Chapter Text
Katsuki’s mind spun, frantic to shove down the fire burning in his chest. No way. He wasn’t jealous. Not really. It was just... irritation. That’s all. Izuku was just friendly—too friendly maybe—but that didn’t mean anything. He wasn’t about to lose it over some dumb smile or a guy from Shiketsu. He was fine. Totally fine.
His fists clenched at his sides, knuckles whitening as his thoughts spiraled in circles.
"You’re overthinking this," he hissed at himself, pacing a mental tightrope between ‘best friend’ and ‘something else’ he refused to name.
Kirishima’s voice broke through the storm.
“Bakugo... you okay, man?” The usual easy grin was gone, replaced by genuine concern.
Katsuki barely looked up, voice rough as gravel. “Mhm. Why wouldn’t I be?”
Kirishima wasn’t buying it. His eyes read him like a book, and Katuski could feel it too.
Katsuki let out a short, humorless bark of a laugh, shrugging off the weight pressing at his chest.
“I’m fine. Just... don’t read too much into it.”
But even as he said it, the heat beneath his skin throbbed louder, a silent war raging inside. Denial was easier than admitting the truth. Easier than letting himself feel.
For now.
The night air hit Katsuki like a cold slap the moment he stepped out of the warm party house. He hadn’t even realized just how stifling the noise and chatter inside had become until now. The sharp bite of the evening made him pull his shirt tighter over his skin, but his chest still burned with an ache he wasn’t ready to admit.
He’d been too wound up, too angry, too everything—and the alcohol in his system was doing nothing to cool the fire. He needed a break. Needed to get out, clear his head.
His steps crunched over the gravel driveway as he made his way toward the front of the house, where his car sat waiting like a silent sentinel in the dark. The streetlights cast long, stretched shadows, and the only other source of light was the faint glow from the mansion’s massive windows, muted by the heavy curtains.
He popped the trunk with a quick tug of the release, then hesitated for a moment before opening the passenger door and throwing his jacket inside. The night had turned colder than he expected, and he wasn’t about to freeze just because of some stubborn pride.
As he zipped up the jacket halfway, ready to pull it over his head, he caught the faint sound of voices coming from just a few feet away—low, casual, but with an undercurrent that instantly made his blood boil.
The sharp snap of a bottle cap hitting pavement cracked through the silence.
Katsuki didn’t move.
He was still crouched beside his car, half-hidden by shadow, the edge of his jacket gripped tightly in one fist. The cool metal of the zipper dug into his palm, but he didn’t loosen his hold.
The voices were clearer now.
“I mean, did you see the way he was smiling at you, Ren?” someone drawled, voice thick with amusement.
Another one chuckled. “I thought he was gonna jump into your lap.”
“Man’s got zero shame,” someone else laughed. “All doe-eyed and sweet like that, I bet he’s into some real desperate shit.”
Katsuki’s breath caught. His nails bit into the skin of his palm.
“Bet he’s a moaner,” the first voice added. “Just look at him.”
Another breathy chuckle, and then—
Ren.
That same smooth, infuriating tone. “Yeah. Thought that too. He’s got those eyes, right? All soft. Like he wants you to ruin him.”
The group howled .
Katsuki’s vision blurred at the edges. He was pretty sure he saw red.
“Can’t believe he’s a U.A. golden boy, huh?” one of them said. “Little slut’s probably begging for it.”
And then Ren again, low and cocky, “He’d take it, no question. Sweet voice, pretty face, all that tight little body for the taking.”
Katsuki nearly tore the handle off his car door.
His jaw locked, his heart thundered in his chest, and every instinct inside him screamed to storm through the hedge and blast every single one of them into the pavement.
But he didn’t move.
He couldn’t.
Because in the silence that followed, in the heat rising behind his eyes, something else crept in.
Something he didn’t want.
The mental image.
Izuku, face flushed. Breathing hard. Mouth open, saying his name. Moaning, just like they said. Looking up at someone like—
No.
He sucked in a sharp breath, like he’d been punched.
No. No. What the fuck—
He shoved the thought down so fast it almost made him dizzy. Don’t think about him like that. That’s not what this is.
This wasn’t about that. This was about respect . About Izuku .
This was about people talking shit about someone too good for any of them. About his dumbass best friend who still wore comic tees to parties and had no idea he was gorgeous. Who was too trusting. Too nice.
It wasn’t about—
It wasn’t about what his face looked like when he was laughing on the dance floor. Or how his jeans had fit earlier, tight across his thighs, hugging his hips just right.
It wasn’t about the way his lips looked, pink and bitten from nervous chewing, or the rings on his fingers that Katsuki had caught himself staring at once. Or twice.
It wasn’t about the way Izuku smiled at him sometimes, soft and stupid and warm , like he meant it.
It wasn’t.
Katsuki’s breath came ragged, uneven.
He squeezed his eyes shut.
Snap out of it. What the fuck is wrong with you? That’s your best friend. Your goddamn best friend. This isn’t… this isn’t like that.
Except his stomach was still twisted into knots, and every word those guys said replayed over and over in his skull like firecrackers.
Another voice—rougher, with a teasing edge—snickered, “He’s pretty hot, but didn’t know you liked dudes.”
A ripple of laughter followed, light and cruel, like a pack of wolves circling their prey.
Katsuki’s blood ran cold, his breath caught somewhere in his throat. The casual insult hit harder than he wanted to admit. The insinuation stung, sharp and unwelcome.
Then, Ren’s voice came through again, and this time Katsuki’s teeth clenched so tightly it felt like they might crack.
“Ah—he’s an ends meet. Cute. But not for me. One fuck, maybe. Then toss him back.”
The breathy laugh that followed twisted something deep in Katsuki’s gut. More laughter echoed around, voices weaving cruel fantasies—talk of late nights, stolen touches, whispered promises that would never mean anything.
Katsuki’s mind rebelled, pushing away the images their words painted— No. Not Izuku like that. Not my best friend. His heart hammered wildly against his ribs, cold sweat prickling at his skin.
“But he’s soft,” another voice added, “You know? That nerdy, sweet type. Would melt if you really pushed. Could get him wrapped around your finger easy.”
