigh, turning his head and exposing his neck.

More.

He leans down, taking the skin into his mouth, kissing it- scraping it- claiming it; his hands moving all the while in reverent strokes over hips, abs, pecs, and then, feeling wicked, his nipples.

At the first, teasing stroke, Deku’s body jerks forward like someone’s pulled him, a loud, lewd gasp that’s clearly unpracticed rattling out of him as he reaches for him; gripping like iron into his shirt to pull him in closer.

Ohh.

Oh, fuck yes.

“Like that-?” He asks excitedly, watching the way that emerald lightning seems to zip through him at every new movement, reveling in the shiver of his limbs- the tightness of his jaw-

-And suddenly, Deku’s powerful body is pressed against his, one of those hands reaching up and pulling him down by the nape and kissing him- kissing hard; each movement growing more and more desperate as he continues to touch Deku just where he seems to like it.

He pinches. Grasps. Rolls them slowly in his fingers.

And yeah, maybe he’s enjoying himself too much as Deku’s body writhes and shivers under his hands- as his hips begin to rut against him-

-but he can’t help the sudden, feral smirk that tugs his lips. He pulls away from that insistent mouth with a heavy exhale.

“Nipples, huh-?” He asks; each syllable a smoldering temptation. “Noted.” 

He’s expecting embarrassment- stuttering- a sullen, whispered ‘don’t tease, Kacchan.' The usual Deku playbook.

But to his surprise, Deku doesn’t falter at all, only giving him a look that might kill a lesser man, those scarred hands beginning to paw at his clothes with a confidence that surprises him- that lovely mouth releasing soft, awed words between kisses.

“Fuck, Kacchan, you’re--!” Katsuki’s belt is suddenly tugged, or rather, ripped- the black leather snapping like thread and going flying across the room as Deku yanks it from his waist, “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” 

He flicks his wrist, the tiny movement snapping the metal clasp of Katsuki's pants clean in two, and okay, yes, holy shit, that’s hot- holy shit.

“I’ve always wanted-,” Deku whispers hoarsely, “-but I never thought- never thought you’d ever want me.”

Not one to be outdone, Katsuki reaches down with his own hands, quickly unbuttoning Deku’s pants and shoving them to the floor without grace, his eyes immediately going straight to the stark, hard line of his cock in his underwear- the unmissable wetness at the tip.

He swallows hard over the sudden dryness that parches his throat.

“Never thought you’d want me.” He admits, scarcely believing his luck as he leans down and takes those freckled cheeks, kissing him hard and slow. “You’re too fucking good.” He manages between sweeps of his tongue over lips and jaw and earlobes, “-Too fucking good for me.”

A flicker of something. A ripple of abrupt hesitance. Deku suddenly falters, his hands going limp.

“Stop.” He breathes, suddenly looking askance, his feet taking a backward step and then another as his shoulders begin to sink. “Don’t say that. I’m not.”

Katsuki blinks in sudden confusion, the heat of desire momentarily flagging.

What the fuck is this?

Deku is the symbol of hope. The best man he knows. The kindest- gentlest- most caring and understanding and-!

“Shut up, nerd, yes you are.” He tries again- advancing forward.

“No, I’m not.” Deku insists sharply, shrinking away, “I’m twisted- disgusting- heartless."

His head bows mournfully, curls draping down over his face.

"I’m not good.” He whispers.

Katsuki suddenly wishes words were tangible things; something he could bite or kick or fucking explode, because hearing Deku say these things about himself is like throwing gasoline on a fire- like poking a sleeping beast.

His teeth grit hard. This is classic Deku; seeing only the best in everyone around him and only the worst in himself- and goddamn it, he’s not going to let him do it- not now.

“Yes, you are-!” He rasps, lunging forward, one hand grabbing Deku by the back of the neck, the other at his hip, pressing him back until he’s squishing him roughly into the foot of his bed with nowhere left to run. “You’re so good- too good.”

Deku doesn’t fight back- doesn’t push back, but he jerks his head away, averting his eyes.

“No.” He whispers again, face twisting with disgust.

“Yes.” Katsuki insists, leaning in close, “You are. You are.”

And then, taking him into his arms and making him look, he growls:

“I’m the twisted one- the heartless one.” He insists. “I let you suffer all this fucking time. I put my knife in you and twisted it. I’m a goddamn bastard, Deku.” 

Deku stops fighting for a moment, staring at him wide-eyed, shaking his head like he doesn’t believe it- like he can’t believe such awful things. Not about him. Not about Kacchan.

“And I’m goddamn selfish,” Katsuki continues, “-selfish as hell- because I don’t fucking care. I don’t care about any of it; I don’t care about what happened tonight or what you did or who you hurt or the past or anything or anybody else but you right now.”

Deku's mouth flops open uselessly like he’s trying to fight it- like he knows that he should- but whatever he was about to say dies in the air as Katsuki leans down to him and runs his fingers up his sides gently, his mouth murmuring into his ear.

“Everyone else expects you to be perfect,” He whispers, “-to be the Symbol of fucking Hope- to never make a mistake-”

He watches Deku’s jaw tighten out of the corner of his eye- feels the tension that rockets through every limb.

“--But fuck that.” He grits, teeth squeaking. “You don’t have to be perfect with me, you dumb nerd. I see you. I know you. So take that undeserved guilt and that modesty bullshit and shove it, because you’re here with me now and I want you just as you are. I finally have you and goddamn it, I wanna put my fuckin’ hands on you.” 

He leans in, bringing his teeth to Deku’s earlobe and giving a gentle bite, and the sound Deku makes is enough to push him to the brink.

His voice is a murmur, hot and low like smoldering coals. 

“I wanna hear you moan for me.” He rumbles. "I wanna watch you bend. I wanna watch you break."

He reaches down, taking his shirt off by the hem and ripping it off in a single, fluid move. Bare-chested, he picks up right where he'd left off, leaning down to Deku’s gaping mouth and kissing him hard, pulling his mouth away just long enough to growl, “But more than anything, I want to hear you call my name while you’re coming on my fucking cock.”

Deku gapes up at him, mouth open, pupils flaring.

There’s a beat- a single beat of decision-

-and then he sees it in his eyes.

Any misgivings, any regrets, any remaining barriers abruptly crumble and fall; the walls of Jericho spread wide and flat around them, and in less than a breath Katsuki visibly sees Deku give up the fight, tilting his chin up to be devoured, his hands blindly grasping at Katsuki’s pants and tugging down until they’re pooling at his ankles-

-and then, before he's ready at all, the nerd is reaching down and nipping, no, biting him on his collarbones- his neck- his wet, bitten mouth whispering out a plea between them.

“Kacchan, please,” He whispers desperately, “Touch me.”

It's every wish come true. 

Katsuki's heart stutters on its beat. His cock twitches hard. He chokes on a breath.

And then, frenzy.

Utter frenzy.

Twenty years of pent-up aggression and emotion and unspoken feelings and lust spill out between them like a flood, thick and heady and heavy, all intermingled with bruising kisses, rushing blood, tugging hands, pinching fingers, and two unearthly bodies learning each other for the first time.

Everything goes fast. They both somehow lose their underwear. There’s a sound of a rip, but no one acknowledges it- or maybe no one even really hears it over the sounds of them; of mouths and pants and moans and deep, rasping growls, and god, the feeling of his body against his-? His hips rutting forward in a flurried attempt at friction-? Of that perfect ass in his hands-? Their hard cocks grinding together-?

It’s a wet-fuckin’-dream; a scene out of Katsuki’s most sinful fantasies- his softest dreams and most devastating nightmares- too good to be true.

Katsuki reaches up, pressing him down by the sternum, and Deku doesn’t fight it; letting himself fall to the bed with a thump, his body laid flat and bare across his sheets- and Christ, he’s like a goddamn painting- something beautiful and rare that deserves to be worshiped: muscled and scarred- flushed and hard and dripping against his own stomach.

He could drool like a dog.

“God, look at you.” Katsuki whispers reverently, blunt nails digging mercilessly into the ample muscle at his thighs. He looks at him with appreciation- hunger- a whine of pure longing slipping out of Deku’s lips as he leans close and says, “You’re fucking perfect- fucking beautiful.”

Deku wriggles a bit. He blushes crimson. He jerks his eyes away in embarrassment, opening his mouth (probably to argue, the idiot)- but any argument is dead before it starts as Katsuki falls roughly to his knees and abruptly takes the tip of Deku’s cock completely into his mouth.

The sound that comes out of him is ungodly- drool-worthy- ASMR for the sexually depraved- and Katsuki’s brain almost turns off completely as he relaxes his mouth and takes Deku fully, all the way into the back of his throat again and again and again.

“Aah~!!”

And God, Katsuki could die right here and now, because Deku's entire body fucking bends, his back arching off the bed, hands clawing desperately into sheets and then slapping over his face to hide his eyes; Katsuki’s hard grip the only thing holding him down to Earth as he forcibly pins him down at his thighs.

“Oh my- oh my god-!!” He gasps, raw- hoarse- wrecked.

And then, there’s a hand in Katsuki’s hair, pulling hard by the root as he throws his head back and wails:

“Kacchan- Kacchan-!!”

Oh, fuuuuck yes.

He can almost feel his eyes rolling back from it: from the pleasure- the satisfaction of knowing that he’s doing this to him- getting these sounds out of him; from the way those powerful, freckled thighs are twitching deliciously under his hands, the way his cock throbs against his tongue.

That’s right, nerd. 

No one else can treat you so good. 

No one else fits.

Deku hiccups- sighs- pants- sobs- and it becomes an instant addiction.

Hearing him through the wall was one thing, but this is something else entirely. Smelling him- tasting him- touching him-?? This is milk and honey after forty years in the desert, his heart’s deepest, filthiest desire, and not wanting to waste it- this perfect, precious opportunity- he goes deeper, opening his throat and taking him down as far as he can.

He closes his eyes, letting himself sink into the rhythm of it when suddenly, Deku’s legs begin to thrash under his grip, the hand in his hair yanking insistently, that sweet tenor voice pitching into a high, pleading rasp.

“Stop- stop-!!” He begs, his entire lower body trembling as he tries in vain to wriggle away from the talented mouth around him, his head shaking hard as he looks down at him with a wild, animal sort of desperation. “I’ll come- Kacchan, please- please, I’ll come-!!” 

Pride flares, heavy and thick and hot.

Oh, he loves him.

Katsuki does as he’s bid, releasing him gently, giving one final, toe-curling lick up the length of him, his own, neglected cock drooling heavily against his navel as he watches the delectable shiver that goes over Deku’s powerful limbs at the sudden denial.

“Good, baby.” He praises softly, hands kneading into thighs, “That was so good.”

Deku beams at the praise, pulling his head up weakly, his expression dazed and fucked-out and so loving.

“Kacchan. ” He purrs.

It's a spark on tinder. Something within him suddenly flares to life at the sound of it. It's an unknown emotion, one that he’d never felt for another partner- for no one but Deku; something protective and powerful that wants nothing more than to please. So, following that instinct, he gets to his feet and leans over him, touching slowly- teasing- pressing kisses up his chest and neck as he murmurs:

“Tell me. Tell me what you want, baby.” His thumb drags over a nipple. A full-body shudder. “You can have it. You can have anything.”

A soft tenor whine pours from Deku’s chest, those green curls flinging back into his pillow, spreading wide as he lays his throat bare, and Katsuki almost hates himself for the way his entire brain turns to soup at the sight of it; how his voice begins to crack- how his hands begin to shake.

“Fuck, Deku,” He grits reverently, “I’ll give you fucking anything.”

There is zero hesitation in Deku’s eyes when he catches his gaze, nothing but desire and determination rippling in them as he opens his mouth and tells him what he wants.

“Fuck me.” He demands.

For a moment, Katsuki just stares, too surprised to keep his mouth from gaping open. 

He’s heard that phrase from Deku before; a whispered gasp from behind the wall. But this is different. There’s no wall- no walls between them at all- not anymore. There’s only them; only Deku- his Deku- asking for what he wants. And what he wants is for Katsuki to fuck him.

His entire body suddenly vibrates with it; every neuron firing at the same time as those two heavenly words wash over him- through him- and for a second, he has to steady himself- has to try to catch his breath, because this is it. It’s actually fucking happening. It isn’t a dream or a fantasy, but reality. Deku actually wants him in that way. Wants Katsuki to fuck him.

Green eyes sweep upward, wide and pleading- waiting for the answer- and suddenly realizing that he’s been silent for too long, he manages to find his tongue.

“Fuck.” He gasps, choking over his words, too overwhelmed to say something more clever. “Yeah- yes- holy fuck, fucking yes.”

His eyes dart to his nightstand- to the drawer where he keeps the lube- and in an instant, he’s breaking for it on wobbling legs, his hands fumbling at the drawer, pressing aside phone chargers and books and old receipts until his hand finds it.

When he turns back, Deku, that devil, is fucking writhing on his bed, pink-cheeked and sweaty at the temples and so disastrously alluring that he could crumble into dust at the sight alone, and so, not wanting to waste time, he immediately pops the cap with a click, pouring some on his fingers.

But he must not be quick enough, because Deku's voice rings across the room.

“Kacchan, now, c’mon!” He suddenly demands, pressing his eyes shut with impatience, that soft voice almost a growl as he sits up and reaches for him, pulling him down with that iron grip. “Please fuck me- please-! ”

And wow, holy fuck, okay.

It's delicious to hear. So hot that his cock aches where it rubs against his bare skin.

But before he can lose himself entirely, the single remaining brain cell in his head manages to regain control; one hand pressing him down at the chest to hold him back.

“Deku-,” He hisses, trying to push some sternness into it- some control-, “-wait- I have to-” 

At the barest beginning of refusal, Deku lets out a quiet whimper; a sound that rattles him down to his bones- that almost makes him break.

Almost.

He takes in a deep breath, grounding himself. 

He can’t let the moment get away from him. He needs to open him first; do this property and make him feel good. The worst thing he could possibly do now after all this time- all this waiting- is let his lizard brain take over and rush in and potentially hurt him out of impatience. 

“Kacchannn-” Deku whines, desperate and needy.

But Katsuki doesn't obey. He simply leans down and presses a solid, reassuring kiss on his lips, willing himself to speak softly.

“Slow down.” He orders. “Slow the fuck down. I can’t yet, you dumb nerd, I’ll hurt you.”

Deku blinks at him in confusion for only a moment before something seems to click in his expression, his face going scarlet, eyes darting away as he whispers:

“No, it’s okay,” He assures, “You don’t have to- I’m-”

He somehow flushes deeper, the color spreading down to his chest. He nibbles at his lower lip.

“-I’m ready.” He whispers.

Katsuki blinks.

Ready. He’s ready.

Which means...

It clicks.

Oh.

Katsuki suddenly pulls his hands away as a number of things start suddenly making sense.

“Did you two-?” He asks, trying not to sound accusatory- not to sound jealous. 

Deku’s torso shoots up. His eyes go wide, his green head shaking quickly.

“No.” He retorts. “We didn’t.”

His eyes cast low in shame.

“Because before we could- when he was, y'know-” A swallow and a quick glance downward. “-I called for you.” 

Katsuki blinks.

A score of things suddenly make sense. The loose, unaccounted-for threads of the evening instantly weave together until everything comes into clear focus.

That was it. 

That’s what kicked off that horrible fight between them. That’s what hurt Tadashi so deeply. 

The two of them had been together, probably getting ready to do exactly what he and Deku are doing now, and in the throes of passion, he’d called for him- for Kacchan.

Emotion sweeps him: bitter, stabbing anger at knowing that asshole had gotten to touch him like that- pride in himself that’s almost real enough to taste- deep, stabbing lust that seems to burn through him all the way to the tips of his fingers-

-And even in his triumph, he manages to spare a split-second of pity for the poor bastard. But only a split second.

His clean hand moves, curling around the back of Deku’s neck, possessive and warm, as his pupils dilate and his entire body burns.

“Fuck, Deku.” He manages.

“I’m sorry-!” Deku tilts his head up, his expression apologetic, “I’m so sorry- I shouldn’t have ever been with-!!”

He reaches out and takes him at the hips.

“It was a mistake. It was cruel. I messed up so badly. But I only ever wanted you. It’s only ever been you.”

His thumb brushes his skin as he says it, running over the scar that Katsuki earned protecting him during the war, and the combination of sound and touch hits him like a fucking train- like a shot of morphine- like nails up his back- 

-And suddenly, Katsuki is moving, one arm wrapping around him and pulling him across the bed by his tiny, muscled waist, angling the two of them across the bed as he presses his body between Deku’s legs, an odd feeling of belonging sweeping over him as he plants a kiss over the inside of each knee.

“It’s always been you, dumbass.” He whispers breathlessly, using the remaining lube on his hand to slick his cock.

But it's then, lined up against him and standing at the edge of something new, there’s a tiny twinge in the back of his skull; a sudden urge to slow himself- to pause- to take a moment and just look. So he does.

And fuck, Deku looks like an angel beneath him: blushing all the way to the tips of his ears- glistening from head to toe- his cock twitching hard with anticipation- his lips kiss-swollen and bitten- tiny splotches beginning to form on the skin of his neck, collarbones, and chest as those gorgeous eyes staring at him, hazy and delirious and enamored, his entire form wanting wanting wanting-

-And Katsuki can’t help but silently wonder if this moment will be the peak of his life; if there could be anything better than this.

