Archive of Our Own

“Wait, how come Sero gets to win the lottery?!” 

Izuku stifles his amusement in the lip of his water bottle, endlessly entertained as Mina’s protests swiftly echo Denki’s, as if they’ve actually been jilted a well-deserved ¥500 million; as if the takarakuji wasn’t a game of chance to begin with.

“Yeah! That’s not fair!” 

The common area is buzzing, teeming with near-graduates who can only laugh this easily and tease so openly because of the darkness they endured together, and the light they fought to bring to the world with their own blood, sweat, and tears. Most of their class lounges on the couches and on the floor, chatting and passing around snacks and playing round three of a new game they’re still getting the hang of. It’s noisy with gasps and giggles, and tastes of a bittersweet nostalgia that Izuku can already feel in the back of his throat despite having a month left of their time here.

Distantly, in the part of Izuku’s brain that never quite shuts off, he registers a far door opening and closing. Heavy steps and an athletic, fluid gait. 

He dismisses the arrival without conscious thought; it’s something that’s taken time to learn, after the war. After Danger Sense was stolen from him. After he flattened Kota, of all people, in a moment of weakness, he began to seriously doubt his ability to analyze real and imagined threats. 

He’s better now, thankfully. Physical rehabilitation to his prior strength and mandated therapy will do that, along with the support of his friends. And Katsuki, of course. No one pushes him to be the best version of himself like Katsuki, after all.

It’s because of that diligence and hard work that Izuku doesn’t pay the noise any mind—no threat detected—and misses Ochaco sitting up straight; the way her eyes widen as gears turn in her brain and the balled-up napkin she throws at Hitoshi.

“But Sero?! If you said Koda I would’ve been way more understanding!” Denki complains. 

“Think about it,” Izuku says, sitting up and keeping his hand in his composition notebook to keep his page. With his other hand, he twirls his pen around and around as he speaks. “Sero-kun has never been caught off-site past curfew whenever everyone sneaks out. He found that wallet on the sidewalk and returned it to its’ owner, who happened to be a foreign prince that took him to a Michelin-starred restaurant in thanks! He never sleeps past his alarms, even if he forgets to set them, and he’s the only one who has ever sweet-talked Lunch Rush into giving him seconds.”

“Damn,” Eijirou swears under his breath, his chin in his hand. He leans forward over the coffee table to punch Izuku in the shoulder with a grin. “Midoriya is right on the money, as always! Your facts are so manly, bro!”

Mashirao slouches in his chair, looking up at the ceiling as his tail flops in misery. “I would die for a second helping of Lunch Rush’s cooking.”

“Midoriya, how are you so good at this game!” Mina laments.

“It’s because Deku-kun is so analytical,” Ochaco says with a small yet proud smile. “He’s been studying us since the day we all met; he probably knows us better than we know ourselves, at this point!”

“That’s true! I’ve seen how comprehensive his notebooks are,” Tenya jumps in, likely thinking of Izuku’s far-too-detailed analysis of Recipro Burst. “He writes about us all the time!”

“Uh,” Izuku rubs the back of his head, feeling warm and fighting against the urge to squirm with all the eyes on him. “I–I wouldn’t say that exactly—”

Hanta shrugs lazily and lounges back into the couch cushions, satisfied with his allotment and (thankfully) stealing the spotlight from Izuku. “You’re all just jealous.”

“Of your hypothetical riches? Please,” Mina scoffs as Denki simultaneously throws his arms in the air with a huff, exclaiming, “Obviously!”

Laughter breaks out across the common area, light and infectious. Izuku’s cheeks begin to ache—an old pain he welcomes, one that flared up occasionally in second year until it finally became chronic—and warmth settles in his chest. Eventually, Tooru manages to get everyone back on track. 

“How about,” she pauses in thought, “most likely to….run the world. For good,” she clarifies when a couple of their classmates move to answer a little too quickly. 

Multiple voices respond in tandem, Izuku’s being one of them. 

“Momo!” 

“Yao-momo!” 

“Momo, duh. Next!”

A delicate blush blooms atop the apples of Momo’s cheeks as she graciously accepts their unanimous nomination. 

Under her breath, she mumbles to Kyoka, “And somehow unqualified for Class Representative.” Kyoka snickers quietly, gently encouraging Momo to lay her head on her shoulder, and Shouto, on Momo’s other side, softly pats the back of her hand in empathy. 