Katsuki’s breath caught. That’s not true. He’s stronger than you think.
Still, the words continued, too vivid, too crude.
“I bet you like the idea of breaking him in, don’t you? Soft little green freak all
Katsuki swallowed hard, swallowing the bitter taste in his mouth. The storm inside him raged, fury and possessiveness burning hotter than ever.
He wanted to storm into the shadows, confront them, shatter every smug smile.
Instead, he stood still, the night swallowing his breath as the conversation finally drifted away.
For a long moment, all he could do was stare at the darkness, then his feet were moving before he even realized it.
The laughter behind him faded — stupid, vulgar voices swallowed by the beat of the music pulsing from the backyard and the roar in his ears.
Katsuki didn’t care if they saw him.
Didn’t care if they figured out he’d heard every fucking word.
He just needed to move .
The grass crunched under his boots as he stormed back around the house, fists clenched, heart pounding.
He’s not gonna fucking touch him. Not if I get there first.
The idea of Ren — that smug, greasy bastard — putting even a hand on Izuku’s shoulder made Katsuki sick.
The image was still seared in his brain: Izuku’s bright grin, the way he’d practically leapt up to greet him. The way Ren had looked at him — slow, lingering, hungry.
No. Fucking. Way.
Katsuki’s boots hit the pavement hard as he picked up speed.
He didn’t even like parties, didn’t want to be here, but now?
Now he had to find him . Had to make sure he was safe. Had to make sure Izuku wasn’t left alone with him, or worse — listening to whatever smooth, pretty-boy bullshit Ren would spin next.
The heat in Katsuki’s chest climbed higher, settling into a heavy burn behind his ribs.
This wasn’t rational. He knew it. It didn’t feel rational. But he couldn’t stop it either.
Because if there was even a chance that Ren would try something — that he’d say something crude or take things too far — Katsuki knew he wouldn’t be able to live with it.
Not with Deku. Not him.
He rounded the corner of the patio, eyes scanning the crowds in a frenzy — people dancing, drinking, laughing. No green curls. No freckles. No striped long-sleeve and stupid comic tee.
“Where the fuck are you…” he muttered under his breath, pushing past someone holding a tray of jello shots.
His pulse throbbed in his neck.
He couldn’t lose sight of him now. Not when he’d just seen what those guys were capable of. Not when he knew — knew — how easily Izuku trusted. How hard he loved. How soft he could be around the wrong people.
And Katsuki wasn’t gonna let that happen.
Not again.
Not when he was right here .
He hadn’t protected him from everything over the years — hell, he’d been the reason for some of it — but this? This he could do right.
Even if it killed him.
Even if it shattered the wall he’d spent years building between them. The one that told him it was fine to feel this way, as long as he never did anything about it.
But this wasn’t about feelings.
It was about safety.
It was about loyalty.
It was about Izuku .
Katsuki’s eyes locked on a flash of green near the edge of the deck, tucked under a string of fairy lights, and his breath caught.
There he was.
Still with Todoroki, laughing at something. Head thrown back, cheeks flushed with happiness and alcohol, those stupid rings catching the light as he gestured wildly.
Unaware.
Katsuki was going to lose his goddamn mind.
There he was. Still laughing with Todoroki. Still whole. Still untouched.
Still Izuku.
No Ren in sight.
Katsuki’s lungs started working again — shallow, strained breaths dragging in cooler night air. His boots stopped just short of the patio step, and his fingers loosened from fists they hadn’t realized they’d formed.
He’s fine.
Relief hit him like a brick to the chest, knocking the rage just low enough for something else to crawl in — shame, confusion, and that sticky ache he’d been ignoring for weeks now.
He didn’t move any closer. He couldn’t. Not without tipping his hand.
Instead, he backed up a step and slipped behind one of the large deck columns wrapped in string lights. Just enough cover to keep him out of view. Just enough distance to pretend he wasn’t there to watch .
And that’s exactly what he did.
He watched.
Watched the way Izuku talked with his hands, fingers flitting with every excited thought. Watched the way he grinned when Todoroki leaned in to say something, tilting his head like a sunflower seeking light. Watched the way he glowed — like there was no weight in his chest, no voices in his head, no Ren trying to ruin him from behind a goddamn car.
Katsuki’s hand hovered awkwardly at his side until he spotted a lone, empty beer bottle abandoned on the edge of a planter box. Without thinking, he snatched it up and held it in his lap, pretending to sip like it meant something.
Don’t look suspicious.
You’re just here. Just cooling off. Just another guy avoiding the party.
Not a guy who just eavesdropped on a conversation he’d gladly bury six feet under.
Not a guy who’d nearly thrown hands over a smile that didn’t even belong to him.
Katsuki rolled the bottle between his palms, eyes fixed on Izuku like a man watching a star — too far to touch, too close to ignore.
Tch… this is pathetic.
He should’ve left already. Should’ve gotten in his car, driven home, and forgotten this whole night ever happened.
But instead, he sat there. Still. Silent. Shielded by soft golden lights and shadows, pretending the bitterness in his mouth was from beer and not from the way Izuku’s eyes lit up for everyone but him .
Still… no Ren.
Not yet.
Katsuki’s quiet observation was cut short by the sound of whispers — low and breathy, the kind you could hear even over the music when you weren’t trying to.
It was a group of girls. Close by. Maybe five or six feet from him, clustered in a giggling circle like they didn’t know how sound carried in the quiet spaces between beats. Shiketsu girls, probably. First-years. Maybe second. He didn’t care.
But they were looking at him.
He didn’t need to glance over to know.
“He’s so hot,” one of them whispered not-so-quietly, followed by a chorus of shushed squeals.
“You go talk to him!”
“I dare you—!”
“I’m serious, go!”
More laughter. Some footsteps.
Then came the voice. Soft. Hesitant.
“Um… hi.”
Katsuki tilted his head slightly, gaze snapping up from the bottle in his hands to the girl standing a few feet in front of him, plastic cup clutched in both palms like it was some kind of security blanket. She was short, with light brown hair that curled slightly at the ends, and a flush blooming across her cheeks as she tucked a strand behind her ear.
He didn’t say anything. Just stared.