He kneels between his legs, gets his arms around him completely, and kisses him hard on the mouth, nibbling on those lips, sliding his tongue in deep, tasting him fully.

“Fuck me, nerd, you’re fucking beautiful.” He rasps.

Deku’s voice is wobbly.

“Kacchan.” He whispers.

And then, in one smooth, powerful movement, Katsuki cants his hips and thrusts all the way inside.

Deku arches completely off the bed, eyes rolling; a moan breaking out of him like it’s been punched out- 

-And Katsuki has to actually bite his tongue to keep himself from coming.

“Shit.” He gulps hard, gripping onto Deku in a weak attempt to ground himself, “Shit.”

The nerd hadn’t lied, he’s already prepped- ready; smooth and slick and hot and tight and incredible and within two seconds, Katsuki decides to put his affairs in order and dig his own fucking grave because he knows within that first, perfect moment of being inside him that Deku will undoubtedly be the death of him.

But even so, this- being with him like this for the first time- suddenly sparks something inside of him; something like Deja vu. 

It's their first time together, and yet, it’s something he somehow…knows. Something he realizes that he’d always known. It's something that had long lay dormant within him: something that’s dwelled there unknown- unseen- unfelt; the chorus of a song that he doesn’t quite remember until it’s suddenly crashing into him-

-and now that they're finally here- finally together- he realizes then that the words and music were always in him, just waiting. Until now.

He knows it in an instant: knows it in that first, heart stopping moment. He knows it in his heavenly taste, his perfect smell, cedar and sweat and almost-faded cologne- the sound of his voice, even. Deku is that song. Deku is the lyrics and the melody and the harmony all in one.

And of course, he is. He always was.

And for fuck’s sake, he’s about to goddamn cry, when Deku, angel and devil that he is, locks his legs around his hips and pulls him in deeper, those green eyes rolling in abject pleasure; hands beginning to paw at his back mindlessly as he stutters over words.

“Oh my- oh my god, Kacchan.”

Katsuki’s hips ripple with a hard, involuntary shiver.

Jesus Christ.

Deku’s desire is palpable- infectious- so delicious that the last, remaining pieces of Katsuki’s sanity abruptly crumple and burn like paper held to a flame, his body suddenly overwhelmed with emotion; with frustration and desire and love and anger- and for once- for the first time- he doesn’t fight it. 

No more holding himself back. No more wishing.

Deku wants this, too. Wants him, too.

So he lets instinct move him, taking Deku by the backs of his thighs and folding his legs up to his chest, drowning in the sudden, shocked gasp that comes out of his mouth- one that's followed by a quiet, but still entirely audible yes yes please, oh my god, please-

-And then, he’s leaning over and he’s fucking him- thrusting in deep- and Deku’s responding cry is like nothing he’s ever heard before.

“Kacchan-!!” He wails, one hand flashing back to cling to the headboard, the other wrapping hot and hard around the back of his neck and pulling him in possessively.

And god, it’s good- so good; good enough that his brain shuts down and his tongue goes loose as he pounds into him over and over.

“You fucking idiot.”  He grits, never taking his eyes away, “You must’ve known.”

He wriggles one arm under his back and pulls him close until his lips are at his ear.

“How could you not see-?? Not see how much I-”

But Deku doesn’t seem to hear- or maybe he can’t hear- because his entire body is trembling so hard- writhing- whining.

“Kacchan.” He manages, fucked-out and barely audible.

Katsuki presses his mouth down hard, kissing him and then pulling back to croon:

“Only ever wanted you, baby.”

And that’s when he’s forced to remember exactly who he’s fucking, because Deku’s arms are suddenly around him, hard as iron and worn and scarred from years of being the number one hero, pulling him down against him until their bodies are pressed together from shoulder to hip, their sweat-slick skin sliding over the other’s as Katsuki presses in deep and begins to grind shallowly.

And then- there it is. He finds what he’s looking for.

He hits his prostate dead-on and the howl that comes out of Deku's throat is like the opening note of a symphony.

“Kacchan-!! Kacchan, holy fucking- please-!!” He cries, his back arching off the bed, whole body beginning to shake violently.

His blunt nails dig into Katsuki's shoulders and back so hard that pain blooms in his skin, mixing twisted and delicious with pleasure- and god, he suddenly feels fucking rabid- out of control- driven utterly mad by him; by the only man who could match him- by the only person who’s ever been his equal.

“Izuku. ” He hisses, his speed increasing, everything going blurry around him, the air sticky and thick as his hips begin to thrust harder into that spot, over and over- merciless- brutal- relentless.

Deku’s eyes flash open wide.

“There-! ” He cries hoarsely, “There there there there-!!”

Katsuki obliges.

Deku’s head flings back, the green of his eyes completely swallowed by blown-out pupils, and god, he’s never looked so undone- so wrecked- so beautiful- and suddenly, before he can stop himself, one of Katsuki's hands is reaching, taking him by the chin and forcing their eyes to meet; his pace never slowing even as he catches his gaze and snarls it into the air between them.

“You don’t know what I would do for you.” He growls, suddenly feeling almost feral; living for the way Deku’s eyes zero in on him, focused and adoring and so intimate. “The horrible, fucking things I would do for you, Izuku.”

Deku looks up at him, awed- dumbstruck- only managing a breathy, mangled:

“Kacchan.”

At the sound of his name, Katsuki makes the mistake (or blessing) of looking into that face, some of that wild, animalistic energy beginning to wane as he suddenly realizes it- realizes just what he has- just what he’s been gifted with. His heart twists in his chest with a confusing, consuming mixture of emotions: grief for time wasted- gratitude- affection- and then fear.

“Never letting you out of my sight again.” He swears between thrusts, gripping into him tightly- protectively-, “-can’t-,” A catch of breath, “-can’t lose you.”

His head shakes hard.

“Never. Never again.” 

This time, Deku can’t manage to say anything at all, just staring at him wide-eyed and moaning like he’s looking into the face of a god- like he’s already sold his soul; ripped off his wings and condemned himself to hell- and that realization alone is enough to fray away at the unraveling bits of Katsuki’s self-control.

“God- Izuku-,” He presses in deep, momentarily holding himself there, savoring the way he feels against him- around him- one hand reaching up to brush sweat-damp curls from his brow, his whole body floating and falling and overcome with a need to touch, “Izuku. I fucking-” 

His hands are shaking. His whole body is shaking.

He feels himself spiraling downward, plunging head-first. The ice is cracking under his feet. The thin, feeble hold he has on his emotions is crumbling.

And suddenly, his mouth is traitorously moving- fumbling- spilling.

“I fucking love you.” He manages, the words a breathless, broken rattle.

Deku suddenly sucks in a sharp, dry gasp that sounds like it hurts. His eyes whip up in shock and alarm.

“What-??” He asks, hopeful and afraid all at once.

Katsuki chokes on nothing, his treasonous mouth snapping shut as the realizes what the fuck he just did.

Oh, fuck.

Oh, fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck!

He hadn’t meant to. Not now! Not in the middle of-!!

His gaze shoots down, ready to apologize- backtrack- deflect- say something- anything.

But one look in Deku’s hopeful, sparkling eyes kills his fear dead in his chest, utterly erasing any apprehension. It makes him feel brave- strong- assured- and before he can let himself feel embarrassed or nervous or scared, he’s pushing through it, reaching down and taking Deku’s head in his hands and looking him in the eyes.

He says it cleanly- clearly; without barriers or walls or conditions or any room for misunderstanding.

“That’s right.” He confirms. “You hear me now-?” He asks him, his words cracking with emotion, “You hear me, nerd-?! I’m calling.”

He bends his head and kisses him hard, holding their faces together, brushing their noses together, cracking his eyes to look at him- at the beautiful man he loves- at his Deku.

“And I fucking love you.” He murmurs.

When he pulls away, his heart fucking thundering from anxiety, he finds Deku’s eyes squinting up at him, loving and wrecked, tears pooling into the corners, and though some rational part of him says bad - wrong- no- the part that knows Izuku- loves Izuku- knows without a doubt that these are good tears- that he’s happy- blissfully happy; so happy that he can’t stop his emotions from spilling out.

The thought has scarcely circled when suddenly, those tears are drowned out by a smile; a giant, gorgeous, perfect smile.

“I-” Deku hiccups, nuzzling into his palm, “Kacchan, I--”

His heart swells with what he’s sure Deku is about to say, but he doesn’t let him finish.

“I know.” He chuckles, low and soft, “I know, baby.”

And then, he’s releasing his face and pushing him down hard by the chest, getting his hands under his ass and hiking his hips up to find that perfect spot.

“Now fucking come for me.” He growls wickedly, his mouth twisting into a devilish, avaricious smirk as he thrusts in hard, hitting it dead-on.

The low, guttural sound that breaks out of Deku sends gooseflesh raising- a shiver rippling as Deku clings to him and whimpers and just holds on, and fuck, it only takes a few seconds before his nails are digging in, his voice ringing out:

“Fuck!" He squeaks. "It’s so- I’m- Kacchan, I’m gonna-!”

Katsuki's chest bubbles over with anticipation. His breath becomes a crackle in his lungs.

Deku's hips are jerking now, his ass clenching around him tight, his head flung back into the sheets, and fuck, he’s close- he’s really close.

His voice is like gravel.

“Fucking right, you are.” Katsuki growls, his whole body electric with triumph as he leans his head down to Deku’s bare neck, “Now fucking give it to me.”

He bites down on the sensitive skin, reaching down to take Deku’s cock in his hand, just to give him that little bit of push over the edge-

-But he doesn’t make it. He doesn’t even have to touch him at all, because the combination of his filthy words and his cock slamming in must do it, the sound of slapping skin just beginning to echo when Deku’s entire body abruptly seizes, his pretty mouth opening up into a scream that turns his head to mush as ribbons of white shoot across his stomach and chest, leaving Katsuki with nothing to do but watch in complete awe as Deku- his Izuku- comes violently around him.

It's beautiful. A little frightening. And Katsuki, admittedly, is a bastard, and so instead of slowing down, he continues on.

He doesn’t let up, doesn’t slow down, every nerve alight and on fire as he watches Deku visibly buckle and crack under the aftershocks, his pretty cock twitching untouched against his coated stomach, big, green eyes blinking back tears. His mouth bites back pitiful, little whimpers. His whole body just shivers and shivers. But he doesn’t cry out again- doesn’t fight it; only closing his eyes and surrendering himself to it, letting the pleasure wash over him- through him.

And once again, Katsuki’s brain nearly melts as Deku forces him to discover something about himself that he didn’t know- a new, shiny button to be pressed- because this, without a doubt, is one of the hottest things he’s ever seen.

So he doesn’t stop, thrusting into him hot and heavy and slow, wringing out every bit that he can- chewing it- savoring it; his thumbs brushing soft intimate circles over his hip bones as he watches and watches until Deku’s eyes suddenly pop open with a sharp suck of air.

“Too much-!” He cries hoarsely, legs thrashing, “Too much too much too much-!!”

That's the limit.

He could be wicked- he could- but he decides to take pity on him, slowing himself down to a stop. Deku lets out a harsh breath of sweet relief, his entire body going limp around him- and looking down at him like that, seeing him so sated and fucked-out and delirious with bliss, he silently takes a picture in his mind, sealing this memory permanently into the back of his head. 

Deku comes to quickly, satisfied and panting and shaking below him, hands still clutching wherever he can reach, legs still trembling as the last dregs of aftershocks coil through him, and when his brain powers back on, he looks up at him with an expression that he can read like a book.

Now you.

They don’t have to say anything. He doesn’t have to ask. He wordlessly releases Deku’s hips, grabs a leg and throws it over his shoulder, and brutally resumes his pace, this time to chase his own end.

Deku gasps and moans and bites back whimpers, taking it like a fucking champion, and of course, he does; the nerd would never back down from a challenge- would never give up.

But even so, it’s fucking impressive watching him now, clearly fighting against the intense overstimulation, letting himself be fucked like this- used like this- possessed like this-

-And Katsuki’s heart can’t help but fucking flutter, those dark vermillion eyes watching him in utter rapture.

This is the man I chose. This is the man I love. 

My perfect, stubborn, masochistic, little nerd. 

“Fuck, you feel so fucking good.” He gasps, pressing a rough kiss into his knee, “So fucking good, baby.”

Deku’s lips press together to hold in a keening sound, the heels of his hands pressing into his eye sockets like he’s about to fall apart as that spot inside of him is hit again and again-

-And Katsuki could die. He could actually fucking die.

“Made for me.” He continues, not caring how soft it is, “You were fucking made for me.”

Deku begins to claw into the sheets, his eyes going wet at the corners, liquid beading and rolling down his cheeks.

“Kacchan-!!” He cries; a plea and a prayer and a promise-

-And ohhh, the shout of his name drenched in ecstasy- filthy and desperate-?? Fuck, he’ll never tire of it- never- never. It sparks something low and searing in his core, something delicious and sinful, and he can feel it approaching- barreling into him- and he knows without a doubt that he’s going to come.

He could almost laugh.

It’s serendipity- too perfect.

There's no better way to cement it- to make it real.

Besides, this is how it all started, isn’t it? With the shout of his name?

He thrusts in deep and Deku shivers around him, the sensation so intense that he can feel the hair raising on his arms- his nape- and suddenly, the growing pleasure is graduating into a heart-racing need- an unignorable approaching inevitability- a juggernaut that can’t be stopped.

“Fuuck-,” His eyes pop open, each breath a labor, “-’M close, baby- I’m fucking close- fuck-” 

And god, those words must do some magic because Deku suddenly surges with energy, those green eyes finding his face; hardening into something imposing and powerful as that soft, gentle mouth begins to whisper perfect, beautiful filth.

“Yes- yes- come for me, Kacchan, come for me-” He demands hazily. 

Katsuki almost buckles; every wicked fantasy and salacious daydream suddenly pale in comparison to reality as Deku spreads his legs wider and pulls him in deeper. His powerful thighs wrap around him. His heels lock at the base of his spine. Those gorgeous green eyes sharpen- narrow; giving him a look that says don’t you dare pull out.

And knowing that Deku wants it so badly- wants him to come inside him- is demanding it, even- is the final thread in the tapestry- the very last grain of his sanity.

He snaps.

He doesn’t bother to temper the rasping, guttural shout that comes out of him as he comes inside him; the orgasm hitting him so hard that his vision goes white- that his whole body fucking jerks- his powerful hips shaking and shaking- hands clasping- grasping- trying to find anything to hold onto as it hits him and hits him and fucking hits him.

Deku wriggles under him- around him- his mouth making soft, pleasurable sounds that scratch some primal part of his brain. Those sinful hips beginning to roll slowly, teasing him- drawing his orgasm out longer- and the sudden shock of overstimulation is enough to crack him. A weak, strangled sound rips out of him, his entire body buzzing with lightning.

“Fuck.” He whines softly, his entire body trembling, brain frying away into nothing as Deku looks at him with an uncharacteristic expression of victory; his whole face suddenly looking self-satisfied and vulpine.

And just when it can't get better- when he isn't sure he can't love him any more than he does- Deku, the little devil, uses his heels to pull him in deeper- harder- and that’s when the threshold becomes too great; the delicious mix of pleasure/pain too much to handle, and suddenly, Katsuki’s hands are flashing out, grabbing Deku hard by those delicious hips to hold him still.

Everything goes quiet.

He’s dizzy- panting- out of his head entirely. He must look a goddamn mess. And when Deku releases him with his legs and holds his arms open to him, he doesn’t even have the brain power to consider hesitating. He lets himself slump forward. Lets his entire body fall into Deku’s arms. Lets himself be wrapped up tight; swallowed into the embrace that he’d dreamed of for months. His face goes right to the crux of Deku’s neck and shoulder, fitting perfectly in the space like he was made to be there, like he belongs there; almost unraveling as a scarred hand curls into his sweaty nape.

It pets him slow and soft, cooing words floating like silk in his ears.

“-got you, Kacchan.” He whispers, gentle and loving, “I’ve got you. ”

And he does. He knows he does.

Chapter Text

The world is like a watercolor painting around him. Foggy. Surreal.

Color and light are blurred and hazy. Sounds are dull. 

But his sense of touch isn’t dulled. Not at all. In fact, he can feel everything; can intimately feel each vibrant, perfect swatch of freckled skin below him- each electric drag of contact as Deku’s fingers stroke through his hair- each pass of blunt nails sending gooseflesh rising over his shoulders and down his back.

His brain (wholly useless and half-mush at this point) slowly comes back into focus, and with it, the realization of what just occurred. 

Shit, he’d said so much. They’d done so much. 

He’d finally gotten to have him. After months of loneliness and heartbreak and jealousy and pain, he’d finally gotten to kiss him- touch him- fuck him- make love to him- whatever he wants to call it.

He’d told him everything; emptied out those feelings- laid himself bare-

-professed his goddamn love-

Katsuki shivers at the thought, suddenly feeling drained; like a cup poured entirely out- a cloth wrung dry as he lays limply over him, his face still buried into his shoulder, soothed and pacified by the gentle, sweeping strokes of his hand- the familiar, comforting heat of him- that soft, cedar scent- the smell that radiates safety- that is undeniably Deku.