“Someone pick something good!”

“Yeah, who’s next?”

“I know!” Hanta shouts through the debate, casting a quick side-eye towards someone Izuku fails to pinpoint. “Most likely to win Japan’s Most Eligible Hero?”

A concert of groans sound out all around him, echoing off the floorboards and the high ceilings above, off-pitch and on a loop.

“Skip!” 

“Really, Sero?”

“That one’s too easy!”

“How dare you!” Minoru screeches, pointing a finger at Hanta.

“Why is it too easy?” Shouto asks, perplexed. “Momo’s was also an easy pick.”

“Because the answer is you, doll,” Mina drawls, leaning over the table to poke him in the chest. He really has filled out a lot in the last year, Izuku notes. If her lingering touch is anything to go by, Mina’s noticed as well.

“Oh.” Shouto blinks, and a small crease forms between his brows. Heterochromatic eyes dart across the faces surrounding him. “And that’s…bad?”

“Oh, no, sweetie!” Mina is quick to reassure him, along with Momo, Kyoka, and Ochaco.

They pet his hair, rub his arms, and coo at him. Minoru chooses to take his leave then, complaining loudly as he goes and kicking the leg of Eijirou’s chair in frustration (“C’mon, man,” he whines quietly, unfairly targeted). Izuku can’t help but snicker to himself as he watches Minoru hobble his way to the elevator, trying and failing to hide his pain. Eijirou’s weight on that chair was equivalent to a large boulder, after all. 

“It’s just that Yao-Momo was a logical choice, while yours is more…” Kyoka looks to the other girls for assistance.

“Emotional!” Ochaco chimes in. The rest of the class nods in agreement. “Biological, even.”

“Yeah, sorry, man,” Hanta offers, running a hand through his hair with a sheepish smile. “I guess I set everyone up for failure with that one, huh? There really wasn’t another possible answer with you here.”

There’s a lull, lasting only a second—maybe two—as everyone becomes very aware of Shouto staring at Hanta, who doesn’t look away.

Oh.

It’s like that then—

A horrible, raucous cough erupts and breaks them—and everyone else—out of the hypnosis. 

“S–sorry! Sorry!” Izuku manages to scrape out an apology between hacking coughs and rapid gulps of his water. Worried exclamations to his left and right ring out despite Izuku’s attempts to minimize the situation. A whoosh of air blasts across his face and suddenly Tenya is hovering over his shoulder, pushing him forward, and smacking his back like it was caught running through the halls. 

Shit. He’s so embarrassing, the opposite of smooth. His friend was having a moment and the second he realized what was happening in front of him—in front of everyone—he managed to choke on his own saliva and devolve into a respiratory crisis, made worse by Tenya’s overenthusiastic call to action. 

Eventually, Izuku manages to wave him off and settles into a comfortable position on the floor, his back against the couch beside Ochaco’s cotton candy-pink covered legs. He shares a rueful smile with a red-cheeked Shouto as the conversation picks up once more and tunes back in, eager to move on. 

“Most likely to go viral while off duty and drunk?” Tsuyu prompts. 

“Monoma!” Denki calls out.

“Mina!” Kyoka shouts.

“Kaminari-kun!” Izuku supplies. A chorus of “Oohs” and “Yeah, that’s the one,” and “Definitely Kaminari” immediately ring out, music to his ears. He might not be as intense about it as Katsuki, but Izuku does love it when he’s right. 

Kyoka scrunches her face at him. “Sorry, dude. I tried.”

“What!” Denki deflates, looking around in betrayal. “No! Why me?”

“Shhh, babe, it’s fine.” Hitoshi stage whispers, wrapping an arm around Denki’s shoulders and pulling him into his side. Denki lets himself get drawn into his boyfriend’s orbit, comfortable on the other couch. Satisfied, Hitoshi lifts his head and smirks, confirming loudly, “Yeah, it’d be Denki.”

Denki sits up straight with a hand to his chest, aghast. “Et tu, Brute?!” Hitoshi’s lips wobble and press together until they’re nearly white—a rare sign of obvious amusement that Denki almost solely brings out of Izuku’s friend.