“I’m—uh—Hi! I’m Himari,” she said quickly, glancing back at her group like she wanted confirmation she was still alive. “Sorry to bother you, I just… I think I saw you in the sports festival last year. You were amazing.”
Katsuki blinked.
Right.
One of those .
He opened his mouth to brush her off — something scathing, something short — but stopped.
She’s just a dumb girl with a crush, he reminded himself. Don’t be a complete asshole.
So instead, he just exhaled slowly through his nose and stayed quiet.
But Himari didn’t take the hint.
“I, uh… I just think you’re really strong. And cool. And—” she tucked another strand of hair behind her ear, fingers fidgeting with her cup— “I wanted to say hi. Maybe talk for a bit?”
He let a pause stretch between them, long and cold.
Then: “Not interested.”
The words came out flat. Not cruel — not quite — but sharp enough to slice through the conversation before it could even begin.
Himari’s smile faltered, but she tried to keep it up. “Oh—um. I didn’t mean to—”
“Look,” Katsuki cut in, finally straightening his back and standing properly, voice low but clear, “I’m sure you’re a nice girl. You seem fine. But I’m not here to flirt. I’m not looking to talk. I’ve got a lot on my mind, so just—yeah.”
Himari’s face crumpled a bit, her bravado folding in on itself like wet paper.
“I—I’m sorry,” she said, stumbling a half-step back, clutching her cup like it could hide her. “I didn’t mean to bother you. Really, I’m—”
Katsuki let out a rough sigh, dragging a hand down his face as guilt clawed at the back of his throat. God, he hated this.
“Shit,” he muttered under his breath, more to himself than to her.
Before she could fully retreat, he reached out and placed a firm hand on her shoulder — not exactly gentle, but not aggressive either. Just enough to stop her from bolting.
“Look,” he said, voice lower now, flatter, a bit more human. “It’s fine. You didn’t do anything wrong. I just—tonight’s not the night, alright?”
Himari blinked up at him, startled by the contact, her eyes glossy with the threat of embarrassment-tears. She nodded quickly.
“Okay,” she whispered. “Sorry. Again.”
Katsuki rolled his eyes, more at himself than her, and pulled his hand away. “It’s fine,” he repeated, the words tasting like sand in his mouth.
This was exactly why he didn’t talk to people at these things.
Too many feelings. Too much mess. Too much thinking.
He sighed again and started to turn away, but something pulled at the edge of his attention.
Movement.
Voices.
Laughter.
His gaze flicked past Himari, past the crowd.
There — in the distance.
Approaching.
And just like that, the noise in his chest roared back to life.
Katsuki didn’t have to look.
He knew that voice. That smug, airy tone that curled around words like it was too good for them.
“ Izuku! ” it sang out, too damn familiar already.
And then, softer but stupidly warm: “ Ren! ”
The sound of Izuku saying his name— his name—made Katsuki’s jaw tighten, his eyes already trained on the approaching scene before he could stop himself.
He watched as Todoroki gave a final nod to Izuku, a glance Katsuki couldn’t quite read, before turning away—heading back toward the house, back to the pool table where Sero was probably waiting. Where his boyfriend was waiting.
That was the moment. The shift.
Because now it was just them . Ren. Izuku. And Katsuki— watching.
Ren was striding up confidently, sleeves rolled up like it was intentional, like he knew exactly how to play this part. He looked like he belonged in some college romance drama, all smug grins and practiced charm. And Izuku—fucking Izuku —was smiling at him. That big, honest grin, the kind that reached his eyes and made Katsuki’s stomach twist with something sharp.
And Ren?
Ren was drinking it in like he owned it.
Katsuki’s hands curled tighter around the empty beer bottle in his lap, his knuckles white. He didn’t blink, didn’t move. Just watched. The sound of that bastard’s laugh, the casual way he leaned in, the way Izuku didn’t pull back—
It all scraped against Katsuki’s brain like sandpaper.
He didn’t need to hear what came next to know how it would sound.
But he heard it anyway.
Katsuki didn’t even realize he’d stood up until the gravel crunched under his boots. The girl— Hinami? Haruki? —blinked up at him in confusion as he brushed past her, but he didn’t care. He had one thing on his mind and it wasn’t sparing her feelings anymore.
He moved quick and quiet, slipping around the hedge and up toward the open-air granny flat where the pool table stood under dim string lights and soft music. He kept his body low, half-hidden by a tree planted in the patio’s edge. Three meters, maybe less.
He could see everything.
Ren leaned forward like he owned the place, gesturing at the green felt table with a half-lazy smile. “Pool? What do you think?” he asked, fingers tapping rhythmically against a cue stick he'd already grabbed from the rack. “The other guys are done. We can jump in.”
Izuku looked a little startled. “Ah—I don’t really know how to play…”
Ren smirked, and it made Katsuki’s molars grind.
“I’ll teach you,” Ren said easily, leaning down, his voice dropping like it was a goddamn offer wrapped in silk. “Don’t worry, I’m a really good teacher.”
Katsuki took a step forward, not thinking. A breath. Then he caught himself and stopped, jaw tight. Don’t. Don’t blow this up. Don’t ruin it. Not until—
Izuku laughed, awkward and unsure, rubbing the back of his neck. “Um… okay, I guess?”
That was all it took.
Katsuki moved in tighter, silently, every hair on his arms standing on end. He watched as Ren handed Izuku the cue, watched their fingers brush. Izuku didn’t seem to notice, but Ren definitely did.
Katsuki’s grip on the empty bottle flexed again, thumb pressing so hard into the side it creaked.
Ren took his time setting up the table, drawing Izuku in, making sure he stood behind him, a hand dangerously close to his hip under the guise of correcting his stance. Katsuki could see the way Ren looked at him. Could feel it.
And suddenly, there wasn’t enough distance in the world to make it okay.
Katsuki stayed frozen in place, eyes locked on the little enclosed room. The warm golden lights from the backyard barely touched the inside of the granny flat, but the glow of the disco ball hanging from the ceiling flickered erratically across the walls — kaleidoscope reflections spinning like a slow heartbeat.