He should probably get up. 

He’s all muscle these days- heavy- he knows he is- but at the same time, he knows that Deku is strong enough; more than strong enough to handle his weight (physically and metaphorically) in a way that none of his past partners ever were, so choosing to be selfish, he indulges himself for once, lying there for a few minutes more, dazed and content in the safety of his embrace.

But eventually, the world comes back into color- the dreamy edges sharpening- the nagging in his brain growing too loud. Okay, enough, he needs to get up; they need to talk about this- need to figure shit out- what this means for both of them.

So, even though he doesn’t want to, he stirs, groaning softly at the feeling of Deku’s solid body beneath him- around him- pushing himself up onto his forearms to get a good look at him.

“Hey. Deku.” He calls hoarsely.

Deku looks up at him slowly- languidly- those emerald eyes far off- dazed and fucked-out- his expression sated and content like a cat in the sun, his face still glowing rosy at the cheeks. 

It tugs his heart so hard that he has to swallow over it.

“Hey.” His words are tender as he reaches down, leaning onto one arm and brushing fingertips over his freckled cheekbone. “-You okay-?”

Deku’s lips tug at the corners, his mouth letting out a soft sigh as he wiggles one arm and then the other, silently going through each body part one by one to check for injury, and then, satisfied, he nods his head languidly.

“-Yeah.” He hums, blinking up at him, his lips curling into a beatific smile, “Yeah, I’m okay.”

-And fuck, that’s a relief.

Katsuki slowly pushes himself up to his knees, abdominals trembling, vertigo hitting him for a second as he gets upright, his mouth letting out a woozy laugh; syrupy and dizzy.

“Holy shit,” He breathes, resting his hands on his still-shaking thighs, “-that was-”

“-Yeah.” Deku agrees swiftly, pressing himself up onto his forearms, “-I don’t think it’s ever been-”

‘-like that before.”

“-like that before.”  

They say it in perfect tandem.

Oh.

And then, a moment of thick quiet- of deafening silence; a moment where their eyes meet and their mouths shut tight as they stare at each other- simultaneously asking and knowing exactly what the other means.

For once, Katsuki is the first to break the tension.

“Yeah-?” He asks; small- hopeful- not bothering to even out the breathlessness in it.

And Deku goes soft all over; sinking contently into the sheets below him, green eyes glimmering with assurance.

“Yeah.”

It’s beautiful; the kind of moment that he’d dreamed of for weeks- months, now- but at the same time, it’s so much.

Katsuki swallows hard, suddenly feeling very itchy inside; still not used to these overt feelings and looks after so many months of running and hiding and smothering down emotion.

So to distract himself, he begins to look Deku over from head to toe, silently noting all of the places where his skin is darkening into various shades of red or purple- the evidence of their lovemaking blooming like flowers into the creamy peach of his neck and collarbones and hips.

“You sure you’re okay-?” He asks in confirmation, the pads of his fingers brushing whisper-soft up the column of his neck. He sucks in a breath through his teeth as his eyes narrow in on a particularly dark mark below his jaw; his face twisting into a small cringe. “I was a little…rough.”

And Deku, that demon, only smiles deeper- devilishly- his eyes crinkling with amusement as he turns his head and catches the tips of his fingers on his lips, taking Katsuki’s hand into his own and kissing it softly.

“You could be rougher.” He muses. One green eye flicks up; the expression devious and unafraid as he gently bites down onto the tip of his finger. “I can handle you, Kacchan.”

He might as well be running those fingers up his spine for the shiver those words bring; for the implication behind them. He’d be tempted to launch straight back into fucking him if he hadn’t just had the strongest orgasm of his life.

So instead, he finds himself gazing down at him; simultaneously exasperated, aroused, in love, and deeply, deeply proud.

Kinky little fucker.

Deku raises a brow, clearly waiting for a reaction, but he doesn’t want to give the nerd the satisfaction, so he just twists his mouth into a wolfish smirk, pulling his hand free to run the pad of his thumb over the bottom of those sensitive, kiss-swollen lips in a way that makes Deku’s eyes go hazy and his breath go short.

“Fucking right, you can.” Katsuki agrees impishly. His eyes narrow. “You little shit.”

But the words are toothless and fond, the starkly affectionate tone making Deku go liquid beneath him- beaming up at him like the sun shines out of his ass as he wriggles contentedly into the bedclothes.

He stares down at him like that for a minute; trying to take a picture with his mind- to seal this beautiful sight into his memory- but all too soon, the position he’d been holding begins to put a strain on his back, a low ache beginning to throb. 

He needs to move.

His limbs are still wobbly- shaky- everything still tingly with post-coital bliss- but he manages to shift a bit, and with it, a new revelation.

Their skin is uncomfortably tacky at the thighs where they’re still joined; damp and sticky with sweat and cum and lube and Deku must see it, too- feel it, too- because he looks up at him with a bashful shrug.

“We’re a mess.” Deku breathes; part sheepish- part victorious.

Katsuki blows an amused breath out of his nose.

“Yeah, we are-,” He agrees, taking quick stock, “I can- just hold tight. I’ll be right back.”

He plants his hands strategically on the bed, pulling out of him as gently as he can; leaning down to press a kiss onto Deku’s forehead as he does, his entire body aching at the loss of contact. Deku makes a small, whining sound, no doubt feeling the same- dreading the emptiness to come.

But they eventually part with a shared gasp- a shiver- his legs crawling- one foot stepping down onto the floor-

And woah- holy shit- he’s unsteady on his feet- the apparent after-effect of having a green-haired angel suck your soul out cock-first.

His head swims for a moment- his legs buzzing- but it passes quickly. Feeling more sturdy, he gingerly makes his way into his bathroom, grabbing a towel and wetting it. He cleans himself off quickly; grabbing himself a much-needed glass of water that he knocks back readily.

Feeling significantly less grimy, he grabs another towel for Deku- refilling the glass, as well- before striding back to the bed.

It’s a pretty sight that greets him upon his return.

Deku; his beautiful, muscled body sprawled out- fucked-out- dreamy and happy and peaceful- like he doesn’t have a care in the world.

And shit, maybe he doesn’t. He was always told that he was an incredible fuck.

He approaches the bed, setting the water on the bedside table beside Deku before circling the foot to his own side- letting his body fall back to the sheets with a hiss of air. He holds out the towel for Deku, who reaches for it with languid, lazy hands, giving himself a quick once over before downing the water and setting the glass aside.

Their business done and the two of them now clean (well, clean enough), they lay side by side on the bed; not touching- not speaking.

The clock ticks.

The air is heavy with subtext; with unspoken words and barely-concealed feelings- a low pulsing aura of holy shit, we really just did that hanging like miasma all around them- the atmosphere going so tense that after a few minutes, Katsuki can’t help but fidget- toss a bit- trying to find a more comfortable position in a weak attempt to assuage the itchy feeling.

He finally settles; his torso laid open- and as he puts one arm under his head, he suddenly feels like he’s being watched. 

His eyes flick over, only to find that Deku is already staring- gaping shamelessly at the space between his arms like he’s never wanted anything more in his life. 

It makes his stomach fucking flutter.

He opens his mouth to say something- he’s not sure what-

“Kacchan,” Deku suddenly asks, his words hesitant, “-Can I-?” 

It’s soft- apprehensive- like he’s already heard the refusal in his head- like he’s prepped and ready for this to end; for it to be a dream. 

And maybe it is a dream, because dear fucking god, Deku wants to be held. 

He wants Katsuki to hold him.

It’s so wonderful- so damn ridiculous, that, despite his deep desire for it- to wrap his nerd in his arms and feel him and protect him- Katsuki also suddenly has the urge to  tease; to mock him into the dirt for asking something so stupid- so goddamn obvious. 

Of course, he wants to hold him. Of course, he wants to touch him. They just spent the better part of an hour having the most intense, most intimate sex he’s ever experienced; how could he think anything else-??

He turns to look at him- a biting retort waiting on his lips-

-But the expression in Deku’s eyes is almost enough to snap him in half.

Fear.

There’s fear in those eyes; cold and sharp and devastating- and it only takes him a second to understand why.

Twenty years. Twenty fucking years of pain; of being hurt and pushed aside and forcing himself not to touch and swallowing down all the things he’d felt. 

Shit, Katsuki had only had to endure for a few months and that had been torture enough, but years-?

This isn’t the time to tease. 

So without a shred of hesitation or mockery, he holds his arms open wide for him.

“-‘Course you can, moron.” He rumbles affectionately; trying to be as gentle as he can, “Get over here before I kick your ass.”

Deku’s mouth wobbles- his eyes well up- and the brightness that shines out of him then could light the world; could dim even the sun. He moves forward eagerly; curling in, sinking himself into the wide expanse of Katsuki’s chest, and nuzzling in at the hollow of his throat.

And yeah, the sex was good- really good- fucking mind-blowing- somehow even better than he imagined it to be (and he imagined a lot), but it’s nothing compared to this; to having Deku in his arms- to just…holding him- being able, after so many years, to just…have him- to touch him and inhale that faint cedar scent that lingers around him like smoke.

And then, just when Katsuki’s heart can take no more, Deku presses his cheek against his sternum and sighs like an angel, and yep- there it goes- his heart is bursting- overflowing- his feelings so thick and so strong that they begin to rise higher and higher until they’re spilling out of his mouth.

“I meant what I said, you know.” He blurts; hating his lack of tact- hating that, despite his too-cool demeanor, he can already feel his cheeks heating.

Deku’s brows raise as he tilts his head up; one of those warm, scarred hands clutching around a bicep for stability.

“Which part-?” He asks with a little smile, leaning a soft cheek to the bare skin of his chest, “There was a lot.”

He can tell that he’s being sincere, that he’s not trying to tease or rile him up, but the implication still makes him flush with embarrassment. 

He’s a top hero; supposed to be in control of his emotions- a wall of steel- immovable- reliable.

But with Deku, he’s…vulnerable. 

For years, the nerd had carried a special place in his heart; had been the only one to whittle away a spot into his walls- scratching away at it day after day.

But that first kiss was a sledgehammer into it- each kiss and touch and soft, loving word another blow- and now, in the aftermath of it all, that soft spot- that tiny crack in the iron- has since become a gaping hole- a wide, open, Deku-shaped chasm inside him.

The logical part of him hates it; hates that feeling of weakness- of knowing that anyone could have that effect on him-

-but the gooey, oft-ignored, sappy part of his brain is almost screaming with bliss.

And for once, being selfish, he chooses the latter, grabbing it with white knuckles as he turns down to Deku and tells the truth.

“All of it.” He explains, clutching him tighter, powering through the way those green eyes go wide with an innocent sort of wonder, “-Every bit. And it wasn’t just because we were-” 

He swallows.

It wasn’t because they were fucking.

It’s not because being inside him is the closest thing to nirvana he’d ever experienced.

It’s because- because-

He’s suddenly nervous- nervous as shit- this is a lot- much more than he’s ever admitted to anyone else- but he grits it out, regardless.

“Fuck, you’re beautiful and I-”

He stops just short of it; huffing in frustration at his own incompetence with words, at his sudden inability, after years of saying whatever the fuck he wants, to say what he wants to say now.

His hands clench hard as his mouth begins to tremble.

God, this is fucking scary. Saying it in the heat of the moment is one thing, but saying it like this-? Having to be so honest-? So vulnerable-? It grates on him like unbroken shoes- rubbing blisters into his raw heart- the raw, weak, stupid heart that is now beginning to pound- to throb so hard that he can barely hear anything over the blood rushing in his ears.

He’s beginning to doubt his own strength- cravenly toying with the idea of dropping it entirely- when Deku’s voice cuts through the air like a caress.

“Kacchan-?”

Deku’s hand tightens around his bicep; an instant comfort- a warm, grounding reminder of what he wants to say- why he wants to say it- who he’s saying it to.

Deku.

His best friend.

The one who had been his rock for two decades; who had battled his way back to him through blood and pain and tears- who had forgiven him for every transgression- stood by his side through every hardship- reached out his hand time and time again.

Any shade of cowardice flickers out of him in an instant.

He has to do this. He needs to do this. Deku deserves everything- deserves to hear it properly; not a whispered confession hidden under lust and obscured by pleasure. He deserves to hear those words plainly and honestly; without barriers- without pretense.

So, fighting over the uncomfortable knot in his gut, he shifts his body, one of his hands reaching out and taking Deku by the jaw and tilting his head until their eyes meet.

There’s a moment between them then; quiet and intimate- years in the making- Katsuki’s thumb stroking soft over his cheekbone- Deku’s breath hitching pretty.

They both know exactly what’s about to happen- what he’s going to say- he can see it clearly in Deku’s eyes- can feel it in his chest- but they both let it play out, riding out every last moment together, savoring that sweet, intoxicating anticipation-

-And then, it’s happening- fuck, it’s happening.

“-I love you.” He whispers, too nervous to say it louder. 

Deku inhales, sharp and dry, and suddenly something explodes in his chest; a dam breaking- an arrow loosing- and there’s no taking it back- no running away- so he just presses the fuck on. 

“Fuck, I love you.” He repeats, doubling down, staring into widening green eyes- at pinkening, freckled cheeks. “I think I always fuckin’ have, it just took-”

Deku shifts in his arms, wriggling closer, his whole face alight- impatient- eager.

“...What-?” He asks-

And that shock of energy suddenly ebbs; fading away drop by drop into something…comfortable- comfortable and soft- something that he instinctively trusts- something that feels inherently like home.

He looks at him squarely.

“-You calling for me.” 

That blush deepens.

“Oh.” Deku breathes. For a moment, his gaze breaks away; darting about as if he’s searching for a response- but then, he goes still- almost like he’s realizing something- and his body suddenly relaxes into Katsuki’s arms, going soft like taffy, turning starry eyes upward and giving him the faintest, shiest smile before looking down demurely. “...Maybe I should’ve been louder.”

It’s the cutest goddamn thing he’s ever seen; so cute that he just wants to reach down and bite those freckled cheeks-

-but instead, he lets his mouth curl into a proud, provocative grin, his eyes going narrow as the perfect line flits into his head.

“You were plenty loud, nerd.” He croons low- heated- pulling Deku’s bare body in closer to his- delighting in the feeling of skin on skin- his heart on fire as he drinks in the sudden, scarlet flush that paints those adorable cheeks- the shocked expression in his eyes.

“Kacchan-!” He exclaims; far too scandalized and far too innocent for someone who fucks as well as he does, “-You-! You can’t just-!”

He suddenly buries his face into Katsuki’s chest, hiding his eyes behind his hands, and Katsuki can’t help but bark a victorious laugh at it.

“Well, shit, nerd, if you’re just going to softball that shit at me-” He crows, all too amused with himself, when suddenly, the body against his chest moves lightning-fast and there is a mouth on his, catching him between laughs.

It stops his teasing dead in his chest, his eyes flashing open as two strong hands take him by the jaw, those adorable freckled cheeks still flushed and pink as he kisses him quiet.

Few things in this world can stop Katsuki Bakugo in his tracks, but apparently, this is one of them. He goes still, immediately cowed by it, sinking into the feeling, his eyes sliding closed- pleasure pooling and simmering at every place of contact-

“-I do, too, y’know.” Deku pulls away and whispers against his mouth; feather-soft and silk-smooth- each puff of warm air against his lips sending tingles up his spine.

“What-?” He asks languidly in return, not opening his eyes- not daring to move at all, lest he end this perfect moment.

A gentle exhale of amusement.

“-Love you.” Deku finishes; the phrase a cathartic murmur- his hands moving up to Katsuki’s cheeks- his hair- stroking tender circles around his temples, “-I do.” A quiet gulp- a swallow- emotion spilling into the words until they wobble on the edges, “-More than anything.”

And then- goddamn it- Katsuki can feel his own throat tighten- his hands clenching hard- his eyes burning as tears begin to flood, hot and thick, behind closed eyelids. 

He loves me.

Deku loves me.

He dreamed of it- hoped for it- prayed for it- but he didn’t want to assume- wanted to give him time and space to be ready- and though he’d pretty much guessed it already, it still hits him like a blow; like a sharp blade into the softest parts of him.

He has to choke down over a wet sob- has to bite back the sudden rush of joy and relief that are forcing itself up his throat- but even more than that- he has to force his eyes open- has to force himself to be seen- to be vulnerable- because nothing on heaven or earth- not pride or dignity or stubbornness- could stop him from opening his eyes and looking into the soft, wet eyes looking back at him- from gazing with shaking hands at the man that he loves to desperation.

Deku is peeking up at him with a tenderness that almost hurts- a love that’s raw like an exposed nerve- and the combination of pain and intimacy and stark, unbridled emotion is so heady and dizzying that he can only respond with:

“Yeah-?” A quiet, rasp. 

“-Yeah.” Deku nods, nuzzling his face in closer- humming in contentment as he brushes a soft kiss against his skin, his voice nearly inaudible as he whispers:

“I’ve loved you for a long, long time, Kacchan.”

He didn’t think it was possible to feel more- to feel so  much - but his already-pulverized heart somehow manages to break again- that lump in his throat only growing- the rapid approach of tears building- his hands suddenly clutching around him like he’s afraid that he’ll leave or disappear.