“Quit acting so surprised, Dunce Face, damn,” a smoky voice rasps somewhere behind Izuku. He doesn’t look; doesn’t have to. He’d know that voice anywhere; has known its’ every inflection and meaning since he was four years old. Water sloshes quietly around and a heavy exhale precedes Katsuki’s next words, coated in sugar and wrapped in barbed wire. “Or did you forget when you ran out of karaoke a couple weeks ago because you overheard Eyebags say he thought piercings were hot, and then cried on the sidewalk because you couldn’t go through with it.”

“Euurrghhh.” Denki slides down the couch until he’s laid out on the floor with his face hidden in his palms, face down in the carpet. 

“It’s okay, babe,” Hitoshi says, tapping the hoops in Denki’s earlobes. “The earrings are cute.”

“‘Cute,’ he says!” Denki whines. “It was supposed to be nipple piercings.” Mina, Hanta, and Eijirou’s cackles soon drown out Katsuki’s snickering. “Nipple piercings are categorically hot.”

“The fact that you thought you could get your nipples pierced…” Mina teases goodnaturedly, followed by Eijirou’s emphasized, “Bro…” and Hanta’s soft but genuine, “You never stood a chance, man…”

“Bakugou did!”

Izuku’s eyebrows fly up and he cranes his neck around to look at the man in question, along with the rest of Class 3-A, because, I’m sorry, what???

Katsuki takes one last swig of his water bottle—his Adam’s Apple bobbing up and down with the motion—before he lowers it to his side. Smirking wide, Katsuki lifts the hem of his loose black tank top to shoulder-height, revealing a sweat-slicked washboard—ahem, abdominal region—and orange barbells through his nipples. “Fuckin’ right, I did.” 

Izuku’s mouth is so uncomfortably dry. He takes a hefty sip of water for good measure. 

Hitoshi coughs, and asks the question on everyone’s mind. Probably. “When did you get that done?”

“Same night,” Katsuki brags, lowering his shirt and sticking out his tongue at Hitoshi’s boyfriend in mockery. “Sparky, here, was nervous to get it by himself so I stepped up to show him how it’s done. And he still chickened out!”

Denki releases a noise that can only be described as a soggy cat’s desperate cry to be put out of its misery.

Katsuki nods and waves his empty water bottle in Denki’s direction. “Now just imagine what he’d do armed with alcohol and at the mercy of a bunch of cameras.”

Denki crosses his arms over his eyes in defeat. “Oh my god, you’re right.” He rolls over onto his side and assumes the fetal position. “Just leave me here to die.”

Momo claps her hands, unaffected. “Okay, next!” Everyone follows suit, amused and far too used to Denki’s dramatics by this point.

Izuku tunes out the next question, his eyes trailing Katsuki as he rounds the perimeter of the common area and leans against the back of the couch Eijirou shares with Mina. “What’re you losers doing, anyway?”

Katsuki’s eyes flit across the group, considering. Izuku’s gaze darts away just before fire catches in the forest.

“Some game that Tsu’s older brother told her about. Come sit,” Eijirou says, motioning for Mina to scoot over without dislodging his arm from her thigh. “It’s fun, man.”

Izuku can hear the dismissal before it even leaves Katsuki’s lips. He steels himself against the impending disappointment.

“Tch. Pass.” 

“Yeah, Jirou, you better send us all a copy of your EP once you make it big!”

Eijirou turns pleading eyes on his best friend. “Just for a little, bro!” Predictably, Katsuki turns around and walks towards the elevators.

“Boooo,” Mina whisper-yells over her boyfriend’s shoulder. Involuntarily, Izuku’s eyes follow the same path as hers. He doesn’t even realize he’s sighing until he hears Ochaco call his name—and by the sounds of it, it’s not the first time.

“Hm? Sorry, what did you say, Uraraka-san?”

“I said,” she emphasizes teasingly, “since you’ve had the most accurate guesses of anyone tonight, who in the class would you say is most likely to take the title of ‘Best Boyfriend’?”

“Oh!” Izuku blinks, the answer coming to him quickly. “That’s easy: Kirishima-kun, obviously.”

It’s the first time his answer isn’t met with resounding affirmations, or encouragement to elaborate on his choice. Still, Izuku isn’t aware he said anything wrong. It’s a game based upon opinion, after all, and a majority one, at that. It’s meant to invite disagreements and fan the passions of debate. 