Izuku had just sunk a striped ball — more by accident than skill — when Ren chuckled and turned on his heel. “Hang on,” he said casually, making his way to the wide barn doors that made up the open wall. “Let me fix this. Way too much light ruining the vibes .”
Katsuki’s brows pinched.
One door groaned as Ren pulled it shut halfway, sliding it inward. It closed with a muted thump, cutting off the room in half and casting more shadow across where they stood. Izuku tilted his head, clearly confused.
“Wait… why’d you close that?” Izuku asked, brow furrowing.
Ren shot him a grin, sauntering back. “That disco ball? Looks way better in low light. You’ll see. Sets the mood,” he added, smug and far too pleased with himself. “Just makes everything… smoother, y’know?”
Katsuki nearly bit through his tongue.
He wanted to storm in there. Tear the whole door down, throw Ren through the cue rack. But instead, he took a slow step back, keeping just out of view while shifting around the edge of the barn door so he could still see through the crack where it hadn’t fully latched. From this angle, he could see Ren circling around again, picking up the cue stick and leaning in far too close to Izuku’s back, all easy smiles and soft words that Katsuki couldn’t quite hear.
But he didn’t need to hear them.
He could tell what was happening just by the tilt of Ren’s chin, by the way Izuku’s shoulders tightened with nervous laughter. His mouth felt dry. He wanted to tell himself it wasn’t a big deal — that this was just what people did at parties, that Izuku was an adult and could flirt with whoever he wanted.
But the thought made Katsuki nauseous.
He couldn’t stop seeing Ren’s smug expression earlier, couldn’t stop hearing his disgusting voice calling Izuku “an ends meet.” Just a lay. One time. Like Izuku was nothing . Like he was some... cheap thing .
The muscles in Katsuki’s jaw jumped.
He didn’t know what the hell Ren thought this was, but it sure as fuck wasn’t going to happen.
Katsuki’s breath fogged faintly in the cool night air, fingers clenched tight around the neck of the empty beer bottle he still held. From his new angle, half-shielded by the edge of the barn door, he could see everything — and he hated every second of it.
Ren was lining up the shot first, leaning over the table with theatrical ease, cue stick gliding through his fingers like he was showing off. He broke the rack, balls scattering in a messy clatter across green felt — none sinking. He just shrugged and grinned, like he meant for that to happen.
“Your turn,” Ren said, stepping back and turning to Izuku with an easy smirk.
Izuku blinked, holding the cue awkwardly, clearly unsure. “I—I’m not very good at this.”
“That’s fine,” Ren said smoothly, stepping closer. “Just try. I’ll help.”
Katsuki’s jaw tightened.
Izuku circled the table a bit before picking a side and bending forward to line up his shot — awkward, a little unsure of his form, tongue peeking out in concentration. His shirt rode up just a little in the back, the long sleeve bunching near the elbows. Light from the disco ball shimmered across the curve of his spine and the slope of his neck.
Katsuki looked away.
Then looked back.
He wasn’t even sure which made him more furious — the fact that Ren was watching him, or the fact that he was too.
Ren stood beside him, slightly behind, eyes locked on Izuku. Not his shot. Not the balls. Just him. That smirk back on his lips, that same smug one Katsuki remembered from earlier.
Fucking prick.
Katsuki could practically feel the heat simmering under his skin. His chest rose and fell faster than before. Every fiber of his body itched to storm in and pull Izuku away from the table. To get between them. To shove Ren’s damn face into the felt and snap that smug expression in half.
But he didn’t move.
He couldn’t.
His feet stayed planted even as his pulse thundered in his ears. Because he knew — he knew — the second he stepped in, everything would change. And he wasn’t sure if he was ready for that.
Because he shouldn’t be looking at Izuku like that. Not like this . Not with a tight heat curling low in his gut. Not when they were best friends. Not when he was supposed to be the protective one. Not when he’d spent months — years — shoving those feelings down like they didn’t matter.
He stared harder at the bottle in his hands.
His grip was so tight now, the plastic crinkled under his fingers.
Ren leaned closer to Izuku, whispering something. Izuku laughed — nervous, high-pitched. The kind of laugh Katsuki knew meant he wasn’t sure what to do but didn’t want to be rude. The kind of laugh that made Katsuki want to start throwing punches.
He swallowed hard, trying to force down the rising bile.
He shouldn’t be watching. He shouldn’t be thinking like this.
But he couldn’t stop.
And Ren’s eyes still hadn’t left Izuku.
Katsuki’s grip tightened so hard around the beer bottle it creaked under his fingers. Every muscle in his body was locked in place, a storm gathering behind his eyes as he watched — barely breathing, barely blinking.
Ren inched closer.
Closer than Katsuki had seen anyone get to Izuku in a way that wasn’t platonic or harmless. The fucker’s hands slid brazenly over Izuku’s sides, settling at his hips like he had any goddamn right. Like Izuku was some prize he could just touch. Just take .
Katsuki bit his tongue so hard he tasted metal.
Izuku’s cue wobbled slightly as he made a clumsy shot, tapping one ball with the white and missing the pocket entirely. Still, he straightened a bit, proud of himself — cheeks pink, a little breathless.
And then Ren was there again. “Nah, nah, you’ve got to focus on form,” he said, voice too close to Izuku’s ear.
Katsuki saw him — saw everything . Ren stepping in, pressing against Izuku’s back like he belonged there. Hands sliding down his arms, repositioning his grip with intention. And then leaning in, his breath brushing over Izuku’s ear, too intimate, too possessive, too fucking wrong .
From where he stood, Katsuki couldn’t hear the words exactly. But he didn’t need to. He saw how Izuku tensed, his hands tightening around the cue.
“Ren—stop—what are you—” Izuku’s voice cut through the air, shaky.
And then, even from Katsuki’s distance, he saw it — the subtle motion of Ren’s hand sliding lower. Down Izuku’s side. His hip.
Inching toward his crotch.
Katsuki’s vision blurred with white-hot fury.
Ren pressed up against him. “Feel that?” He said against Izukus ear.
Before Katuski could so much as take a step, Izuku spun around. His fist connected with Ren’s jaw in one clean, furious strike. A sound cracked through the barn like a whip, and Ren staggered back, clutching his face in pure shock.