“You have-?” He asks; trying and failing to smooth out the deep cracks in his voice- the weakness in it.

“Yes.” Deku nods.

Bolstered by it, he tilts his head to get a better look at him.

“Since when-?”

Deku blinks; his brows furrowing as he puzzles it over for a moment- another- and then, like the sun peeking out from behind a cloud, he suddenly smiles- bright and wide and beautiful.

“I dunno.” He admits sheepishly, shrugging, turning that brilliant smile upward. “-Since the war-? Since the beginning of high school-?” A short, soft, almost embarrassed laugh. “Since the first day we met? Is it possible to fall in love in kindergarten?”

And there- that’s it- he suddenly feels those traitorous, disobedient tears rising into his throat; stinging into his eyes.

Oh, god.

Oh, fuck .

He can’t just- he can’t-! It’s too much- it’s too goddamn much.

He was iron once; impassible steel- immovable and unbreakable. But at these words- the implications behind them- he’s instantly reduced to rubble- obliterated to the point of no return.

Deku had claimed that he’d ruined him and maybe he had- 

-but at this moment, he knows without a doubt that Deku has irrevocably ruined him, too.

-And he’d never thought that annihilation would taste so good.

He looks up, blinking, trying in vain to keep himself together. If he doesn’t stop this now, he’s going to cry like a bitch, so he does what he does best: grabs Deku roughly by the shoulders and pulls him into an asphyxiating embrace- ruffling his hair roughly and planting a series of hard kisses to his forehead as he tries to push through the weakness in his voice.

“You’d find a way, you goddamn sap.” He croaks; the emotion peeking its stupid head through the bravado- and Deku must see- must understand what he needs- because he doesn’t comment on it or act, only surrendering to Katsuki’s rough touch- his hold- his kisses- sinking into it with a small chuckle of amusement.

They lay there together for several long moments, wrapped in each other’s arms, soaking in the afterglow of sex- of confession- until, after a few minutes, Deku begins to fidget against his chest- the movement all too familiar.

Something’s on his mind.

He turns his gaze downward, sharp but not unkind.

“Deku.” He calls.

He starts a bit in his arms, clearly caught off guard, turning his chin to blink up at him.

“Kacchan?” He asks.

He lets out a long, beleaguered exhale, sitting up a bit.

“You’re thinking so hard that you’re fucking vibrating, nerd.” He explains, raising a skeptical brow at him, “You got something on your mind. I can tell.” He shifts into a relaxed position, propping one arm behind his head. “So let’s hear it.”

Deku blushes, caught red-handed, worrying his fingers for a moment before answering.

“Right.” He chuckles nervously, “It’s just-”

He nibbles on his lower lip; a sure sign that he’s anxious- that he’s pumping himself up to ask something. His eyes flick up.

“-So what comes next?” 

It’s Katsuki’s turn to blink; to be caught out. He opens his mouth but quickly finds that he doesn’t have a ready answer. Honestly, he hadn’t thought that far ahead; hadn’t thought ahead at all.

After all, none of this was supposed to happen tonight- he hadn’t planned for it- for any of it. Every turn had been a wild surprise and not knowing what else to do, he’d just let his heart guide him through it; through the tears and the pleasure and the admission of his feelings.

But now, he needs his brain to take over; needs to think things out carefully. This is new territory: unplanned- untraveled- unknown. Whatever is happening between them now is terra incognita and each step has to be deliberate. There’s too much at stake to make hasty or sloppy decisions.

Pursing his lips together, he considers it for a moment and then another before looking down and just asking it:

“What do you want to come next?”

A long moment of thoughtful silence passes before Deku manages a response.

“I don’t know.” He admits, a small, sad smile turning his lips at the corners, “This- having you-? It was something I thought I’d never have. Wasn’t worth hurting myself wishing for it.”

A hard pang straight to the gut at the thought of it; of Deku like that- left alone- in pain- spending years wishing while he’d traipsed around being an ignorant idiot.

Deku tilts his eyes down; his expression gentle and heartbreaking- years’ worth of emotion simmering low within his words.

“When you know you can’t have something, even dreaming of it can be torture, y’know-?”

And yes- yes, he knows- knows it deeply- intimately- and yet, it’s nothing compared to what Deku went through- what Deku suffered- how Deku felt.

He knows then without a doubt that he’s going to kick himself for this for the remainder of the foreseeable future- will hate himself for it- will probably never forgive himself for it.

“Fuck.” He manages, hoarse and drawn from between clenched teeth. “-Yeah.” He hisses. “Yeah, I do.”

Another beat of silence; the quiet tick of the clock on the wall the only sound until:

“What do you want, Kacchan-?” Deku asks; brows pulled high- hands clenched onto his arms like he’s afraid to let go- like this whole thing might be a cruel dream that he might still wake from.

Katsuki swallows hard. 

He knows what he wants; has known it for months now- can almost taste it like sugar melting on his tongue.

Deku. 

He wants Deku.

In whatever way he can have him.

There’s something scared and nervous inside him- a tiny, angry voice from his youth that cautions him to protect himself- to not reveal too much- show too much weakness- to maintain the upper hand like he does in battle.

But at the same time-

-Why-?? Why should he-? What good would it do-?

After all the bullshit- the years that he’d been ignorant- the pain he put him through- he deserves honesty- openness- clear answers.

So he props himself up so Deku can see his entire face- can see that there’s no pretense behind it- nothing concealed as he pulls him in close and speaks his desires into the air.

“You.” He answers, pushing it through the itchy feeling of vulnerability, “-I want to have you, nerd. Whatever that means. In whatever way you’ll let me.” 

Deku’s breath catches; his hands clenching hard. He continues.

“So if you want dates, you’ll get them.” He shrugs, “-Want me to hang with your nerd friends? I will. Be your boyfriend? Say the word.”

That apprehension in Deku’s face begins to ebb away like low tide; each declaration of commitment widening those green eyes- brightening that winning smile- filling him spoon by spoon until he’s almost glowing with excitement- with pleasure.

“You mean it?” He asks, not believing his good luck, “-You’re serious-??”

He scoffs loudly, almost offended.

“‘Course I fuckin’ mean it, dipshit.” He frowns. “I don’t half-ass shit and I don’t do casual, ‘specially not with this much at stake.”

Deku flushes at the compliment hidden under the harsh tone, his smile widening. 

Katsuki takes him by the cheeks, squeezing them under his hands.

“I’m all-fucking-in here.” He declares, “No games. No bullshit. Just you and me.”

Deku’s chest is heaving; his hands trembling- his mouth stuttering in excitement.

“You-?” He asks; swallowing heavily, “Kacchan, what are you-??”

He groans long and low.

Goddamn this nerd and his shitty self-esteem and his unending questions- making this so fucking hard- 

“For fuck’s sake,” He pinches the bridge of his nose, “I can’t make it any goddamn clearer, Izuku.” 

He levels him a hard look.

“I’m trying to tell you that I want to be yours, dumbass.” 

Deku chokes on nothing; on air- his eyes so, so ridiculously wide.

He scoffs; hating the heat that’s rushing into his own cheeks at the sight of it- of Deku looking at him like that-

“-so just-,” He grumbles, looking askance, “-quit being such a goddamn dork and just fuckin’....let me, already.”

He makes the mistake of peeking over- of looking- and the expression of breathless, euphoric joy on his face is enough to make him crumble; a fortress of cards brought down by a single breath of green air.

“-Yeah.” Deku squeaks, already half a breath from crying, the damn sap, “Yeah, okay.” He nods. “-But only on one condition.”

Katsuki blinks before steeling himself- leaning down- readying himself for anything that Deku might ask. After all of the bullshit he put him through- for years- he deserves that much- deserves to have whatever he wants-

-And Katsuki Bakugo would sooner die than back down from a challenge. Especially with so much to lose.

His tone is grave.

“Name it.”

And Deku- the little shit- only bursts into a bright, bubbling laugh at his serious words; his whole face going soft and happy, leaning up until he’s just inches from him- close enough to taste- those fucking eyes flicking up at he whispers it against his lips:

“Can I be yours, too? ”

Oh, fuck .

The eyes- the tone- the hard press of that perfect body- the words- the fucking words-!!

His whole face is instantly on fire- what he’s sure is a scarlet blush curling up his ears- down his neck and chest- his heart beating so hard that he’s sure his ribs will crack beneath it.

That shit- that little shit- goddamn him- fuck-!

But despite it all, he manages to rasp out an answer, albeit a weak, pathetic one.

“Duh.” He croaks, bridging the distance and pressing their mouths together. “Idiot.” He adds for good measure, drinking in the sparkling, teasing laugh that comes out of him.

That bit of necessary business done, they settle once more; Deku crossing his arms under his chin as he sprawls across the expanse of Katsuki’s chest- Katsuki’s arms folded under his head.

Deku tilts his head in a vulpine, mischievous way.

“So how did you figure it out-?” He eventually asks, “-After all this time- all these years-? That you, y’know…”

Katsuki takes a second to get his thoughts in order. He could be cool and aloof- could be gooey and romantic- but every new option that he toys with tastes worse than the last, so he eventually gives up the fight and just blurts out the god’s honest truth.

“It was the fuckin’ pancakes.” He mutters.

Deku pushes himself up onto his elbows; his entire face twisted with confusion.

“...Pancakes-?! ” He asks, trying and failing to hold in a laugh.

And wow, yeah, that sounds way stupider said out loud like that.

“-Yeah.” He mutters. “The night before, I’d, uh,…heard you.” He admits, eyes darting away. A clench of jaw and an inhale as he makes himself say it. “...Touching yourself. ”

Deku’s body goes tense; every muscle on high alert.

“-And I tried not to listen,” He hisses defensively, “-but you called my name through the wall, you loud, little fucker.” 

Deku audibly swallows, entranced and hanging on every word.

He grits his teeth. 

He can’t believe what he’s about to admit. 

Rest in peace, Katsuki Bakugo’s dignity.

“-And I may have…” He trails off, his head bowing, eyes pointedly flicking south and then back up.

And knowing him as well as he does, Deku immediately understands; a dry, shocked gasp sucking into his throat as a hand claps over his mouth in utter shock.

“Kacchan-! ” He squeaks; blushing scarlet- his tone dripping in scandalization. “That’s so…dirty -!”

And I mean, yeah, that’s fair, it was-

-But fuck, now he’s blushing, too-! 

Stupid fuckin’ Deku and his pearl-clutching and his pretty fuckin’ cheeks-

He jerks his head away roughly, embarrassed and grumpy, content to look anywhere but those scrutinizing green eyes.

“Oh my god, shut up,” He complains, his tone almost petulant, “-It’s your fuckin’ fault anyway with your ‘fuck mes’ and your ‘gonna cum! ’ shit. Do you know how goddamn sexy you are-?? I’m only fucking human, okay-??”

He turns his face down, ready to continue scolding him-

-But Deku has gone still across his chest; staring up at him in utter bewilderment, the expression so open and so…enraptured that Katsuki’s tirade stops dead on his lips. 

Deku blinks once- twice- pressing his mouth into a hard line before looking down demurely and sheepishly asking:

“...Me-?? You- you think I’m-??”

Absolute idiot. Absolute fucking adorable idiot.

He lets out a loud scoff of exasperation.

“Oh my god, yes, you dumbass.” He groans, “You’re sexy as shit and hearing you like that-?? It was fucking hot and-,” 

He looks down again and Deku’s eyes are green saucers; his mouth dropped open into an ‘o,’ and his words abruptly fail.

He jerks his chin away, feeling his ears go pink.

“-and whatever.” He finishes huffily.

For a moment, it’s quiet, but then, there’s a hand on the bottom of his jaw- simultaneously commanding and gentle as it turns his head- and whipped as he is, he allows it, letting that hand move him until he’s looking down again.

“-And-?” Deku asks breathlessly, hanging on every word.

He swallows hard, so utterly in love that he just…obeys.

“-And it fucked me up,” He grits, hating the feeling of vulnerability but knowing he must, “-fucked me up hard hearing you like that- realizing that I wanted you like that.” 

He’s suddenly overcome with the urge to move; one hand swiping over his face and rubbing at his eyes in a weak attempt at shielding himself from that wise, green gaze.

“And the next morning, I was trying to figure it out- trying to act fucking cool- to get my shit together and make sense of it all- and the next thing I know, you’re in front of me with your stupid shirt and your stupid fuckin’ scrunchie and your dumb face asking for your goddamn pancakes and-”

He hesitates, his mouth trembling as he fumbles over it.

“-And-?” Deku prompts again; his voice a wisp in the air-

“...And I knew.” He croaks, not bothering to stand on ceremony, “I looked at you and I just…knew.”

Deku gapes at him for the briefest moment before his entire body goes lax- pillow-soft- the pleasure rolling off him in waves as he relaxes- resting his cheek against Katsuki’s chest- his face curling like ribbons into a lovesick look that’s candy-sweet- a look that would be disgusting on any other person.

His eyes shine like emeralds.

“So…pancakes.” He breathes.

And despite himself, Katsuki falls under the spell immediately; wholly sucked in by that face- captivated by the whispered tenor- utterly and completely mesmerized by the man draped across his chest.

He nods once; sharp and small.

“Pancakes.” He agrees.

Deku’s mouth twists into a smile- a hand reaching to run his fingers through blonde hair- the corners of his eyes crinkling with mirth as he looks up and states:

“...That’s really dumb, Kacchan.” His eyes twinkle. His smile deepens. “-Really dumb.”

The spell shatters like glass; heat rushing into his face so fast that he’s almost dizzy.

“Oi-!!”  Katsuki shouts, shooting up to a sitting position, watching in sudden, deep annoyance as Deku begins to crow with loud, raucous laughter, wriggling away as Katsuki lunges for him.

“Fuck you, you asshole, you’re dumb-!” He calls over Deku’s delighted squeak- the two of them playing a quick game of cat and mouse until he manages to get an arm around him, the other roughly digging into his hair- 

-when Deku twists in his grip, taking Katsuki by his narrow waist and pulling him into a kiss; one so sudden and so unfairly good that it knocks the fight out of him entirely.

“I think maybe we both are.” Deku murmurs against his mouth; those scarred hands dragging reverently up his sides- rough fingertips making him shiver.

But he doesn’t fall- not entirely- pulling his mouth away momentarily to scoff disdainfully.

“Tch. Shut up.” He hisses, the words utterly toothless and fond. “Little fucking twerp.”

He goes down for another kiss-

-When he’s suddenly held in place by impossibly strong hands. He opens his eyes to find that light teasing gone- utterly vanished into dark, mossy irises that flicker like firelight. There’s a touch of challenge when Deku opens his mouth.

“-Make me.” He grits.

Katsuki blinks, completely taken aback.

He’s known Deku for twenty years; has seen every facet of him- or at least, he thought he had. But the way he just said those two words is wholly different from anything he’d ever heard before- a new side of Deku that he’d never seen- a side of Deku that he’d never, never expected.

He searches him; scans his face for any sign that he’s reading this wrong.

He didn’t.

He didn’t just. There’s no way.

…Right-?

He narrows crimson eyes.

“Deku, what-?” He begins-

“-You heard me.” Deku’s voice is dark- almost chilly- and at the same time, warm. Impossibly warm. His pupils grow. “Make. Me.”

Oh.

Oh-!

He is not reading this wrong. He is reading this very, very right.

“Oh.” He gasps; too surprised to say anything more clever- his body instantly responding to it- to what he’s praying that Deku is asking for. “Oh, yeah?”

He leans in, his mouth twisting into a wolfish smirk- too excited to temper the wildness he’s sure is playing on his face.  

“That’s how you’re gonna be?”

Deku’s voice is sin.

“Yeah.” He purrs, rising to challenge- an anticipatory smile turning his lips. “That’s how I’m gonna be.” He gives him a quick up and down. “-That work for you?”

Does it work for him-? He could laugh in his face.

He’s already fucking hard.

“Oh, nerd, you have no fucking idea.” He croons, reaching down and gripping roughly at the nape of his neck- yanking a fistful of soft, green curls- immediately drowning in the shocked, erotic gasp that comes out of that smart, impossible mouth- one that is quickly cut off as he brings his mouth down in a bruising kiss that pulls a whimper out of his throat.

It only takes a moment before he can feel Deku hardening against him- moaning into it- that perfect, gorgeous body unfurling and laying itself open to be used-

-And Katsuki is so turned on by it- so in love with it- that his ears begin to ring.

Deku abruptly stills beneath him; a sudden tautness going through his limbs.

He breaks his mouth away to ask:

“Is that an alarm-?”

Katsuki growls in frustration at the sudden distraction, taking him by the mouth again, and giving his hair another rough tug.

“Christ, Deku-” He hisses, gripping tightly, “Focus.”

But Deku’s hand is suddenly on his sternum- his body pressing up to a sitting position- so strong that it nearly bowls him over; those green eyes sharp and intent as he scans the room.

“No, seriously-” He murmurs, brows furrowing in concentration, “Do you hear that-?”

And now, with the moment at a staggering halt- the heat of passion cooling- he realizes that he does hear something- something muffled and tinny and sharp. He pricks his ears to try to understand; to identify what he’s hearing.