Perhaps, if his answer was encased in silence—the bone-chilling, unnatural kind, especially in a room full of eighteen- and nineteen-year-old boisterous future heroes—he might’ve been aware of his terrible misstep. 

Perhaps, if he wasn’t so blind, he might not have missed what was going on around him.

Perhaps, if he still had Danger Sense, he would’ve proceeded with caution. 

Instead, he looks around curiously, yet undeterred, as Ochaco’s jaw hangs open; as multiple people inhale at once; as elevator doors open and then close with no new passengers aboard. A suspicious heat at Izuku’s back has him turning to look over his shoulder, but then Shouto speaks.

“Interesting…”

“Oh, fuck,” Denki mutters, too low for Izuku to make out. Izuku leans forward with a furrowed brow as Denki turns pleading eyes on Hitoshi and Izuku hears, “I don’t want to die before I go viral.”

Izuku’s mouth opens and closes without a word. Shouto interrupts him before he can vocalize any of the confusion whirring in his brain. “Why do you say that, Midoriya?”

No one speaks; everyone merely turns in unison to look at Izuku. It’s eerie, to say the least. Even still, Izuku doesn’t suspect anything to be wrong. Instead, he implores himself to carry on confidently—to defend his position—and answer the question asked of him for the sea of slightly-pale faces before him. It’s good practice, he encourages himself, casting a casual glance at the lights above them. Act as if you’re conducting a class.

With that mentality, Izuku straightens his back and closes his notebook on his lap, giving his friends his full attention. 

“Well,” he begins, counting off his fingers as he goes. “Kirishima-kun is affectionate, never shying away from showing how much he cares for Ashido-san or how comfortable he is with her.” 

Mina nuzzles into Eijirou’s side, who does his best not to blush. Somehow, the red hair makes it more obvious. Emboldened, Izuku barrels on, his speech quickening and growing louder as he pulls from the database in his head. 

“He’s always taking an interest in everyone else’s interests, just because he knows it makes us happy, and is really supportive of us all, but somehow still manages to make it seem special for Ashido-san. He’s strong, so he’s able to carry Ashido-san’s things, and sometimes he even gives her foot massages after a long day of training! He’s great with her parents, and probably plans fun and thoughtful dates—”

“That’s true! You do!” Mina exclaims.

“—and he’s a hugger, which means he probably likes to cuddle.”

“Cuddling is so manly, bro! Everyone needs a hug, sometimes!”

Slowly, Izuku sees some heads start to nod in agreement, summoning a sense of satisfaction in his chest. 

Although, as he looks closer, Shouto appears politely riveted if a bit sick, Ochaco hasn’t untensed from beside him—her gaze sliding past him every few moments—and Hitoshi looks like Christmas came early, which is…odd, to say the least. He had no idea Hitoshi was so invested in Eijirou and Mina’s relationship.

“So,” Ochaco says, almost inaudibly, “you mean, when you said ‘Kirishima-kun’ you actually meant to say…’Kirishima-kun,’ then…?”

“Yeah?” Izuku tilts his head, chuckling. “Who else would I say?”

Eijirou preens, thanking Izuku, as Mina jabs her boyfriend with her elbow and does something strange with her eyes.

“But, Midoriya,” Hitoshi drawls, stealing his attention with an innocent tilt of his head and a lazy grin that does set off his internal alarms. “What about Bakugou?”

Far-off footsteps disturb the quiet. The lights above them start to shake and flicker. The temperature in the room suddenly drops.

“Oh, sorry,” Shouto mumbles, dissolving the ice crystals hovering in the air with a twist of his left wrist.

Denki, back on the couch, peeks between his fingers. “I can’t look.”

Huh? “Wha—” Izuku blinks rapidly. “What about Kacchan?”

“Well, you don’t think he’d be a decent boyfriend?”

A sound that is most definitely not a squeak slips past his lips. “Me?!” 

“I mean…” Hitoshi shrugs innocently, though Izuku knows better. The problem is that he can’t figure out his angle. “You know him best, after all.”

“Well, yeah,” Izuku admits thoughtlessly, rubbing his thumb over his bottom lip as his mind scans through everything he knows about Katsuki, including his obvious dislike for anything romantic and his aversion to touch outside of sparring and battle, and every aborted confession Katsuki ruthlessly shut down over all the years he’s known him. “But the question was the best, and obviously Kiri—”

“HAH?!”