Then another blow — this time to the side of his smug face, knocking him into the side of the pool table.
Katsuki surged forward, heart in his throat, ready to kill. But he stopped. Because Izuku — sweet, stuttering Izuku — stood there trembling, eyes sharp, breath ragged, chest rising and falling with adrenaline.
“You— you bitch—” Ren spat, still cradling his face, staring up in disbelief.
Katsuki's fists clenched at his sides. Rage boiled in his chest like magma, but for one frozen second — one perfect second — he couldn’t move. Could only stare.
Izuku had handled it.
But that didn’t mean Ren would get to walk away.
Not if Katsuki had anything to do with it.
Ren’s stunned expression twisted into something dark and dangerous. He shook off the punches like they were nothing, jaw bleeding but eyes burning with smug entitlement. Without hesitation, he stepped forward again — closer this time, too close.
Before Katsuki could react, Ren slammed Izuku back against the wall. The sharp impact echoed through the granny flat, hard and unforgiving.
Izuku’s breath hitched.
Ren’s hands didn’t hesitate — fingers sliding over places they had no business touching. Fingers that gripped with a possessiveness that made Katsuki’s blood turn to ice.
No Quirk. No One For All. Just Izuku.
He was smaller, softer, less powerful than this asshole. And he had just dared to throw punches at him.
Katsuki’s fists clenched so tight his nails bit into his palms.
But it wasn’t just fear or helplessness flashing in Izuku’s eyes. No, there was something else — a spark of defiance, a fierce unwillingness to be dominated.
Ren smirked, his hand moving lower.
Izuku’s eyes flashed.
Then suddenly, like lightning, Izuku twisted, shoving Ren’s hand away, slipping past him with surprising strength. His voice was low but fierce.
“Back off.”
Katsuki’s heart hammered so loud he swore Ren could hear it. But Ren just laughed, dark and bitter.
“You’re playing a dangerous game, Izuku .”
Ren’s smirk twisted darker as his hand slid lower, fingers grazing where they shouldn’t. Izuku squirmed violently, trying to wrench free.
“Stop—what the hell are you doing?!” Izuku hissed, voice cracking with panic.
He kicked out desperately, but Ren caught his leg easily, holding him tight against the wall.
“Shhh, you’re so noisy,” Ren murmured, his hand suddenly covering Izuku’s mouth.
Izuku’s eyes widened in shock and fear behind the palm pressing against his face, muffled protests trapped inside.
Katsuki’s blood was boiling so hard, he felt like his veins were about to explode. No second thoughts. No holding back. The second he saw Ren’s hand clamp over Izuku’s mouth, silencing his desperate screams, everything inside him ignited.
He grabbed Ren’s collar and hauled him up with a snarl, dragging the bastard over the edge of the pool table.
Ren’s body slammed hard onto the wooden surface with a heavy crack, the whole thing rattling beneath him. Without mercy, Katsuki shoved him again, and Ren tumbled off the porch steps, rolling violently down the porch, slamming into a speaker with a crunch that cut the music instantly.
Silence crashed over the party like a thunderclap.
Everyone’s heads snapped their way.
Izuku was frozen, chest heaving, eyes wide as if he couldn’t believe Katsuki just exploded like that.
Ren coughed and spat blood onto the bushes, his jaw swollen, but his glare burned viciously.
Katsuki didn’t pause.
He stormed down the stairs, claws ready to shred.
Ren scrambled to his feet, wiping blood off his lip, his fist shooting out in a brutal punch aimed right at Katsuki’s gut.
Katsuki twisted sharply, avoiding the strike like a predator—calm, fierce, and deadly.
“Not gonna happen,” Katsuki hissed.
Izuku hurried to Todoroki and Ochako, their worried eyes locked on the fight.
Mina and the girls spilled out from the dancefloor, drawn by the uproar.
Kirishima’s voice rang out loud and clear, trying to cut through the chaos.
“Bakugo, come on, man! Chill! It’s not worth it!”
Kaminari, a bit tipsy, shouted from the sidelines with a smirk.
“Bakugo’s all bark, but damn, he’s got the bite to back it up!”
Iida barked out orders, trying to keep order.
“This is unacceptable! Violence will not solve this, Bakugo!”
Phones came out, flashing red lights and buzzing as everyone captured the fight live.
Ren lunged again, teeth clenched, eyes wild.
Katsuki met him head-on, fists swinging fast and hard. Every punch was a lightning strike, fueled by years of bottled-up frustration and the burning need to protect Izuku.
Izuku’s gaze darted between the two, helpless and terrified.
Todoroki stood firmly by his side, a steady anchor.
The crowd circled tighter, the noise swelling—yells, gasps, and shouts clashing with the music’s absence.
Ren snarled, wiping blood from his mouth.
“You think you can protect him? You’re just a joke.”
Katsuki growled, swinging again.
Izuku’s hands clenched at his sides, heart hammering in his chest like a war drum.
Across the party, Ren’s friends had started to crowd closer, their smug expressions shifting into wolfish grins. One of them let out a sharp whistle.
“Come on, Ren! Kick his ass!”
Another voice echoed, "Teach him not to start shit he can't finish!"
Even Sero, half-laughing and half-serious, called from the sidelines, “Yo—if this is going down, might as well back our boy!”
He threw a mock fist into the air.
“Bakugo! Bakugo! Bakugo!”
And just like that, the tension cracked. The crowd burst into a frenzy, chants and screams igniting like wildfire.
“REN! REN! REN!”
“BA-KU-GO! BA-KU-GO!”
The party had transformed into a makeshift ring. People crowded closer, forming a loose circle around them, the barn lights glowing overhead, drinks sloshing, phones raised, and hearts pounding.
Izuku stood just outside the circle, his face pale, lips pressed tight as the crowd swallowed Katsuki whole.
The two boys circled each other like predators, Ren wiping at his split lip, eyes glittering with cruel amusement.
“You’re shaking,” Ren sneered, tossing his head back. “I thought you were supposed to be U.A.'s golden boy. The big bad wolf. But here you are, about to lose it over a little nerd with pretty eyes.”