“Yeah-,” He agrees, “-but that’s-” He tries to place it. “-t’s not an alarm. It’s a-”

“-Pager.”

“-Pager-!”

Katsuki’s correct conclusion collides in the air with Deku’s horrified shout. They both have just enough time to suck in a breath before they both shoot into movement.

“Fuck-!” Katsuki yells, stumbling away from Deku and off of the side of the bed, his feet thudding on the floor, “Get moving, nerd-!” 

Deku follows suit, crawling shakily off of the bed- trying to get his footing-

-When, at the first step off of the bed, he immediately goes frozen- his face draining.

Katsuki is grabbing his suit- pulling it up as quickly as he can, hopping on one foot as he yanks it up his body when he sees Deku’s stillness out of the corner of his eye. 

“Deku, what in the fuck are you doing-??” He asks, grabbing a gauntlet, “-Get your suit on!”

But Deku’s eyes are so wide- his bare body hunched at the shoulders- his legs shaking.

“Kacchan-,” He begins weakly, eyes flicking to the bathroom door and back, “-I kind of have to care of-”

And whatever patience he had is utterly gone. No matter what they just did or how they feel about one another, they’re heroes- they have a job to do- people could be in danger- they can’t just stand here-!

“-What-?” He barks, rounding on him as he clicks his gauntlet into place, “-What could you possibly-?”

But when he turns, Deku’s face is simultaneously snow-pale and apple-red; one leg crossing over the other as his mouth twists down into a sudden, sharp snarl.

“I. Need. A. Minute.” He grits; the tone so uncharacteristically harsh that Katsuki can’t help but recoil a bit in surprise, his mouth sputtering.

“What the fuck is up your ass-?!” He shouts-

-And then, staring at him, red-faced and cross-legged and embarrassed enough to die, it suddenly, abruptly clicks. 

Katsuki suddenly realizes that he knows exactly why he hasn’t moved; that he knows exactly what is up Deku’s ass.

He can’t help the near-manic grin that abruptly twists his mouth.

“Oh my fucking god.” He rasps.

Deku jolts away from him, so red that his freckles have almost disappeared into the scarlet hue of his cheeks.

“Don’t laugh-!” He shouts, mortified, duck-walking to the bathroom with all the grace of a newborn foal as he tries his best not to drip cum all over the floor.

“I’m not-!” He insists; the words barely audible as he begins to laugh so hard that he can’t breathe- so hard that his ribs hurt.

“You are-!!” Deku wails back from the bathroom.

A tiny, compassionate part of him knows that he needs to stop- that he really shouldn’t tease, but he can’t help himself- a few more chuckles burst out before he can get a handle on it.

“Okay okay, fuck- sorry- just hurry the fuck up.” He manages to quiet himself, turning and reaching under the bed and grabbing his pager from where it had gotten kicked in all the fuss. Checking it, he breathes a sudden sigh of relief. “Hey- don’t panic- it’s not an all-hands, but we shouldn’t take too long.”

Deku’s head pokes out of his bathroom door looking dour and noticeably grumpy.

“You’re a jerk.” He mutters, leveling him a withering look- one that might terrify someone else-

-But Katsuki isn’t someone else. 

“Yeah,” He agrees, cocking a brow, not bothering to refute it as his mouth curls into a proud smirk, “-but you love me.”

A silence; heady and thick.

Deku’s eyes soften.

“-Yeah.” He agrees. “I do.”

Chapter Text

His head is a little foggy from the weed, his vision zoning in and out, purple eyes not really focusing on anything or anyone in particular as the party swirls around him.

Sero’s apartment is warm on this winter night, cozy and well-decorated as ever. 

It is, without question, his favorite out of all of the places they hang out; an undeniably nice home, and yet, oddly comfortable- homey- inviting in a way that always makes him feel welcome, and tonight is no exception; the air around him familiar and hazy with lingering tendrils of high-quality weed smoke and thick with slow, soft music from the record player across the room.

Sero always did have good taste.

Hitoshi is sprawled languidly on the couch, a half-drunk, almost-entirely-forgotten beer still clenched in his hand, his long limbs lazy and unworried, his now-raging high loosening the rough edges of the day as he sinks into the cushions, content to let the rest of his friends buzz around him while he, committed introvert that he is, only watches hazily from where he lays.

Denki, the extrovert that he is, is the life of the party as always, flitting from person to person- bright and shiny and far too adorable- talking and flirting with everyone, sipping away at the dubiously red drink in his cup as he laughs along with Jirou and Uraraka. 

And all the while, Hitoshi watches him with tender, affectionate eyes, his buzzed state making him marshmallow-soft for him- for that award-winning smile that crumbles him- that makes him fall just a little bit more in love.

High as he is, he might’ve stared at his pretty boyfriend for another hour if left to his own devices, content to just float in this little bubble he’s in, but abruptly, his vigil is broken as his phone vibrates jarringly against his thigh.

He pulls it slowly out of his pocket, dark brows furrowing as he reads the screen.

It’s a text from Izuku.

Huh.

It’s not…that strange. The two of them do keep in touch- frequently, in fact- something he hadn’t expected after he’d moved out (but was very pleased to find). 

But for Izuku to be texting him at this time of night? Something is either very wrong or very, very right.

He opens his phone to read the message.

[Izuku:] Toshiiiii!

Hitoshi blinks, his brows shooting up to his hairline in surprise. 

This is, without a doubt, Izuku’s adorable texting style, but texting him like this-? Unprompted-? Out of the blue-? And at--

He peers at the clock.

--One in the morning?

Odd. Very odd.

He squints, trying very hard to focus on the screen as he types.

[Hitoshi:] What.

Blunt, maybe even a bit harsh to others who aren’t used to him and the way he communicates, but Izuku is one of the few people that knows him well enough to know the difference.

He only has to wait a few seconds for a response.

[Izuku:] It happened! It finally happened! 

A sudden flush of adrenaline; his high instantly fading into the background as his senses instinctively kick in- as his hazy head comes sharply back into focus through sheer force of will. 

He peels himself up to sitting, typing back quickly, his mouth pursing with anxiety.

[Hitoshi:] What happened?

He’s suddenly on high alert, preparing himself for anything- for disaster- silently counting each breath- each beat of his heart- until his phone finally vibrates in his palm. He reads the message over quickly.

[Izuku:] I’m dating Kacchan we’re dating it happened! 😃

He reads it.

Reads it again.

And upon his third read, it finally registers. 

Izuku and Bakugo are dating. 

A fourth read and yes, that’s what it says, clear as day.

For a moment, every motion and thought within him grinds to a swift halt. 

And suddenly, it’s breaking over him like a wave, his entire body swelling and then sagging like a popped balloon, a sugar-sweet sigh of relief hissing out of him as he lets himself fall back limply into the cushions, and despite himself and his very deliberate, very put-upon aura of not giving a fuck, he finds his mouth curling- twisting until he’s actually fucking smiling- fucking grinning at the screen like a goddamn kid.

Finally.

“What’s got you smiling like that, handsome-?” A sly voice asks before sliding down onto his lap, one arm going around his shoulders, “-it better not be anyone but me.”

Denki nuzzles in, pressing a quick kiss below his ear, and in response, he shifts below Denki’s easy, familiar weight, maneuvering the phone in his hands and holding it up for his appraisal.

“Take a look for yourself.” He gestures with a gentle cock of his head.

With a confused, furrowed brow, Denki takes his phone hesitantly, golden eyes scanning the screen- 

-Only to suddenly gasp like he’d been shot, his hand nearly dropping his drink in his surprise as his entire body sparks with excitement, the quick, split-second rush of electricity sending Hitoshi’s hair on end.

“Ow. ” He deadpans, the word falling on deaf ears as Denki shoots up tall.

“Woah! Oh my god!” He exclaims, beaming down at the phone, abruptly scrambling out of Hitoshi’s lap, his movements wild and ungraceful, one of his knees nearly kicking him in the crotch as he does. “Guys-! Guys-!” Denki hisses, stumbling a bit as he lumbers over to the corner of the room where Sero, Mina, and Eijirou are chatting. 

Ei, c’mere-!” He hisses, throwing one arm around his neck to pull him down by his broad shoulders. “Look-!!”

But not being quite sober, his movements are sloppy and loose, and he almost clocks Eijirou in the jaw in his haste.

That sharp mouth frowns at him.

“Ow, Denks, what the fu-,” His words are cut off as Hitoshi’s phone is thrust forcibly into his face, the blue glow dancing off of red eyes. For a moment, he’s visibly confused- utterly puzzled- scanning the surface- reading quickly- and then, those same red eyes bulge out in shock. 

“OH-!” He gasps, quickly abandoning his beer to grab the phone from Denki’s waiting hands. One hand comes up to his forehead, his mouth opening into a wide, wide smile, “Oh, shit-!!”

Sero and Mina lean in curiously.

“What? What is it?” Sero asks, peering over as Eijirou holds out the phone.

His eyes go wide.

“Oh, shit!” He agrees, breaking into a toothy grin.

“What, let me see!” Mina whines, forcing herself between them and grabbing the phone from their hands.

She reads quickly, her face lighting up as one hand comes to her heart. 

“Aww! Thank goodness. Good for them!” Her head tilts affectionately.

“Finally-!” Eijirou sighs dramatically, slumping against the nearest wall, “I thought we were gonna have to watch them dance around it forever.”

Sero’s face goes flat.

“...Seriously.”

It’s then that Ochako, Jirou, and Shouto happen to return from the kitchen with fresh drinks, their eyes immediately drawn to the sudden shift in the air; most noticeably to the huddle of excited faces and Hitoshi’s uncharacteristically dopey grin.

They shoot each other a side-eyed look of bewilderment before moving forward.

“Dance around who with what now?” Ochako asks, looking from face to face, “We were in the kitchen for literally two minutes; what did we miss-??”

Denki moves like lightning, snatching Hitoshi’s phone away from Mina’s hands and nearly skipping across the room to where the other three are standing, puzzled.

“Blasty and ‘Zuku!” He exclaims, thrusting the phone just under Ochako’s nose. “Together-! Like, together-together-!!”

She blinks, her brain not quite understanding, and then, it clicks.

“Wait, what-?!” She asks, stunned, taking it from his hands, the other two leaning over to read over her shoulders.

Jirou gasps; a hand flashing to her mouth.

“No way! They finally-??”

“Yep!” Denki assures, bouncing excitedly from foot to foot, “After almost a decade.”

Shouto’s face sags with a soft sort of relief as the phone is passed to him, the knit between his brows unraveling as his mouth curls into one of those rare, beautiful smiles of his.

“And not a second too soon.” He muses, low and warm, affection clinging to every word.

Hitoshi looks over, catching Shouto’s eye, the two of them sharing a knowing, secretive glance as he draws forward, presumably to return his phone.

He remembers all too well the whispered warning that Shouto had given him as they’d moved him into that apartment two years ago, the soft, sincere plea to keep Izuku’s nighttime activities a secret between them- the not-so-subtle hint for him to buy earplugs- the looks the two of them had surreptitiously shared at every event as they’d watched the pining heartbreak in their friend’s eyes- watched Izuku trailing after Bakugo like a lost puppy- so, so clearly in love to everyone but the one person that mattered.

He holds up his beer as Shouto approaches, gesturing for him to do the same, and he does with another small smile, letting their bottles clink together quietly in an unspoken gesture of victory.

Shouto passes his phone back and with it securely back in his hand and everyone still buzzing and distracted by the news, he quickly types back an answer.

[Hitoshi:] Of course, it did. Congratulations, Izuku. We all knew that it was only a matter of time.

He sends it, suddenly feeling very warm all over, and it’s only then, distracted and stoned as he is, that he realizes that everyone has abandoned their individual conversations and proceeded to gather around him where he’s sitting, quietly reading his message over his shoulders. Normally he would feel irritated at the lack of privacy, but given the situation, he allows them a free pass. After waiting for this for the better part of a decade, It’s only fair for them to be excited, after all.

Denki settles back beside him on his left, swinging his legs up and over his lap.

“‘Only a matter of time.’” Sero repeats, “-Ain’t that the truth.” 

He chuckles low and lazy, drooping his long arms and wide elbows over the back of the couch as he takes another slug of beer.

Denki perks up at that, looking over his shoulder.

“Speaking of time, who had this year in the betting pool?” He asks, looking from face to face.

“Fumikage.” Jirou answers readily, tilting the neck of her beer towards him.

A laugh from his right where Eijirou is getting comfortable.

“Psychic bastard.” He laughs. “I owe him 50 bucks.”

“Why, what was your bet-?” Ochako asks with a vulpine smile.

Eijirou flushes.

“Two years ago.” He admits bashfully.

“Aw, don’t feel bad, Ei, I said five years ago.” Denki shrugs.

“Five-? Really-?” Jirou asks with a snort, “I had two more years.”

Their words begin to blur and swell around him as the last bits of adrenaline fade away and he begins to slip slowly back into the blissful high- his eyes gliding from face to face as they continue to gently tease each other.

It’s sort of odd being surrounded like this, definitely not his usual kind of thing- but despite it, he can’t help but admit that this is sort of…nice- easy- maybe even warm. 

The group begins to fall back into easy conversation, chatting and fussing around him, making predictions and laughing and smiling, when his phone buzzes from where he left it on his thigh, the sound pulling everyone back to attention. Mina holds out an arm, loudly shushing everyone as Hitoshi types in his password, and holding it where everyone can see, he opens their chat, all too aware of a group of bodies all leaning toward him in tandem.

[Izuku:] …what do you mean, Toshi? You’re the only one I ever told. 

Everyone goes deliberately, worryingly quiet.

Hitoshi swallows.

Oh.

Oh, shit, that’s right.

Izuku only ever actually told him.

The memory is suddenly crystal clear in his head: Izuku coming into their shared apartment with tears in his eyes- utterly heartbroken, sobbing into the front of his shirt as he’d spilled out the truth that he’d held inside for years, that he was in love with Bakugo- had loved him since before school. He'd begged Hitoshi between sobs not to tell anyone- to keep that secret for him.

His heart still aches for that night; aches for Izuku, his first real friend at UA- the one who had reached out his hand and given him the confidence to be a hero- who had trusted him with his deepest secret- his friend who, under the thin veneer of sunshine he wore, had suffered in silence for so long. 

He’d kept his promise- cradled it close to his heart- had never, ever told a soul. 

It was the very least he could do after all of the kindnesses Izuku had done for him.

Hitoshi doesn’t even have time to suck in a surprised, nervous breath before another text rolls in with a quick buzz.

[Izuku:] Who’s ‘we?’

The soft warmth in the room fades in an instant as everyone silently reads the text; the air going tense and chilly around them like the crack of a whip as every conversation behind him grinds to a sharp, sudden halt.

For a long moment, it’s painfully quiet save for the far-off croon of the record player in the corner--

--That is, until Denki mercifully breaks the silence.

“Oh, fuck.” He exhales heavily, his face twisting into a grimace.

Mina leans in, her brows knitting in sudden worry.

“He’s not serious, is he?” She asks, her eyes darting from face to face for confirmation.

“I think he is.” Eijirou offers with a shrug, “I mean, it’s ‘Zuku.”

The phone in his hand suddenly feels heavy- feels like a curse; like something hot that might burn him- something dangerous that might bite him- and it takes all of his willpower then not to throw it across the room to avoid doing what he knows that he has to do.

He looks around helplessly.

“...What do I say?” He croaks, asking everyone and no one in particular, his stomach twisting as he takes in the conflicting emotions on his friends’ faces.

Nobody has a ready answer, so after an agonizing minute, Denki rests his chin on his shoulder and flashes him a sympathetic look, one of his hands squeezing his thigh in a wordless show of support.

“Tell the truth, I guess.” He offers weakly.

And honestly, it is good advice, so he does as he’s bid, typing out a quick response before he loses the courage and psychs himself out.

His stomach lurches as he presses ‘send.’

[Hitoshi:] Everyone knows, Izuku.

He hears a collective hiss at it from the crowd behind him: a dry suck of teeth that momentarily makes him wonder if he said the wrong thing-- 

--But the next text saves him before he can ask, coming in mercifully fast with a buzz.

[Izuku:] What do you mean?? How????  ☹️

[Izuku:] …Did you tell?

He swallows hard, suddenly so uncomfortable that he wants to sink into the sofa and die, but despite it, he forces himself to answer, taking Denki’s advice to heart as he types it out and sends it along.

[Hitoshi:] No. Never. I would never tell, but-

The answer comes quick.

[Izuku:] …But-?

He can almost hear his voice, nervous and small- can almost see his eyes- his expression- and it makes him want to dissolve into nothing and blow away into the night.

He suddenly wishes that he cared for him less- that he didn’t love him so much- that it were anyone but him. Because if it were someone else, maybe he could get away with a half-truth or a deflection or an outright lie.

But with Izuku? 

Unforgivable. Unthinkable. Unfathomable.

Deep breath.

Don’t be a coward.

Tell the truth.

He’d never admit it, even under torture, but his fingers are trembling as he types.

[Hitoshi:] Izuku, do you know how many times we heard you screaming his name through the wall?

A collective inhale from the people situated around him and oh- oh shit- that might have been too honest. He suddenly regrets the last bong rip- regrets it all the way to his bones- he is way too high for this.