Izuku startles so obnoxiously that he crushes his water bottle in his fist and water leaks out across his lap and onto the floor. “Ka–Kacchan!” He quickly accepts the towels supplied by Momo as he and Ochaco work to absorb the liquid. “Oh, h-hi! Um. I—”

Katsuki’s growl is a menacing, compelling thing when he turns the full force of it on Izuku. “What do you mean, ‘obviously’ I wouldn’t be the best? Hah?!” 

Izuku shivers and glances at Shouto. Hm. His quirk was under control; no more ice crystals. Maybe Denki was accidentally affecting the electricity, and therefore manipulating the thermostat in Heights Allia—

“WELL?!”

Izuku jumps as his train of thought runs off track. Katsuki hovers nearby, blonde hair held back by his headband and messier than usual, his red, narrowed eyes sharp as a blade. If Izuku looks hard enough, he can even see the outline of his nipple piercings.

Nope. Look away!

“Oi! Are you ignoring me, idiot?!”

Right. Katsuki hates to be kept waiting. “Well, tech–technically I didn’t say—”

“HAH?!”

“I just meant—”

“Did you, or did you not, just say that Shitty Hair would be better than me?!”

Izuku pauses his cleaning, raising a hand to his chin and holding his other palm out in emphasis. “To be fair, the rules stated that only one participant could be assigned to a category, and every category could only be assigned one participant, and given those parameters, Kirishima-kun and Ashido-san have been dating the longest, which means there is significantly more data on him than, say, Kaminari-kun or Shinsou-kun, who only just started dating a few months ago. Therefore, there is demonstrative evidence that Kirishima-kun is, or would be th—”

“Don’t you say ‘best’, you shitty nerd!” Katsuki yells from behind Shouto and Ochaco, flushed and deadly. “I’m the best and you know it! Everyone here knows it!”

“The best at getting restraining orders, maybe,” Denki whispers wide-eyed, albeit not quietly enough. 

Without looking away from Izuku with that stubborn gaze, Katsuki extends his arm and sends a concentrated blast at Denki’s face. Izuku yelps, and looks over in alarm. He sighs in relief when he sees Eijirou, nonplussed, block it just in time. 

The quick reflex tells him this is a suspiciously common occurrence for all of them…

Just before Izuku turns his attention back to Katsuki, his eyes catch on Eijirou’s other arm and the way it’s held out to block Mina, too, even though she’s much too far away to get caught in the cross-fire. Not that Katsuki would ever cause collateral damage he didn’t secretly intend; he has far too much control over his quirk for that.

Izuku looks back at Katsuki and flings his hand out with his eyebrows raised, as if to say, need I say more?

Katsuki’s eye twitches. Hitoshi inhales through his teeth and Izuku spies Ochaco dropping her head into her hands from the corner of his eye. He can’t look away from Katsuki, though; he must not look away from Katsuki. This is a battle of wills, and Katsuki’s has always been the strongest. This time, however, Izuku has the perfect ammunition to combat his childhood friend’s easily-insulted pride: he has facts.

“Oh dear,” Momo comments, clutching her hands against her chest. “I’ll go brew some chamomile tea. I think we’re going to need it. Excuse me.”

“Pssst!” It’s Mina. “Bring popcorn!”

“Two!” Denki yells, unsurprisingly. He’s still hiding behind his splayed fingers.

Through it all, Katsuki stares and stares at him, nostrils flaring, fists clenching and unclenching. “Izuku.” 

His name has never sounded like a threat before, but of course, Katsuki managed it. He should’ve known; Katsuki can do anything.

Izuku swallows, his throat dry and his water gone. His eyes sweep around the class, finally noting their troublesome expressions for the first time. Clearly, it was once again up to him to talk Katsuki down, though it’s been a long time since Katsuki was so volatile, or that their friends were walking on eggshells around him. “Kacchan, I—I just meant—”

“I’m the best, Izuku.” Katsuki points at his chest. “I’m going to be number one.”

“Yeah,” Izuku agrees, throwing up his hands, his patience fraying despite his efforts. “At being a hero! But this is for—”

“I KNOW WHAT THE FUCK IT’S FOR AND I’M GOING TO BE THE BEST AT THAT, TOO!” Katsuki stalks around the side of the couch to stand over Izuku. “YOU FUCKIN’ GOT THAT?”