Katsuki’s entire body twitched. His hands were fists, tight and trembling, nails biting into his palms.
“You shut the fuck up,” he spat.
But Ren didn’t.
He stepped closer, his grin growing.
“What’s wrong? Worried I’ll break your little toy? Is that what he is to you? Just a friend you wanna fuck but can’t admit it?”
That was it.
The last thread of restraint in Katsuki snapped clean.
He lunged.
The crowd screamed.
Katsuki slammed into Ren with the force of a bullet, tackling him straight into the dirt. They rolled, fists flying. Ren managed to land a hit to Katsuki’s ribs, but it barely registered through the white-hot rage flooding his body.
This wasn’t a fight.
This was a reckoning.
“Say one more fucking word,” Katsuki snarled, his voice sharp and trembling with rage as he slammed Ren’s shoulder into the dirt. His knees dug into the bastard’s ribs, weight pressing down hard as he straddled him like a storm pressing on the sea. “Say Izuku’s name again, and I swear to god—”
Ren, lips split, one eye already beginning to swell, grinned through bloodied teeth. His head lolled back slightly before he spat a thick trail of crimson up into Katsuki’s face.
The crowd let out a collective gasp —whether at the audacity or the violence, no one could tell.
Katsuki’s eyes snapped wide, white-hot fury lancing through every nerve in his body. His hand cocked back—gloved fingers sparking—and then it crashed down like a meteor, straight into Ren’s jaw with enough force to jolt his head to the side.
The next hit landed on his cheekbone.
Then another—dead center on the ribs.
Another. And another.
Katsuki wasn’t fighting anymore. He was unleashing.
Ren tried to raise his arms, but Katsuki was faster, stronger, feral . Every swing landed harder than the last, the dull, sickening thuds drowned out only by the explosion of cheers and screams around them.
KILL HIM!” someone roared—probably Mineta, voice shrill with excitement.
“KATSUKI—ENOUGH!” Kirishima’s voice cut in, panicked, pleading.
“You’re gonna kill him, man!” he yelled, shoving through the crowd, shoving at Katsuki’s back to pull him off.
But Katsuki wasn’t stopping. Couldn’t stop.
Ren, bloody and dazed beneath him, somehow had the gall to laugh.
He wheezed, and then leaned just close enough, teeth bloodstained, voice barely a whisper.
“I’d fuck the brains out of him,” Ren rasped, lips cracking as he smiled. “And make you watch. ”
The world snapped .
A blinding pop of orange flared in Katsuki’s palm as he brought it straight to Ren’s temple.
BOOM .
The small blast wasn’t enough to kill—but enough to hurt. Ren’s head cracked against the ground, his body twitching as smoke curled from the singed ends of his hair. The crowd screamed.
“BAKUGO!”
“DUDE!”
“OH SHIT!”
“WHAT THE FUCK?!”
Hands grabbed at him, finally —Kirishima locking his arms around Katsuki’s torso, Todoroki’s ice-cold grip on his wrist, Iida shouting orders over the noise, his engine-calf sparking as he stomped in to help.
“Bakugo!” Iida barked. “Stop this immediately!”
“ Let go! ” Katsuki snapped, thrashing against them, eyes still locked on the half-conscious form beneath him. His lip was split. Blood streaked down his cheek. His chest heaved with every breath, his shirt torn and buttons half-ripped from where Ren had clawed at him earlier.
A sick, electric tension filled the air—half of the crowd screaming for more violence, the other half begging for someone to step in.
And then, over it all, cutting through the storm like a blade—
“Kacchan!”
His name.
Soft. Frantic. Real.
“ Kacchan, please—stop! ”
Izuku’s voice.
Everything froze .
Katsuki’s head snapped toward it, his body rigid under the weight of it.
There he was—Izuku. Just at the edge of the circle. Hands clutching the hem of his hoodie, shoulders tight, eyes wide and wet.
Not afraid of him.
Afraid for him.
Katsuki’s fists loosened.
His body slumped.
He let them pull him off.
Ren lay broken in the dirt behind him, groaning incoherently.
Katsuki stood, jerking out of their grip just enough to regain his balance, every nerve burning. Sweat dripped down his temple, blood from both of them smeared across his arms, chest rising and falling with animalistic panting.
He raised a hand and wiped his nose on his sleeve, the blood painting red across the white fabric.
Then, wordless, he reached for the top of his shirt and undid the remaining buttons with shaking fingers, letting the fabric fall open as he sucked in the cold night air.
Steam practically rolled off his back.
“Let go already,” he gritted out.
Kirishima hesitated. Todoroki’s hand lingered another beat, then fell away. Iida stepped back, still tense.
They obeyed, but didn’t relax. No one did.
Even the crowd had quieted. Half were filming. The other half were staring, wide-eyed, unsure if they’d just witnessed a fight or a goddamn reckoning.
And Izuku… Izuku was still standing there.
Looking right at him.
The silence was thin and taut, like a wire pulled to snapping.
Only the bass from a nearby speaker thumped distantly, a slow, rhythmic pulse like a heartbeat out of sync. Footsteps scuffed against gravel. A phone clicked—someone still filming. Another muffled voice muttered, “Holy shit…”
Then Kirishima’s voice tore through the tension, raw and ragged with disbelief.
“He’s fucking unconscious , Bakugo! Fuck— ”
Kirishima’s arms flung out, gesturing wildly to Ren’s crumpled form in the dirt, the guy barely groaning now, blood smeared across his chin like warpaint. One eye was swollen shut. He hadn’t moved.
Kirishima paced a few steps, fingers dragging through his hair like he didn’t know what to do with himself.
“Learn how to fucking stop before you start !”
Katsuki’s head twitched toward him, jaw tight. The fire in his chest hadn’t gone out—it just burned quieter now, molten and simmering, not explosive. His hands were still clenched, blood drying between his knuckles.
Iida stepped in, voice firm and controlled, like a teacher trying to restore order in a burning classroom.
“That’s right. Restraint. We’re heroes. This is not what we—”
Katsuki’s head dropped forward slightly, bangs shadowing his eyes. His lip curled. His ears rang.
Restraint?