But thankfully, Denki is a deus ex machina, heaven-sent to deliver him in his moment of need, only reading the text over his shoulder and letting out a short, shocked laugh, curling into him and petting him at the back of his nape in a way that silently says you’re okay and everything’s alright and I’ve got you.

He really ought to propose.

“Pretty blunt there, babe.” He grins, all devilry and mischief. “Even for you.”

He could kiss him for bailing him out like this, but instead, he tilts his head, leveling Denki a flat, unimpressed look.

“You said ‘tell the truth.’” He rebuts.

“I mean, yeah,” Eijirou interjects, “but that’s a lot of truth in one go, don’t you think, dude-?” He asks, looking askance, already blushing all the way to the tips of his ears.

Hitoshi cocks an eyebrow at him in challenge, giving him a slow up and down as if to soundlessly say I know things about you, too, don’t forget.

Denki and Mina’s margarita night gossip sessions are something to be beheld and feared, after all.

Eijirou, the big teddy bear that he is, only lets out a soft squeak from his throat, quickly busying himself with his beer as Mina sends him a heavy, heated sidelong glance.

Ochako, who may be an actual angel, saves them all from themselves; butting into their conversation loudly.

“Eh.” She shrugs, “Deku’s a big boy. I’m sure he can handle it. Besides, now that it’s out in the open, he should know that we know. That’s only fair, right?” She asks around the circle.

Denki pipes up first.

“Right!”

There are a few more committal sounds around them, a few more clinks of beer bottles and clicks of plastic on plastic, when Izuku’s next text comes in.

[Izuku:] ?!?!?!?!

[Izuku:] You heard me-!?!?!

That jovial aura seems to fade once more as the entire group cringes in tandem.

“Oh, no.” Jirou breathes, aghast, sinking into the sofa in secondhand embarrassment.

Mina sucks a hiss through her teeth.

“Oh, honey-” She coos.

And that’s the moment when Hitoshi finds himself to be completely and utterly out of his depth; this sort of interpersonal, private thing painfully, laughably above his emotional pay grade.

He glances around helplessly for support, looking from one set of eyes to the other for anything to cling to.

He glances back down at the phone, his stomach churning as he reads it again- almost hearing Izuku’s shock in it.

“What do I even-?” He begins softly--

--And bless him, Eijirou is suddenly there- leaning down and placing a large, comforting hand on his shoulder.

“Rip the band-aid, man.” He advises sagely. “It’ll be easier that way.”

Gratitude sinks warm into his gut. Thank God he has his friends around him now- friends that are so much more suited to deal with this kind of thing- who know the right things to do and say. He’d never be able to navigate this on his own. 

And thankfully, Eijirou’s advice is sound; probably the best course of action he can take. So he nods gravely up at him, turning his attention down and beginning to type his response.

“He’s going to lose his shiiiiiit.” Sero whispers under his breath before taking a heavy swig of beer.

Shouto ‘hms’ beside him, his bicolored head giving a slow, thoughtful nod.

“Undoubtedly.”

He types it out, looks it over, and satisfied, sends it.

[Hitoshi:] You weren’t quiet, Izuku. Shouto heard it before me. Told me so.

It’s a bit of a dick move, he knows, throwing Shouto into the fray like this, but at the same time, it is the truth. Shouto knew for three whole years, keeping that information completely to himself like the good friend that he is. In fact, he would more than likely still be the only one who knew if he hadn’t moved out and Hitoshi hadn’t moved in.

There’s a soft sound of a throat clearing behind him and when he looks, Shouto is looking back, his pale face decidedly pink with embarrassment even as his features remain cool and impassive.

“Hitoshi,” He addresses him, the slightest rasp apparent in that low voice, “Did you need to include that part?”

Hitoshi tilts his head thoughtfully.

“It’s pertinent information.” He argues.

This time, Shouto can’t even meet his eyes, glancing sideways and busying himself with his drink.

“I suppose.” He concedes.

Another buzz in his hand.

He swipes his phone open-

[Izuku:] WHAT!??!?!?!?!?

And this time, he swears that he can actually hear it- can almost feel it through the phone.

He grimaces deeply, one hand coming up to his mouth.

“Oh, fuck.” Jirou whispers.

“Here it comes.” Sero adds.

“I need a drink.” Ochako deadpans. 

Shouto turns to her, his brows pulling down in confusion.

“You just got a drink.” He points out, gesturing to her half-full cup. 

Without blinking an eye, she lifts her cup to her mouth and knocks the remaining liquid back in a single go, even as Shouto’s mouth drops open in surprise.

She swallows loudly.

“And now I need another one.” She explains matter-of-factly, turning back towards the kitchen.

Another buzz.

[Izuku:]  TOSHi, wHAT are you talking about? 

“Make it a double!” Jirou calls after her, reading over his shoulder.

Mina throws her hands up.

“Fuck it. Shots!” She calls, turning and following Ochako into the kitchen.

Hitoshi stares down at the phone in his hand, chewing on his bottom lip for a moment before inspiration strikes and he begins to type.

[Hitoshi:] We heard you, Izuku. Many, many times. I didn’t want to say anything that would embarrass you or hurt you, so I kept it to myself.

Only a moment passes before the next text comes in.

[Izuku:] then how-???

Ah, fuck. He was hoping not to have to do this part- hoping that somehow he’d be able to avoid it--

--But Denki said ‘tell the truth,’ so damn it, he’s going to tell the truth.

[Hitoshi:] Denki heard you, too.

[Hitoshi:] And you know that he can’t keep a secret to save his life.

There’s a horrified squeak beside him; one so sudden that he almost starts at it. As concentrated as he was on saying the right thing, he’d almost forgotten that Denki was beside him reading every word.

“Babe-!” He whines, half-scolding, half-mortified as he reads the text, “C’mon, man, don’t do me like that-!”

Hitoshi gives him a flat, unimpressed look, not falling for his bullshit for even a second. Sero snickers behind them.

“What?” He asks, “It’s true. You told at least a dozen people after the first time we heard him.” 

He leans in close, his brows raising.

“Remember-?” He prompts, “-Your birthday party-??”

Denki has the good grace to at least look a little ashamed, color blooming into his cheeks.

His last birthday had been a wild night full of booze and drugs and god knows what else. Truthfully, Hitoshi can’t really remember much, but he can recall one very clear moment where he’d had to reach up and physically pull Denki off a table at a club as he had begun to tell everyone about the  very interesting  thing they’d heard the night before.

Denki sputters.

“I was drunk!” He exclaims, holding his hands out placatingly, “-And it was hot! So ridiculously fucking hot!”

Hitoshi pauses.

As loath as he is to admit it, he has a point.

That first time they’d heard Izuku through the wall was like something out of a fantasy- sinful and deliciously taboo: his soft breaths- the way that his voice cracked over filthy words- panting out his desires- building and flowing and crescendoing until he was screaming for Kacchan.

And even better, the sight of his own hand firmly held over Denki’s mouth- those golden eyes rolling back as Hitoshi's fingers pressed hard over his lips to muffle his moans- to keep him quiet as he’d fucked him deep and slow to the rhythm of it. 

And hearing Izuku- sweet, innocent, beloved Izuku- cumming all strangled and shaky and raw-? -That soft, gentle voice going wrecked and ruined-?? 

His arms break out in goosebumps just thinking of it. 

It had been, without a doubt, one of the most intense sexual experiences of his life.

He sighs.

“Well, yes.” He admits haltingly, hoping no one clocks the quick flash of heat on his cheeks. His eyes flash up, cold and steely. “But that doesn’t mean you had to tell people.”

Denki begins to retort, but Hitoshi doesn’t let him, holding one hand up as his expression sours. 

“You told Mina, baby.” His mouth is a hard line. “Mina.”

At the sound of her name echoing through the room, her pink head pokes out from the kitchen.

“Hey-!” She shouts, her brows already pulled down, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Hitoshi scoffs loudly.

“Please.” He tilts his head back over the sofa to look at her, “Don’t play innocent. You were both practically singing it that night.”

The angle uncomfortable for his neck, he physically turns his body towards her, jostling Denki as he does, giving her a hard, icy, withering look- one that would make Aizawa proud.

“Perhaps this will teach you both a very valuable lesson about telling things that aren’t yours to tell.” He offers coolly.

She makes an offended sound, looking over to Eijirou for assistance, who only glances back at her with a look that says I told you so. 

Finding no help from her boyfriend, she turns her attention back to Hitoshi, glaring at him, her lips punching out into a childish pout. But the expression on her face and the look in her eyes tell him without a doubt that he has her. Knowing he has to concede, she rests her hands on her hips, letting out a grumpy sigh.

“Okay, but still-!” She argues-

His phone buzzes again and not really wanting to launch into an argument, he ignores her in favor of Izuku’s response.

Eijirou, Sero, Jirou, and Shouto lean in to read it.

[Izuku:] what no no no omg no

[Izuku:] stop you’re kidding, right? You’re kidding haha 

For a moment, nobody responds.

“...Yikes.” Sero eventually whispers.

Denki tuts softly, leaning in sympathetically.

“Poor thing.” He coos. He leans his temple against Hitoshi’s. “Put him out of his misery, babe.”

Hitoshi turns to him, brows raising.

“You think-?” He asks-

“Oh, yeah.” Eijirou assures, “He’ll take it better that way.”

So Hitoshi sets his jaw and puts him out of his misery in the kindest way he knows how.

[Hitoshi:] …it’s not that bad. We all understand. 

[Hitoshi:] We just wanted anything that happened between you two to happen on its own. Without interference from any of us.

[Hitoshi:] And it did. And we’re happy for you. All of us. Truly.

The group behind him seems to relax as he types it; out of relief or happiness, he isn’t sure--

--and he isn’t going to ask.

“Aw.” Jirou hums, her head tilting, “That’s really sweet, Shinsou.”

And despite himself, he feels his cheeks flaring at the compliment. He shrugs a bit, looking anywhere but at her.

“It’s the truth, isn’t it?” He mutters.

Denki leans in, pressing a warm, closed-mouthed kiss to his cheekbone.

“Of course, it is.” He assures, soft and warm in his arms, “You did great, babe.”

And as embarrassed and caught out as he is, he manages a tiny, tiny smile.

His phone begins to buzz over and over; the sound implying a rapid-fire response of texts. He opens them, reading along as they begin to pour in.

[Izuku:] omg omg omfg 

[Izuku:] toshi no  

[Izuku:] no nono nonononono non no

[Izuku:] aflkfklsdklfdflsdlfds

[Izuku:] ajlkgoewirwsfnsdlvdf;lbkdf;l

And despite knowing that, wherever Izuku is, he is undoubtedly freaking the fuck out, he can’t help but snort at him- just a little bit.

Poor Izuku.

“Oh, jeez.” Eijirou mutters, trying and failing to hide a tiny chuckle as the texts full of unintelligible letters continue to roll in; Hitoshi’s phone settling into a near-constant buzz.

Sero’s laugh joins it as he leans in.

“He’s lost it.” He grins.

“I think you broke him, babe.” Denki giggles, leaning in close. 

Hitoshi sighs, winding an arm around his boyfriend’s back to pull him in closer.

“It’s Izuku.” He shrugs. “He tends to overreact at first, but he’ll be fine. Just need to give him a minute to get it all out.”

The crowd around him nods their agreement. This is par for the course for Izuku: he’ll panic for a few moments, spew out a verbal flood of anxiety, and then, once he’s had time to settle and think, he’ll calm down and think things out. He’s done it for years now and surely, this is no exception.

With nothing left to do, Hitoshi leans back languidly into the sofa, pulling Denki down with him into an embrace as Sero, Eijirou, Jirou, and Shouto continue a conversation behind him, their words interspersed with sharp giggles from the kitchen where Ochako and Mina are more than likely up to no good.

The air in the room settles once more; everything returning to that sweet, hazy peace- feeling normal- feeling good-

-when suddenly, every phone in the room begins to vibrate at once.

Everyone in the room stops in their tracks, every single body in the room going still for a second- two- their eyes shifting from person to person in bewilderment--

--And then, like someone has flipped an invisible switch, they all reach into their pockets and grab their phones.

Hitoshi’s phone is already in his hand, so he’s the first to see what’s going on- to see not Izuku’s name in his notifications-

-But Bakugo’s.

He clicks on it even as his stomach twists- opening the old Class 1A group chat that he rarely responds to but often reads- his heart sinking as his eyes scan down to the newest messages.

[Blasty:]  OH, U MOTHERFUCKeRS

[Blasty:]  WHY dIDN’T U FUCKHEADS SAY aNYTHING!?!

[Blasty:]  I’M GOING TO FUCKING KiLL U 

[Blasty:]  EVERY SINGLe oNE OF U LYINg LITTLE SHITS

The easy peace in the room gutters out like a snuffed candle; six faces blanching- six sets of eyes going wide and looking at one another in shock and alarm.

Sero audibly swallows. Eijirou’s mouth has flattened into a hard line. But to his surprise, Denki is the first to move, grabbing his cup in a shaking hand and knocking back what remains of his drink, swallowing heavily and throwing his arms up.

“Welp-!” He announces loudly to no one in particular, “We’re fucking dead.”

There’s a sudden gasp from the kitchen and before Hitoshi can even process it, Mina is rushing out with her phone in her hand, her yellow eyes like saucers.

“Oh, fuuuuck-!” She shouts, barrelling into the room, “-Did you guys-?”

“Yep-!” Sero and Eijirou chorus together, the former sinking down to his knees and holding onto the couch for support.

Shouto, apparently the bravest out of all of them, is still staring at his phone with a concerned expression, his brow wrinkling.

“I think he means it.” He murmurs thoughtfully, “-I think he might actually kill us this time.”

But Hitoshi, a near-PH.D. in gallows humor, only raises his beer up high and drawls:

“But what a way to go.” 

And seeing him so unafraid must lighten the mood- at least a little bit- because when Ochako struts in a moment later, a tad white-faced and with an entire tray of technicolor shots in a mismatched array of shot glasses, everyone manages at least a weak smile.

“This seems like a perfect time for a shot!” She announces.

Shouto finally looks up, disbelief in his eyes.

“Now-??” He asks-

“Hey,” Denki interjects, springing to his feet with a wobble, “If we’re gonna die, we might as well go out with a bang.”

He takes a shot from the tray to hand to Hitoshi and then takes two for himself.

Shouto softens, shrugging lightly as he reaches over and takes two for himself, as well.

“You have a point.” He concedes.

The group follows suit, most of them taking multiple shot glasses in their hands as they crowd into a large circle around the sofa.

“A toast-!” Ochako calls-

“To what, dying?” Sero asks with a grimace, “-Because he is, without a doubt, going to murder all of us.”

Jirou tuts thoughtfully.

“How about ‘to the two biggest idiots we know?’” She offers with a shrug.

Everyone goes quiet then, glancing at one another, no one arguing the point, and then, blessedly, Shouto actually laughs quietly to himself, raising his glass.

“To the two biggest idiots we know.” He recites coolly.

“To the two biggest idiots we know-!” Everyone calls in tandem, knocking their shots back with aplomb.

Once the shots are taken and the glasses returned to the kitchen, the tension begins to slowly fray and fade and everyone begins to loosen up, pooling into Sero’s couches and chairs in varying stages of sobriety, another bowl being passed around slowly as they all settle in.

It’s nice.

Hitoshi can recall on one hand the number of times he’s felt like this; felt so peaceful- protected and safe and at home- and despite his too-cool demeanor, the weed begins to speak for him and he finds himself blurting it out before he can stop himself.

“I’m so happy for them. ” He whispers; a tone that’s far too sentimental coming out of him-

-but instead of teasing him as he expects, everyone seems to go utterly soft at it- wordlessly agreeing with him.

Mina makes a muted, affectionate sound; one hand coming up over her heart like she’s touched.

Ochako echoes it as she leans onto Jirou’s shoulder.

But Eijirou just lunges across the sofa to pull him into a too-tight hug.

“Me too, man.” He rasps, his words thin and emotional as he squeezes him until his ribs creak, “-I’ve been waiting years for Bakugo to find the right guy and it’s ‘Zuku-? God, I might fucking cry.”

And it’s true- his red eyes are going redder and damp around the edges.

Mina reaches out for him.

“Aw, babe-!” She coos.

“God, such a handsome pair, too!” Ochako points out, taking the bowl out of Jirou’s hands.

“You said it.” She agrees hoarsely, letting out a mouthful of smoke.

Ochako snickers.

“You’re gay.” She reminds her, nudging her shoulder.

“Yeah, but I’m not blind.” She shoves back with a grin.

“Talk about a power couple.” Denki chimes in, his voice beginning to slur a bit, the drinks and weed fully kicking in, his small body going taffy-soft across Hitoshi’s lap.

“Literally.” Shouto muses, taking another sip of his drink.

But apparently, Denki isn’t finished.

“So hot.” He continues, staring off into space like he’s stumbled into a dream.

There’s a collective blink around the circle; a quick surge of tension.

“Uh…yeah.” Eijirou agrees, trying to keep the conversation flowing- far too good of a friend to leave Denki hanging.

But Denki continues, regardless.