Izuku’s mouth hangs open. “Kacchan… it’s just a—”

A deranged laugh simmers in the back of Katsuki’s throat. Izuku swears his heart seizes in his chest. “YOU’VE DONE IT NOW, SHITTY NERD!”

Eyes wide and full of confusion, Izuku gapes, “WHAT DID I—”

Suddenly, Katsuki is leaning close, practically nose-to-nose with Izuku. The room is unnaturally silent, frozen in time. The only thing he can hear is his own jackrabbiting heartbeat while the cotton fibers of the towel suffocate in his palms. The only thing he can feel is the heat of Katsuki’s breath as it fans over his mouth; the smell of cinnamon and sugar, and the rubber mats from the gym, surround him; the taste of anticipation sits heavy and tantalizing on his tongue. 

The only thing he can see is Kacchan, Kacchan, Kacchan. 

(Outside of his view—beyond the crimson ocean he drowns in—the rest of Class 3-A hold tight to each other’s hands, bracing themselves.)

Some lifetimes later, a warning sounds from Katsuki’s lips. 

“You better watch your back, Iz-u-ku.” 

Briefly—too quick for Izuku to process—Katsuki’s gaze drops down before it flicks back up again, boring into wide, green eyes of wonder.

“Get some sleep tonight because starting tomorrow, I’m going to date you so hard, you’re going to wish it was just a game.”

Someone in the back whispers, "What does that even mean?"

Before Izuku can fully register the threat, Katsuki straightens and hauls his empty water bottle at Eijirou without a glance as he spins to leave. Hanta effortlessly catches it with his quirk. 

Izuku doesn’t take his eyes off Katsuki as he stalks to the elevators. No one else has spoken. What could they possibly say? Katsuki steps inside and faces Izuku again. 

“Oi!” He yells, even though he already has Izuku’s attention. “Make sure you eat something before bed, and not some shitty vending machine bullshit, either, or I’ll kill you, nerd!” 

Just then, the elevator doors begin to shut. Katsuki shoots forward, undeterred. Using one hand, Katsuki forces the elevator door open until it groans. “OI! YOU HEAR ME?!”

“Y-YEP!” Izuku gasps. “Yeah, Kacchan! Promise!”

A surly grunt answers him as the doors are finally allowed to shut. The room exhales, shaky and awed.

Eventually, Mina breaks the quiet. “This is the best day of my life.” 

“Same,” Hitoshi agrees with a look of exhilaration.

Eijirou and Denki glance at each other, slightly concerned. 

“Did that just happen?” Hanta whispers to no one in particular.

Izuku doesn’t say anything. 

It’s an unspoken, unanimous decision to stop the game and reset the vibe as everyone moves around, grabs snacks, and Eijirou’s new video game is inserted into the gaming system. Ochaco’s hand squeezes Izuku’s shoulder as she passes him and he can feel Hitoshi’s eyes on him as he remains in his spot on the floor. He feels Shouto take up Ochaco’s seat, his calf resting against Izuku’s arm in that steady, sure way of his. 

Conversation flows around him, as seamlessly as a river. His friends enjoy a rare Sunday night with no assignments, laughing and gossiping and taking turns with the controllers. They shriek in excitement when Hitoshi bests Denki and silently offer Izuku snacks without demanding anything of him, working around him without issue. Throughout it all, Izuku doesn’t move; doesn’t engage; his mind racing and blank all at once. He leans into the warmth of Shouto’s leg and twirls his pen around his fingers mindlessly, his other thumb tap-tap-tapping against his notebook relentlessly. He’s not sure why, but the confrontation with Katsuki left him off-balance, and no amount of practiced laughter or well-timed smiles shake him out of it.

If his friends notice him staring at the elevators every so often, they keep it to themselves.

xx

Morning dawns like any other day, with Izuku groggily donning his uniform and collecting his belongings after yet another too-late night reading up on the latest Hero Spotter daily crime report in bed.

By the time the elevator reaches the ground floor, Izuku feels almost like a person again. He greets Tsuyu and Koji, the orange beams of light shining through the windows bringing a sleepy smile to his face. As he readjusts his backpack, Izuku spots Ochaco and Shouto talking by the front door and heads in their direction.

Except, he doesn’t make it far before his air supply is unexpectedly cut off, his tie and collar tight around his throat.