His fists trembled. A sharp laugh—someone’s nervous giggle—cut through the hush of the crowd. Another voice muttered something about how it was “insane” and “what the fuck is wrong with Bakugo?”
Phones were still up. Flashlights flickered. The crowd hovered, like vultures unsure if the fight was over or if the bleeding had just begun.
Katsuki couldn’t breathe.
They didn’t know . They didn’t fucking know what had happened in there.
What that bastard had tried to do .
To Izuku .
His Izuku.
He hadn’t even thought. Not once. His body had just moved the second he heard Izuku’s voice cracking with panic. The second he saw him pinned, struggling, mouth covered. He’d acted because no one else had, because there hadn’t been time for reason or restraint or hero talk.
“For fuck’s sake,” Katsuki growled, voice sharp but uneven. His throat was thick, his heart still slamming against his ribs like it was trying to get out. “You don’t—”
He swallowed hard.
“You don’t fucking know , okay?”
His voice cracked slightly at the edge, quiet enough that some people might’ve missed it. But not Kirishima. Not Iida. Not Todoroki, who was still beside him, quiet and watching.
Katsuki’s glare swept over the crowd, his jaw ticking as he fought the urge to lash out again—not with fists this time, but with words, truths, things that would burn just as much.
His eyes landed briefly on Izuku, who hadn’t moved. Still by Ochako and Todoroki, hands trembling slightly as he watched Katsuki like he was the only thing holding him upright.
And Katsuki—he was trying to stay upright, too.
But his rage was cracking at the edges now, bleeding into exhaustion. Into panic. Into something darker, heavier, clawing at the back of his throat.
His fingers curled tighter at his sides.
He didn’t need their fucking commentary.
Didn’t need Kirishima’s pacing, or Iida’s lectures, or the crowd’s judgment pressing in like hands around his throat.
They didn’t know.
They didn’t see .
They hadn’t heard Ren’s voice, hadn't seen his hands, hadn’t smelled the sick heat of the air inside that room.
They hadn’t heard Izuku begging.
Katsuki’s stomach turned.
His pulse pounded in his ears, but the rest of the world was too loud. Footsteps, whispers, camera shutters, someone retching in the bushes from too much vodka. The soft flicker of the pool lights. The goddamn disco ball still spinning weakly through the barn door.
And Izuku.
Still staring.
Still here.
That was the only thing keeping him from blowing up again.
He didn’t want to scare him.
Not after everything.
Katsuki looked away first.
Stopped there.
The silence didn’t last.
It never lasted.
Because the whispers always came next.
"Did he really—?"
"Is Ren breathing ?"
"That was—holy shit—he snapped ."
Phones weren’t even hidden anymore. People were holding them up openly, filming the aftermath like it was some drama series they could dissect later. One guy whispered something that sounded a lot like, “Guess that temper wasn’t just a rumor.”
Another: “Quick—he’s coming.”
The words barely landed before Katsuki moved .
Shoulder first. Jaw set. Eyes locked on nothing.
He burst through the crowd like a fuse reaching the end of its line.
Several people flinched—one stumbled back entirely, hands up like Katsuki was a wild dog off-leash.
He was .
He felt like it.
Like the blood still under his nails wasn’t his. Like his fists were still shaking, still wanting to hit. Like his body was vibrating from the inside out, rage and guilt and panic all pressing against the inside of his skull at once, clawing to get out.
Too much noise.
Too many eyes.
Too many fucking people.
He didn’t want to see them. Didn’t want to hear them. Didn’t want to feel this anymore.
He just needed to get out .
"Bakugo—!"
Kirishima’s voice cut through the rising static of whispers and low murmurs, but Katsuki didn’t stop. Didn’t even turn his head.
Then—
“ Kacchan! ”
That did make him falter. Just a little.
Izuku’s voice, frantic, breathless. Close.
Katsuki’s shoulders tightened as he kept going, cutting across the gravel driveway like the ground might catch fire if he didn’t move fast enough. He could feel Izuku behind him. Hear his footsteps.
Another voice—Kirishima again—more distant this time: “Midoriya, wait!”
But Izuku didn’t.
Of course he didn’t.
And then—
More footsteps.
Multiple now.
Fuck.
The rest of the class was starting to follow. Some out of concern, some out of sheer curiosity, others because they couldn’t look away even if they wanted to.
Mina’s heels clicked behind Kirishima’s heavier steps. Jirou cursed low under her breath. Kaminari muttered something like, “Man, he’s losing it ,” and Sero hushed him.
It was a slow tide of bodies pulling toward Katsuki, and he couldn’t breathe through it.
His lungs stuttered in his chest.
Everything was too loud .
His fists ached.
His head throbbed.
His chest squeezed, all pressure and heat and—
Get out get out get out get out—
He didn’t know where he was going.
Just that he couldn’t stay here.
Not while they looked at him like he was something terrifying. Not while their whispers painted him as the villain when the only reason he snapped was because of what that bastard had done to—
No.
No, he couldn’t think about that now.
Couldn’t picture it.
Couldn’t see it again.
Couldn’t—
“ Kacchan, wait! ”
Izuku’s voice was closer now. And filled with something Katsuki couldn’t name.
Not pity. Not fear.
But something that made him want to stop and run at the same time.
They made it out to the front of the house.
The air was colder now, brushing against flushed skin like a slap—sharp and grounding. The gravel crunched beneath their feet as the group spilled out after Katsuki, their chaotic energy bleeding out into the night.
The line of parked cars glittered under string lights hung haphazardly across the lot. Somewhere, music still thrummed softly, distant again—like it belonged to another world.
Mina was just stepping out of the open barn doors, heels in one hand as she stumbled, then shoved them on mid-step. “Wait up!” she called breathlessly.
Before she could catch up, someone leaned out from the front porch—a tall guy with glossy black hair and a too-wide grin. “You leaving already?”
Mina tossed a quick wave. “Sorry—gotta check on something,” she said, before turning her full attention to the trail of classmates ahead of her and jogging to catch up.
Katsuki didn’t wait for any of them.
He was halfway across the gravel lot already, boots crunching against the stones as he made a straight beeline for his car. His fingers twitched with every step, blood still buzzing through him like electricity—painful and hot and too much.