“God, just…razor fine.” He sighs, clearly caught up in the idea of it, so caught up that he doesn’t seem to notice the way that everyone is beginning to look at him- and more so, at Hitoshi.

And Hitoshi, knowing his flirtatious, impossible boyfriend like the back of his hand, just smiles, knowing exactly what Denki is trying to get at, and truthfully-? The idea has promise.

“Mm.” He hums in his ear in agreement, raising his eyebrows and giving his waist a squeeze. 

Emboldened by it, Denki sits up a bit, looking around the circle.

“So guys,” He looks from face to face, cheeks flushed and eyes bright with sudden excitement, “Do you think they’d want to-”

Everyone speaks at once.

“-No.”

Hitoshi’s rumbling laugh is swallowed whole as it echoes around the room.

Chapter Text

It’s late; a quarter past 1 am.

After everything they’ve done, he should be asleep. Kacchan should definitely be asleep. They should both be asleep, but no, Izuku is not asleep.

In fact, he’s wide, wide awake; staring at the ceiling with blank eyes, almost too overwhelmed to even blink.

He’s no stranger to embarrassment. Not at all. Growing up a shy, awkward child with a mild obsession with heroes and a tendency to launch into long, rambling (okay, borderline-obsessive) monologues, he’s had his fair share of awkward moments over the years.

There was the time he exploded the microwave during second year and nearly burned down the dorm- the time his suit had malfunctioned and he’d ended up flashing his All Might underwear at an entire crowd of civilians- hell, the time he’d gotten too drunk at Denki’s birthday party and actually threw up in Shouto’s lap (rest in peace to those designer jeans)-

-But nothing in his past compares to this- to the deep, soul-wrenching mortification that is currently crawling through his blood like a parasite- opening its jaws and threatening to eat him alive.

They knew.

They all knew.

All of his friends knew that he loved Kacchan.

Finally gaining the courage to break his gaze from the ceiling, he glances over at the man in question where he lies naked next to him; still overwhelmed at the fact that it’s actually real- that he’s really there- watching his handsome face, twisted and sharp, as he continues to send angry, rapid-fire, all-caps messages in their old class 1A group chat.

He tries to say something- to open his mouth- but the moment he attempts it, it  hits  him again and he just sinks deeper; the anxiety battering him- slamming into him harder and harder until he feels like he’s going to crack under it. 

He  has  to say something- has to do something- has to release this tension somehow; if he doesn’t get some of this out of him now, his soul might actually leave his body- he may just pop out of existence- might just completely and utterly cease to be. 

So, dancing on the very edge of his sanity, he forces his mouth open and spills words out into the air.  

“I can never show my face again.” He croaks, his voice rasping and raw from disuse and dryness.

Kacchan doesn’t hear- or maybe he ignores it- because his eyes never leave his phone screen, his thumbs typing furiously as he snarls, heated and quiet, into the silence.

“Fuckers- motherfuckers-” He growls-

And that’s it- there he goes.

A thread snaps- the dam breaks- and his hands are suddenly reaching up and clapping over his eyes like he could dissolve beneath them.

“They all knew, Kacchan-!” He cries, “-All of them-! All of this time-!” 

But Kacchan’s eyes are still on the phone screen- blazing like fire- his teeth bared as he continues to grit:

“Murder them- lying bastards-”

He dies inside. Utterly dies.

“Kacchan, Shouto knew-!” He cries, his blood drumming in his ears, “Shouto heard-!!” 

And dear God, he wants to disappear at that idea alone; wants to close his eyes and let the Earth swallow him up.

Shouto - kind, innocent Shouto who had been his first roommate, one of his dearest, closest friends, having to hear him-?? -Like that-? Touching himself so wantonly- crying out Kacchan’s name when he came- moaning and swearing and talking so filthy-!

He could die. He’s dying. He’s dead.

Driven into movement by madness and mortification, his body lurches, turning over onto his side, gripping Kacchan’s large bicep in his hands, and shaking him.

“Shouto, Kacchan, Shouto-!!” He cries-

-But Kacchan is still sunk deep into a pit of anger- still so overcome with indignant fury that he hasn’t paused for a breath- maybe hasn’t even blinked- his mouth still rasping out:

“-kill them- fucking kill them- explode their fucking heads-”

Words are suddenly bubbling out of him unstoppably like vomit, his hands gripping so hard into Kacchan’s arm that he’s sure he’ll leave a bruise- but he’s too far gone- he can’t stop it-

“-And Hitoshi-!” He gasps, blood running cold. “-And- and Denki-!!” 

He doesn’t mean to- doesn’t want to- but suddenly, he’s picturing it, the mental image as clear as crystal: the two of them in bed in what used to be in Hitoshi’s room, horrified or maybe even laughing at him as they listen to him pleasure himself the like sick freak he is- the disgusting, twisted little Deku of his youth-

No no no-!!

His stomach suddenly heaves dry; his entire body curling into a tight, tiny ball, his hands releasing Kacchan to press to his face in a weak attempt at hiding; angry, embarrassed tears tightening his throat- crawling into his eyes as he begins to breathe faster and faster and faster until he’s almost choking on air.

“Oh god oh no ohno ohno no no-” He sobs-

-And that must do it- must break whatever spell that pure rage had cast upon him- because suddenly, Kacchan’s phone is out of his hands and he’s there, his bare body curled around him protectively like he could shield him from anything, his lips finding his temple as he begins to rock him slowly in his arms, hushing him with a tenderness that he didn’t know Kacchan was capable of as he murmurs:

“Hey. C’mon, Izuku, you’re okay.” He croons, his hands warm around him, calloused and rough on his skin, his thumbs stroking soothing circles-

-and the feeling of it; of being protected and cared for by Kacchan-?  It’s like a dream- maybe the best thing he’s ever felt- so despite himself and the whirlwind of emotions inside him, he begins to relax, the combination of voice and touch slowly knitting him back together piece by piece.

“Okay, okay, calm down.” Kacchan urges, “Good, nerd. Now take a breath. It’s not that bad.”

He does his best to obey- to breathe through his panic; sucking in a few shaky, unreliable breaths until he feels confident enough to try speaking again.

“Okay, okay, I’m calm.” He assures weakly, attempting a wobbly, timid smile, utterly unsure of who he’s trying to convince as Kacchan’s arms loosen around him, “It’s not that bad. It’s okay. It’s fine it’s fine it’s fine it’s fine-”

The mantra shifts on his tongue as he speaks it, the words going sour and acid as he thinks it over, the mortification suddenly appearing again- curling through his blood- stealing his breath.

His head shoots up.

“-it’s not fine-!! It’s not-! They all knew-!”

Kacchan pulls him in tighter in a wordless show of support; pressing a kiss to his shoulder- one that utterly melts him.

“-And none of them ever told us a thing.” He hisses against his skin. “-Fuckers.”

He can’t help but go still at the strange, new twist of fate that is Kacchan…comforting him- soothing him- pressing tender lips to skin and hair. This is all so new; they’d never done anything like this before- but even so, Izuku finds himself utterly spellbound by it- curling eagerly into the body behind him- chasing its warmth and the promise of protection- nuzzling his head in like he could actually disappear into that broad, muscular chest.

Maybe fate will be kind and he actually will .

“Kacchan-” He whines; soft and pathetic and pleading-

-And suddenly, there are hands on his cheeks, turning his head until he’s looking straight into those carmine eyes that he loves so desperately, that perfect, proud, kissable mouth pursed with concern.

“Hey.” He calls, the single word stopping Izuku right in his tracks- slipping in between his ribs like a knife and twisting . 

Those eyes soften a bit, a rough thumb stroking gently across his cheekbone and again, he could die, but this time for an entirely different reason. 

“Deep breath, nerd.” He advises; that low voice like a beacon in the night- like divine providence- a port in a storm. 

“You’re okay.”

His arms squeeze him in; the hard pressure soothing him bit by it until he’s utterly unraveling- unspooling into the touch- going limp and languid beneath it. 

“Everything’s gonna be okay.” He assures, “-I’ve got you. You have nothing to be embarrassed about. Nothing at all.”

And despite the way his heart is still racing, he believes it. Believes it with his entire heart.

For the briefest moment, with those arms around him, the world falls away; he forgets everything- forgets the embarrassment and the pain and the hurt- forgets everything but that burnt-sugar scent and the intoxicating brush of skin on skin-

-But the relief is short-lived as his brain quickly hums back to life- his head whipping up- eyes pleading- mouth frowning.

“-Easy for you to say!” He cries, wriggling in his grip, “You weren't the one screaming your name through a wall-!  You  weren’t the…freak who came thinking of your best friend-! And you certainly weren’t the idiot that thought he’d done such a good job of hiding it all of this time when everyone knew-!”

He abruptly pictures it again; people looking at him- judging him- knowing his dirty, little secret- for years- and never saying a thing-

He groans weakly, sinking against Kacchan until his forehead is resting on his sternum, his voice a blank, pathetic whine.

“I’m going to die. I’m going to dig a grave and then crawl into it and die.”

And Kacchan- that jerk- actually snorts-!!

He jerks his head up, his face already screwed into a frown, only to find that Kacchan’s hand is already over his lips, cutting him off before he can speak.

“Couple things:,” He begins, his tone even and matter-of-fact, “-First, you weren’t the only freak that came thinking of their best friend.”

They both go still, staring at one another.

Izuku blinks at him, utterly bewildered- not understanding-

-And then Kacchan’s brow raises into a suggestive arc- his lips twisting in suit-

-and he suddenly gets it- boy, does he get it- his whole face bursting into flame as he wrenches it away from Kacchan’s grip, one hand batting at him weakly as he hisses:

“Kacchan, I’m being serious-!”

A hum of pure, vulpine amusement.

“So am I.”

And before he can stop his unruly, misbehaving gremlin of a brain, he’s picturing it: Kacchan naked on his sheets- listening through the wall- one hand pressed like iron over his mouth to hold in every sound as he drags his hand up and down himself- that perfect body writhing- toes curling-

And when he looks again, there’s only a soft shine in those dark eyes- a knowing twist on his lips- like he knows exactly what Izuku was picturing, and even more than that, that he likes it.

The sudden rush of indignance is somehow enough to break him free of that horrible, beautiful spell. He glowers up at him, his tone unimpressed and cold as he scolds him:

“You’re acting like this is a joke!” He presses himself up to meet his eyes, “It’s not a joke! It’s not funny-!”

And then, a hand; large- warm- sliding up into the nape of his hair and giving the gentlest tug- and Izuku goes limp like a scruffed dog.

…He never should’ve let Kacchan know about the hair pulling.

“Oh, come on-” Kacchan rumbles, the amusement apparent in his tone-, “It’s a little funny.”

Izuku finds an inner pocket of strength, wrenching himself free, twisting his face into something furious, and giving him a sharp, scathing look.

“I am not coming on!” He argues, hating the feeble crack in his words, “-This is so bad- so, so-!”

That’s it- it must be the end of Kacchan’s patience- because he moves like lightning and abruptly, Izuku’s arms are pinned to his sides- the air suddenly squeezing out of him entirely- his body going squish under the raw strength of the arms around him-

-And he suddenly realizes that Kacchan had actually been listening all those months ago when he’d talked his ear off about panic attacks and how to combat them.

“Hey.” A bark of warning, one that, while sharp, is warm around the corners- gentle around the corners, “Breath. Now.” 

He can barely squeak it out under the pressure, but he still tries to argue.

“Kacch-”

The squeeze tightens; Kacchan’s voice a gruff growl in his ear, and goodness, sometimes he forgets just how strong he is- how very much he’d like to test the limits of that strength- that pressure- not around his arms, but-

“Now, Izuku.” He hisses. “Don’t make me kick your ass.”

He tucks that thought away somewhere deep; something to consider at another time.

And since there’s nothing else to do but obey, he does. He lets out a breath- another- another- some of the whipping gale of anxiety easing out of his head and chest as Kacchan holds him fast and whispers soft things into his ears- and before he knows it, he’s gone limp against him, his cheek resting on his chest, his eyes going half-lidded and lazy.

“Good. Good.” He praises, low and buttery- and just as quick as it had come, the panic is suddenly gone- the only remainder a faint fluttering in his chest.

Satisfied, Kacchan releases him, brushing a sweat-damp curl from his forehead and giving him a hard look.

“Now look at me and answer me honestly, nerd.” He prompts. “Would Icyhot ever do anything to hurt you?”

Izuku blinks; completely taken aback by the question.

Shouto? Hurt him? After years of being one of his closest friends? After everything they’d experienced together?

It’s unthinkable.

The word slips out on pure instinct.

“...No.” He answers, shaking his head. “Sho wouldn’t- no.”

Kacchan blows out a breath.

“Right.” He nods. “-And Eyebags might be a sarcastic little shitlord, but has he ever lied to you-?”

Again, Kacchan brings up a good point. There’s no real love between him and Hitoshi, nothing more than a grudging respect for each other’s talents and an almost-insane need to constantly mess with each other-

-But he’s right. Toshi would never lie.

And that single thought manages to curl through his limbs and bones- soothing away what remains of his embarrassment.

“Never.” He smiles softly to himself. “Not once.”

A satisfied chuckle.

“Right.” He crows, clearly proud of himself, “-And he said that they wanted us to figure it out on our own- that he’s happy for us- that they’re all happy for us.”

Oh.

That’s right. 

As mortified as he’d been, he’d nearly forgotten, but he had said that. 

“...Yeah.” He agrees, albeit with a bit of hesitation.

Kacchan clicks his tongue impatiently.

“So, I don’t know, let’s fucking believe them.” 

Izuku’s eyes draw up, scanning Kacchan’s face for answers, ready for more sarcasm- only to find him giving an honest, earnest look back at him- one completely devoid of teasing or bravado.

It stops him cold.

“-Makes sense, doesn’t it-?” He continues, shrugging, “-I mean, we’re fucking awesome and everyone is happy for us.”

Izuku blinks, taking a moment now that he’s free of that paralyzing anxiety to really think it through.

And truthfully-? There’s merit to it; enough that he can’t deny it.

Perhaps he’d been so clouded by his own insecurities- so desperate not to return to the awkward, bullied person he’d used to be that he’d completely brushed over the sentiment behind Hitoshi’s words- that even though everyone had known, this announcement was met positively- hell, not just positively, but with excitement- that his friends are truly, genuinely happy for them.

He blinks and it’s Dorothy landing in Oz; everything going bright and technicolor and beautiful and suddenly, he feels warm all over like he’s been dunked in a bath, good feelings blotting out the feelings of hurt and embarrassment, warmth seeping into his limbs until he’s buzzing all the way out to his fingers and toes.

He sags against Kacchan’s chest.

“-Yeah.” He smiles.

Kacchan smirks back at him; the expression all victory and pride- of a man that’s achieved a goal- crossing his arms behind his head and leaning back onto them.

“That being said,” He adds, shifting a bit, “-I’m still going to snap every one of their traitorous little necks.”

Izuku’s whole body suddenly goes frozen, his eyes whipping up in a look of pure scandalization.

“Kacchan, you can’t-!” He squeaks, horrified-

Kacchan sits up a bit, a single brow raised in challenge.

“Like hell, I can’t-!” He blusters, all venom and vinegar-

-But Izuku knows him far, far too well- can see through the cracks in the thin veneer around him- can see that this is all an act- all for show- all a very deliberate, put-upon way to conceal from everyone what he’s actually feeling-

-Namely, that he’s embarrassed, too. Embarrassed that no one had bothered to tell him that his best friend had been in love with him. For years.

Izuku craws closer, setting his cheek on the warm slope of Kacchan’s chest, the scandal falling away into something more casual, a teasing lilt dancing on his tone.

“Oh, come on, Kacchan,” He hums, throwing him a lopsided smile. “Even Eijirou-?”

That pale face pinches- blanches- those fine, high cheekbones abruptly blooming with color as he pushes himself up to sitting.

“Are you goddamn kidding?” He asks, narrowing his eyes, “-Especially Eijirou.” 

And with that, he lets himself fall back to the bed, his next words scarcely more than a petulant, childish murmur under his breath.

“-Little spiky-haired fuckin’ liar.”

And despite knowing that Kacchan may be one of the most powerful, most dangerous people in Japan, maybe even the world, he has no fear as he reaches up with one hand, dragging scarred fingers up the column of his throat, his eyes going half-lidded and soft as he pets him gently and whispers:

“You’re not going to kill him, Kacchan.”

It’s cool- far more confident and far more in control than Izuku actually feels.

But regardless, there’s a twitch of muscles under his hand- a tremble of skin- a half-hearted sneer that doesn’t quite hit the mark- a voice that’s suddenly missing half of its bite.

“- Watch me .” He grumbles; his attempt at a scathing tone falling very, very flat.

And seeing that he’s got him, Izuku just blows an amused breath out of his lips, his whole body puffing up under the pride of seeing Kacchan so…agreeable, letting his fingertips sing and glide across peachy skin as he rebuts:

“ No, you won’t. ”

The tone and touch visibly affect him; those gorgeous crimson eyes losing their edge- his body tensing and then shivering as the blunt edges of his nails find a sensitive spot below his ear- 

-And Izuku knows without a doubt that he’s won.

And even better, from the look in his eyes, Kacchan knows it, too.

And that feeling-?