“Where do you think you’re going, nerd?” 

“Ka–Kacch–” Izuku gasps, feeling his face grow red. 

Katsuki hauls him backward to the kitchen entrance before releasing him. Izuku rubs his neck with a pout. That’s one way to wake up. Katsuki leans against the frame with a scowl. 

Izuku clears his throat. “Good morning, Kacchan!”

He grunts. “Did you eat dinner last night?”

He thinks of all the snacks that were passed around and taps his chin, looking at the cabinets behind Katsuki’s head. “And by ‘dinner’ you mean—” 

Izuku’s stomach chooses that moment to growl loudly.

Katsuki audibly grinds his teeth; Izuku winces. “And you were just going to head to class without breakfast?”

“Technically, it would still be breakfast if I ate after the morning classes!”

“Tch.” Katsuki pushes off the doorframe with a scoff. He starts pulling out containers from the fridge and rifles through the cabinets. “By then it'll be lunch, idiot. Don’t try and weasel your way out like that, I thought you were trying to be better about your health.” He casts a disappointed look over his shoulder at Izuku, who instantly wilts.

“You’re right, Kacchan.” He steps forward, ringing his hands. “What are you—oh, you don’t have to—I can just grab a protein bar from the—”

Katsuki silences him with a hand in the air. “If the next words out of your mouth are ‘vending machine,’ I will turn you to ash where you stand. Imagine your mom’s face when you have to explain it to her.”

Izuku hesitates, but really, he can’t just help himself. He squints at Katsuki’s back. “But if I was cremated, I wouldn’t be able to explain to—”

“YOU BETTER FIND A WAY!”

“Okay, yup. Sure will,” Izuku agrees with a nod.

Katsuki cleans up his station in record time and pushes two onigiri warmed to perfection into his hands. “Eat.” He gestures impatiently as Izuku gratefully accepts the food and beams at him. “Now. What’d you think I meant, tomorrow?”

Katsuki waits until Izuku dutifully stuffs his face and bumps his shoulder against Izuku’s as he leaves the kitchen. Izuku follows, not bothering to restrain the moan falling from his lips. “Unnnm—Achh-annnn! Thiff if amafing! Acchan if amafing!”

“Shut up. Quit talking with your mouth full, nerd.” Katsuki casts a look back at Izuku and stops, causing Izuku to stop, too. His ears are slightly red, Izuku notices with a slight frown. He resolves to stop talking while eating; he doesn’t want to be rude, and he never wants to upset Katsuki. “Gimme that.”

His friend grabs Izuku’s backpack by the strap and pulls, dislodging it from his shoulder.

“Whuf are you do’in?” So much for that resolution.

He watches as Katsuki slings his backpack over one shoulder and Izuku’s over the other. “Let’s go,” he says with a nod toward the doors and heads off, not bothering to answer his question. Izuku swallows and goes to ask again when Katsuki cuts him off. “If you’re talking that means you’re not eating!”

Izuku pouts and takes another bite, the frown melting from his face with a dreamy sigh. Kacchan really is amazing, he thinks, following him happily.

“Oh!” Denki jogs up beside him. “Is that one of Bakugou’s? Can I have a bite?” 

Before Izuku can hand it over, Katsuki decides for him. “Get lost, Pikachu.”

“C’mon, man! I’m so hungry.”

Katsuki shrugs carelessly, as if Izuku’s backpack isn’t filled to the brim with textbooks and notebooks. “Should’ve gotten up earlier to make something instead of snoozing five alarms.”

“But Midoriya didn’t get up early, either!” An affronted noise escapes Izuku’s full mouth. Denki smiles sheepishly. “Sorry, dude, I gotta shoot my shot. Man’s gotta eat, and you know Bakugou’s food is the best.”

“Don’t bother,” Mina calls from behind them. Hanta and Eijirou flank either side of her. “You know you’re just wasting your breath.”

“Yeah, man. Bakugou doesn’t give anyone his food except for Midoriya!” Eijirou’s megawatt smile softens the blow, but Denki turns away from the shine.

“Sometimes he does!”

“Eating Bakugou’s cooking when it’s his rotation for dinner, or when he’s going to throw out leftovers that are about to go bad, doesn’t count,” Hanta points out.