His keys were already out.
He just wanted to be in the driver’s seat. Shut the door. Breathe. Scream, maybe.
But then—
“ Katsuki! ”
He froze.
That voice—Kirishima’s—too fucking earnest.
“C’mon, man, what happened?! Let’s just— talk! ”
Katsuki turned on a dime.
Not just his head—his whole body snapped around like he’d been yanked by a leash.
His face was lit harshly by the porch lights, jaw tight, eyes wild with something too raw to name.
“ Talk? ”
His voice cracked like a whip.
His glare landed on Kirishima like a blow. The redhead slowed, expression faltering, both hands half-raised like he wasn’t sure if he was trying to calm Katsuki or keep him from exploding again.
Katsuki stood there, fists clenched, chest heaving as the cold finally bit into his sweat-slicked skin.
And then the silence settled like mist again.
Everyone watching.
Again.
Only this time, the fuse had already burned down.
And Katsuki was fire.
“He tried to fucking assault Izuku. ”
Katsuki’s voice dropped, low and vicious. Each word was a warning bell, a fuse sizzling fast toward detonation.
He was already closing the distance between him and Kirishima, heat radiating off him like a furnace, teeth bared. His chest heaved, fists clenching like he needed something to hit again. Kirishima held his ground, eyes wide, stunned, but unmoving.
“You didn’t see it. You weren’t there. ”
“Bakugo—!” Kaminari stepped in fast, more sober now than he’d been all night. He held out both hands and pressed a palm to Katsuki’s chest. “Come on, don’t—don’t start with Kirishima, okay? You’re—You’re running on adrenaline, man.”
Katsuki twitched like he was going to shove him off, but he didn’t.
He couldn’t.
His breath caught in his throat, burning.
Jirou stepped in next, sharp and fast. “None of us knew, Bakugo! We didn’t know what was happening in there. Don’t put that on us.”
“Yeah,” Ochako added, her voice strained, cracking at the edges. “Please—just calm down. You’re freaking us all out.”
Katsuki’s mouth opened, then closed, breath rushing out hard through his nose. His fists trembled at his sides, his jaw clenched so tightly it ached.
His entire body buzzed with rage, frustration, helplessness.
And then— warmth.
A hand slid into his.
Calloused fingers curled between his own, grounding him like an anchor thrown into deep water.
Izuku.
He was there, at Katsuki’s side, green eyes wide and glassy. “Kacchan,” he whispered, the soft tremor in his voice somehow cutting through the static noise in Katsuki’s head. “I’m okay. I’m really okay.”
Katsuki didn’t believe that for a second.
But still—he didn’t pull his hand away.
Katsuki’s voice dropped lower. Calmer—but only in tone. The fury still laced every syllable like a blade pressed too hard into flesh.
“
Not even tried.
”
He turned his head slightly, eyes dark beneath his brows. “He
did.
”
Silence fell over the group like a blanket soaked in ice water.
“Don’t you get it?” he hissed, voice shaking now—not with fear, but with fury barely held at bay. “He fucking sexually assaulted him.”
Izuku’s hand was still in his. Gentle. Warm. Thumb brushing over the back of Katsuki’s hand again and again, a soft rhythm meant to calm. Meant to say
I’m here.
Meant to say
You don’t have to carry this alone.
“It’s okay…” Izuku whispered again, trying to ease the fire in his voice, the way Katsuki’s chest was rising and falling like he’d sprinted through the whole night. “Okay?”
But Katsuki turned to face him fully now, and his eyes weren’t just angry—they were shattered.
“It’s not fucking okay,” he said, breath trembling now. “He did that shit to you because he thought he could. Because he saw you and thought he could get away with it. ”
He turned back to the group, eyes blazing, looking at them—but not really seeing them.
“Who the fuck knows if he’ll happily try it on someone else?” he asked, teeth clenched. “What if it’s some other kid next time? Some other dumbass who doesn’t know how to throw a punch like Izuku does?”
His voice broke, caught somewhere between fury and something far too close to despair.
“He deserved everything. ”
A pause. A silence that rang like a gunshot.
“I wouldn’t have a problem putting him six feet underground.”
He spat the words like venom, like truth, like a vow. And no one spoke. Not a single one of them.
Because for all of them—those words landed like stone.
And for Katsuki—they barely even scratched the surface of what he really meant.
Kirishima stepped forward first, his hand landing firmly on Katsuki’s back. A solid gesture. Grounding. No judgment—just presence.
“Hey…” he said quietly, then turned, voice louder now as he addressed the rest of the class still gathered around the cars. “I think we’ll all call it a night. It’s late.”
The group shifted, murmurs of tired agreement following his lead.
“Yeah, good idea…”
“Yeah, let’s head out.”
“Long drive back anyway.”
Kaminari was already rubbing at his temples, buzz of adrenaline fading into fatigue. Jirou pulled on his sleeve, tugging him toward her car, and Mina gave Katsuki a long look before nodding gently and turning to say her goodbyes to her cousin’s friend at the door.
Todoroki and Iida exchanged a few quiet words near the end of the drive. Ochako reached over to take Jirou’s hand, squeezing once.
There was no teasing now. No jokes. Just a heaviness they all felt. A quiet that carried weight.
“We’ll see you guys later,” someone said—maybe Tsuyu. Maybe Hagakure. It didn’t matter who. The voices blurred together, a wave of murmured farewells and half-meant assurances.
Katsuki didn’t say anything.
He just stood there, staring out over the gravel driveway lit by faint overhead lights and the quiet glow of porch lamps.
But he hadn’t let go of Izuku’s hand. Not once.
And Izuku hadn’t pulled away.
They stood pressed close, shoulders touching, fingers interlocked like it was the only anchor either of them had left. The only solid thing in the chaos that had erupted and then scattered like broken glass across the night.
Katsuki’s thumb moved once—just once—over the side of Izuku’s hand.
And Izuku didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to.
They would ride back together.
They would sit in the same car, drive through the dark, the neon lights and long stretches of highway blurring by like a dream that had gone too real.
They wouldn’t talk yet.
But they wouldn’t let go.
Not until they were home.