Exhilarating.

There’s suddenly a quick jerk of his chin, a soft ‘hmph’,  and an honest-to-goodness pout.

“...Still gonna kick his ass.” He grouses, sulky and childish, and Izuku’s heart melts. Just a little.

Adorable.

He tilts his eyes up.

“No.”

Kacchan meets his gaze, looking at him with an expression he’s rarely if ever seen; something soft and open and far too beautiful. It’s a look that screams devotion- a look of promise- a look that says I would do anything for you -

-And holy woah, it’s intense- overwhelming to know that he has such a hold on him- such sway- such power. That he, Izuku Midoriya- nerdy, weird little Deku- can pacify this beautiful, powerful god of a man with a single word- a single touch.

And Kacchan must understand that, too, because he suddenly jerks away, sitting up and swinging his legs over the side of the bed.

“Ugh.” He grimaces, his hands coming up to wipe his face like he could erase the last few moments from his memory. He lets out a long breath. 

“-Now, c’mon.” He jerks his head towards the door, “Get up.”

But Izuku is enjoying himself far too much to end this now. He stretches languidly- far too pleased with himself- letting his joints pop- his muscles flex and roll- knowing that Kacchan is watching every single movement like a big cat set to strike.

“Why-?” He purrs, laying it on thick.

Kacchan only cocks a brow at him, apparently not falling for his bullshit.

“Well, for starters, I am fucking famished.” 

He gives him a cool up and down, eyes lingering heatedly over his bruised hips and the swell of his ass. His eyes darken as he takes in the raised, pink marks there, his mouth curling into a knowing smirk that turns Izuku’s blood to fire- his voice seductive and low.

“-You are relentless, you little demon.” 

Izuku feels his cheeks heat.

…That’s fair.

His entire body goes instantly warm at the memory of it- of what they’d already done in just the span of one evening; that after the first, mind-blowing session (and after answering a page or two), that they’d come back and made love two more times- varying between slow and fast and gentle and rough.

Even now, he can almost hear the sound of Kacchan breaking the hinges on the terrace door in his desperation to resume what had been interrupted- the hard thump of his own body hitting the wall as Kacchan had thrown him into it- his moans- the sound of straining seams as he’d been hurriedly ripped out of his suit- the delicious rasp of Kacchan’s voice in his ear- giving orders and whispering half-swallowed words of filth and love between bites and nibbles and soul-stealing kisses.

He’d taken him right there against the wall in their living room; fucking into him brutal and perfect with one hand around his throat- calling him baby- just the way he’d always liked- just the way he’d always dreamed of- hitting every button and flipping every switch like he’d studied the manual on Izuku’s kinks- hell, like he’d written the manual on it- nearly squeezing the life out of him as he’d fucked him vicious and hard.

And it had been so perfect- so good- so utterly mind-blowing and skull-melting that Izuku had lost count of the number of times he’d come on his perfect cock- his fingers- his mouth.

And when they were done and he was left shaking and gasping and barely standing against the wall-? Just when he thought it couldn’t get any better-? 

Kissing.

So much more kissing and touching and soft, soft words; love declarations and promises and adorations that would make the famous romances pale in comparison- that would shame the greatest poets to dust.

He always figured that Kacchan would be incredible at sex (because damn it, Kacchan is amazing at almost everything, the jerk), but his attention to aftercare was a wonderful surprise. 

In fact, he’d nearly burst into tears- his heart overflowing with emotion- when Kacchan had peeled him off of the wall and checked him over thoroughly, kissing every bruise he’d left and every mark he’d made between whispers of ‘beautiful, beautiful ’, barely even hesitating before swinging his limp body those huge, muscular arms and carrying him back to bed like a proper lover.

They’d cleaned up a bit- cuddled and kissed- talked- and immediately found themselves back at it.

The third time had been deliberate and thoughtful; gentle and slow- making love in every sense of the word. He’d ridden him that time, his hands splayed wide over that broad chest- fingers digging- hips rising and falling in a slow, torturous rhythm as Kacchan’s hands had gripped into his ass in a feeble attempt to take the lead- weakly trying to maintain the upper hand in a battle that he’d already lost- eventually having to admit defeat- to submit- to just lay himself open and let Izuku take his pleasure how he wished it.

God, what a rush.

He couldn’t help but stare at him as he’d ridden him; transfixed with every inch of skin- every bead of sweat- every freckle and scar. 

He was so beautiful- is so beautiful; his Kacchan- his love- the hero of his dreams- the subject of life-long fantasies- a man with the body of a greek god- the face of a renaissance painting-

-And best of all, his eyes; like rubies and firelight and the sun itself as he’d looked up at him like he was some sort of angel- pupils flaring wide as he’d drawn closer and closer- the great Katsuki Bakugo cowed into submission- a slave to the whims of the man straddling him- of the man that he loves.

Oh my gosh, that’s me.

-and god, the way his mouth had gasped- how his back had arched- how his entire, perfect body had trembled as he’d found his release- cumming deep inside him with a strangled, raw gasp- tears pricking into the corners of those perfect crimson eyes- tears that he’d tried so hard to hide behind his hands as the pleasure had spiked and rolled and battered him until he was limp and spent below him.

It had been pure bliss- perfect as he’d always figured it would be, but in all honesty, it had been a lot, even for men as strong as them. Without even moving, he can tell that he will be sore from head to toe tomorrow- will be deliciously bruised in all the right places- will probably have to dig out that turtleneck Shouto bought him for his birthday- thank goodness it’s already winter-

“So first things first.” Kacchan barks, pulling him forcibly out of his own head, “-Food. I’m making us pancakes.”

And that manages to bring his unruly thoughts to heel. He sits up a bit.

“Pancakes-?” He asks with a soft chuckle, a green brow raising in amusement, “That’s a little on the nose, don’t you think?”

Kacchan frowns at him.

“Okay, first of all, fuck you.” He bites. “Second, you love breakfast for dinner, you little ingrate.”

Izuku shrugs.

True.

“And last:,” He prompts, his face twisting into a proud, shit-eating smirk, “-are you really about to complain about my fucking pancakes?”

Izuku shoots him a look that says you already know the answer, wriggling closer to him.

“Will they have chocolate chips?” He asks, brightening, “-Whipped cream-?”

It’s childish, sure, but everything about this evening has been deliciously indulgent already, so it can’t hurt to ask.

Kacchan blows an amused breath out of his nose, that smirk only deepening as he crosses his arms.

“Does the pope shit in the woods?” He asks.

Before he can stop himself, his face is twisting and he’s mirroring Kacchan’s smirk, grinning up at him as he leans onto his elbows.

“-Then I will absolutely not complain.” 

“Good.” He leans over, planting a kiss between his eyebrows, “Now go shower while I get things started. You’re going to want to be clean and well-fed while we hunt down and kill our friends one by one.”

It’s an awful thing to say, he knows, but he can’t help but laugh at the sheer ridiculousness of it.

“Kacchan -!” He gasps, his attempt at scolding falling flat.

Kacchan rolls his eyes heavily as if pained.

“Fine, whatever, heavily maim them, then-” He amends-

Izuku pushes himself up to sit, screwing his mouth into a frown.

“Kacchan.” He chides, “We’re not gonna-”

But whatever they are or aren’t going to do quickly becomes irrelevant as Kacchan takes him by the back of the neck and pulls him into a kiss so good that his words fail- that his brain melts- that his whole body just surrenders.

He pulls back just enough to speak.

“Nope, no complaining.” He argues, “-Don’t want to hear it.”

And normally, Izuku would press on- fight a little bit more- but those caramel-scented fingers are suddenly in his nape, dragging along his scalp, and ohh , that feels good-

He leans in greedily, trying to steal another when Kacchan pulls back with a stern expression.

“First, pancakes.” He proclaims, “Second, murder. Now get that ass moving.”

His eyes flash down to Izuku’s bare backside with a flash of hunger, and shockingly, Izuku can’t really find a reason to complain.

“Yes, Kacchan. ” He coos, the words saccharine and sarcastic as he pushes himself up to his feet, grabbing his phone and beginning the slow, unsteady walk back to his room.

He checks it as he shuffles along, a sudden flash of anxiety shooting through him as he sees that he’s received many, many messages since he’d silenced his phone only twenty minutes ago after that last, humiliating exchange with Toshi. 

He stares at the lock screen like it might reach up and bite him, his teeth beginning to worry at his bottom lip as his whole body goes tense with sudden conflict.

Part of him is nervous; very, very nervous to see what people are saying, but at the same time, curious. Curious to know whether Toshi and Kacchan are right- curious to see how people are reacting to the news.

Shutting his door behind him and taking a deep breath for courage, he opens his texts and begins to read.

[Shouto:]  I’m very happy for you, Izuku. You’re going to be very good together. 👍

[Eijirou:]  Bro!  😭😭😭

[Shouto:]  I also tried an edible.

[Yaomomo:]  Izuku! It seems that congratulations are in order! 🎉

[Denki:]  Hey!  🤪 Yikes!  😬  So I defintely owe u a vry long, very grovelly explanaton! Coffe when u’r feelin up t it??   I hav a propostion for you.  😉 😘 🥵 👀 🙈

[Eijirou:]  I’m cryin, bro!  😭

[Hitoshi:]  Ignore Denki’s last text. He’s very drunk.

[Jirou:]  Izuku, dude, congrats! We’re doing toasts to you as we speak!

[Ochako:]  Dekuuuuu! Oh my god!  😭😍❤️

[Hitoshi:]  Also, I gave Shouto an edible. Might’ve been a bad idea.

[Fumikage:]  My congratulations, friend. Your timing is appreciated.

[Mina:]  YOU HAVE TO TELL ME EVERYTHING, ZUKU, BABE  😜

[Sero:]  Don’t let Bakugo kill us, pls and thx. Happy for you, dude!

[Yuuga:]  MON AMI-!!!!  😍

[Tenya:]  Momo just told me that you and Katsuki are dating?! That’s wonderful news!

[Ochako:]  Who confessed first!?! Was it Bakugo???

[Mina:]  AAAAAA

[Shouto:]  Izuku, how do you know when you’re high?

[Ochako:]  I bet it was Bakugo . 😏

[Mirio:]  I just heard!! That is so supremely awesome, my man! Let me know if you’re ever down for a double date!

[Toru:]  omg omg omg omg

[Denki:]  zuku bb, dont lisen to Toshi h’s bein a fuckimg buzzkll  😝 😫 😤

[Tsu:]  Is it true?? 👀

[Koji:] 😻😻😻

[Mina:]  ZUKU! DON’T LEAVE YA GIRL HANGIN!  😫

He has to reach out and steady himself on his bedside table as he reads text after text, his heart swelling and writhing in his chest.

Hitoshi was right. Kacchan was right. They’re…happy for him.

And for maybe the hundredth time since starting at U.A., he’s forcibly confronted with it- with the knowledge that he is no longer the lonely, isolated child that he used to be- that there are so many people who care about him- who love him.

He has to fight back tears as he continues to scroll and read, each text sweeter and sillier and more affectionate than the last until eventually, his eyes grow too blurry to continue and he has to set his phone down with a long, shuddering breath.

He clutches into the post of his bed to keep himself from sinking down to the floor.

How could he have ever thought that these people would hurt him- judge him- laugh at him-? How could he ever have thought that his friends would do anything of the sort?

As usual, he’d done it to himself; pushing everyone away before they could hurt him- assuming everyone’s intent and protecting himself from it before it could be used against him. 

Gosh, he can almost hear his therapist’s voice in his ears.

Too far in your head, Izuku. Too hard on yourself. So obsessed with being a symbol- with perfection- with being what everyone expects you to be- that you never really get the things that you need.

Perhaps that’s why he’d never told anyone but Hitoshi. Perhaps that’s why he’d kept it so close to his chest. He never thought he’d be deserving- never dreamed that anyone would approve- not after all his mistakes- not after the awful things he’d done.

He’d never expected that he’d ever, ever be worthy, and yet-

-And yet, somehow, he is.

Somehow, he got Kacchan.  

Kacchan- his rival- his partner- his best friend.

Kacchan who heard him call- who reached for him.

Kacchan who was willing, without a moment’s hesitation, to shield him with his body- to protect him- to defend him at his darkest moment even when he wasn’t worth defending.

Kacchan who knows him- who sees through the act- who insisted on taking on his baggage- his grief and his guilt and his pain- who wants to help shoulder his burdens- demanded it, even.

Kacchan who accepts him without condition.

Kacchan who loves him.  Just as he is.

His heart cracks and crumbles beneath it; beneath the staggering knowledge of how blessed he is- how lucky he is to have something so precious- so special. 

He peels himself away from his bedpost, turning to the wall behind his bed, and pressing one hand to it- blinking away tears as his mouth cracks into a smile.

“God, Kacchan.” He croaks, so overcome with emotion that he almost can’t speak. “I love you.”

The tips of his fingers dig into the drywall; his forehead resting against it. 

“So much.” He smiles. “-More than anything.”

Gratitude fills him then; rising like a wave until it’s flooding him- filling his mouth- spilling out of his eyes. Gratitude and joy and disbelief and-

“-Love you too, nerd.” Kacchan’s voice abruptly echoes, muffled only slightly by the wall.

It’s so sudden and so clear that he jumps back like a scalded cat with a sharp sound of alarm.

“K-kacchan-!” He gasps, a hand over his heart, “-You- you can hear me-?!”

The question is instantly answered as he actually audibly hears the soft scoff of annoyance.

“Of course, I can, dipshit.” He calls. “How the fuck do you think I heard my name-?”

Every bit of blood drains from Izuku’s face in a fell swoop. 

This is how easy it was to hear-? That’s how well Hitoshi could hear-? Denki-? Shouto-?!

He jerks his head away hard, shutting his eyes and forcibly willing the information out of his head.

Nope, noooope, not thinking of that now.

…Or possibly ever.

Trying to distract himself, he turns back.

“But it’s so- so clear-!” He rebuts, “-almost like the wall isn’t there-!”

A snort of amusement echoes back.

“Riveting metaphor, nerd.” He responds, the sarcasm thick in his voice, “-But right now, I’m way more concerned about what I don’t hear.”

Izuku blinks, sidling closer to the wall, his mouth curling into a sly smile.

“Oh-?” He asks playfully, “-And what’s that-?”

Kacchan’s voice is suddenly an annoyed shout.

“-Your stupid, freckled ass getting in the shower like I told you to-!” He yells, the sudden shift in volume so jarring that Izuku stumbles a bit, his mouth opening into a surprised laugh as he catches himself on the bed.

“Okay, okay, I’m going-!” He chuckles.

A huff of irritation.

“Good! Hurry up!” He calls back.

He’s about to turn- about to do what he’s told- but abruptly feeling a bit devilish, he hesitates, morphing his voice into a petulant, whining tone.

“But I’m sooooore-!” He moans, really laying it on thick, puffing up with satisfaction at the brief, marked silence from behind the wall.

“-You’re about to be a lot more sore if you don’t get fuckin’ moving!” Kacchan barks, obviously losing his patience.

He digs in.

“Kacchannnnn-” He whines, his entire body buzzing at knowing that he’s provoking him like this, “-What if I fall down in the shower and hit my head and die-?”

Silence. Delicious silence.

“UGH.” He finally answers, his voice groaning audibly, “-annoying, little-” 

And then, a pause, almost like he’s considering it, before:

“-Whatever, fuck it.” He calls. “Go turn on the water, you little brat, I’m getting in with you.”

Victory. Pride.

“Thank youu~!” He hums, clearly pleased with himself-

-that is, until he makes out the dubious sound of Kacchan’s feet roughly hitting the floor.

“I still don’t hear you moving.” Kacchan croons, each word laced with heat and danger- the tone like that of a predator on the hunt.

And sexy as it is, Izuku knows better than to hesitate.

So with a squeak, he turns, hobbling on weak legs into his bathroom as the sound of rapidly-approaching footsteps begins to echo around him, out of Kacchan’s room- down the hallway- closer and closer- the chase sending a delicious thrill up his spine.

A door opens behind him and with a breathless sound of delight, his feet are suddenly leaving the ground as he’s swung upward and into Kacchan’s arms, that burnt-sugar scent filling his nose- hands gripping around him- teeth clicking in impatience.

He turns wide, innocent eyes upward into the harsh red ones glaring down at him.

“Does this mean you’re going to wash my hair?” He asks, syrupy and drippy, batting his lashes up at him like some sort of damsel.

Kacchan makes a strange sound then; both amused and disgusted, a smile twitching the corner of his mouth as if he’s almost proud.

“Only if you wipe that stupid look off of your face, you fuckin’ nerd.” He responds, his eyes betraying his words as he gazes down at him with a look of utter devotion- a look that says I would only do this for you- a look that says heaven help me, I love you.

And damn it, Izuku lives up to his reputation as a crybaby then- melting like snow into those arms- burying his face in the juncture of shoulder and neck to hide the building tears of joy- gritting out a gentle whisper into his skin.

“Okay, Kacchan.”

A soft, amused chuckle in his ear.

“Stop crying, nerd.” He laughs.

Izuku buries himself deeper.

“...No.”

And with a soft, affectionate snort, Kacchan carries him into the bathroom and kicks the door closed with his foot.

The walls shake.