Denki groans and Izuku’s gaze flicks from him to the last bite of his onigiri to Katsuki’s back to Denki again. Denki catches on, and straightens up as Izuku holds a finger to his lips. 

Just before the goods are transferred, Katsuki shouts, “YOU BETTER EAT EVERY SINGLE GRAIN OF RICE, NERD, UNLESS YOU WANT TO GET CHOKED OUT TWICE IN ONE MORNING!”

The fingers holding the onigiri take a hard right turn and park the food in Izuku’s mouth. Denki’s disappointment is overshadowed by a look of surprise, eyeing Izuku and Katsuki up and down. “Damn. That escalated quickly.”

“Shut it, Dunce Fance.”

“Can’t say I’m not surprised, though,” he says with a leer. Izuku swallows the last of his breakfast in confusion. “I told Hitoshi that you two would be certified frea–”

One moment Denki is walking beside him, and the next, he’s flat on the ground with smoke rising from his hazy-eyed, smiling body, giving the wintry morning sky two enthusiastic thumbs up.

“KACCHAN!”

“He’ll be fine,” he says with a careless wave. “See.”

Izuku looks back and sees Hanta grab and lift Denki with his tape, Eijirou smack his face to refocus him and then carry him over his shoulder, and Mina bend down to collect his materials from the ground. When he turns back, the gap between Katsuki and him is too great. He hurries to close it.

He reaches for his backpack. “Here, Kacchan, let me—”

“Oi!” Katsuki moves out of reach, offended, glaring at Izuku as he keeps walking.

Izuku blinks, surprised, and stumbles before he keeps pace. “Kacchan, you don’t have to—”

Katsuki stops suddenly, and Izuku walks into him. His voice is deep and dangerous. “Are you telling me I can’t handle—”

“No!” Izuku waves his hands, rushing to dismiss that insinuation. “Of course not! I just meant that I’m done eating now, so I can—”

Katsuki backs away out of Izuku’s reach when he moves to grab his backpack again. Izuku freezes. Katsuki doesn’t say anything until Denki & Co. have passed them, choosing to stare silently at Izuku, who gulps, unable to get a read on the situation.

“You listen, and you listen closely,” Katsuki finally says, gruff and serious. Izuku nods rapidly, hanging on his every word. “I said I was going to be the best boyfriend ever, better than Shitty Hair over there or any other extra you’re mooning over. So now you’re going to watch me become number one at this, too, and take it, until your sorry ass admits that I’m right and you were wrong. Got it?”

Oh, shit.

Izuku’s eyebrows get lost somewhere under his curls. Katsuki was serious?! Over a questionable amount of hours last night, Izuku managed to convince himself of the absurdity of their argument, and how ridiculous his reaction was, and put the whole thing behind him as one big joke.

But now? With Katsuki’s steely determination and Izuku’s backpack over one shoulder? He realizes he gravely underestimated Katsuki’s commitment to surpassing everyone at every thing.

“Mhm,” Izuku whispers with an imperceptible nod. “Got it.”

Katsuki looks him over and nods before resuming their walk to class. Izuku releases a long, heavy whoosh as he scans his surroundings, finding only greenery and songbirds instead of a horde of nosy paparazzi, much less one lone witness to share in his shock. 

The warning bell rings in the distance and Izuku startles, glancing at his watch. Damnit! Katsuki is nearly at the building already. Izuku starts to run to catch up with his fr—

Wait a fucking second. 

Is Katsuki his boyfriend now?!

xx

Izuku slides into his seat seconds before a certain exhausted teacher rouses from his sleeping bag, his backpack slung over his chair with his notebook and pen already laid out for him. 

He can’t relax, on edge and alert the entire period. Every time Katsuki shifts, Izuku shifts with him, uncomfortable in his (boy)friend’s unpredictability: Katsuki passes him a piece of paper, Izuku blushes from head to toe before he realizes it’s just their newest assignment; Katsuki half-turns to toss a remark at Eijirou, Izuku startles and looks the opposite way, humming offkey under his breath, to distract from his compulsive, continuous staring; Katsuki stands to walk to lunch mid-conversation with Kyoka, and grabs Izuku’s backpack without a thought, packing his notebook away. 

Izuku sits there, moving as if in a trance, handing Katsuki his pen—which he takes and files away in the small pocket on the side where Izuku always stores it—and standing when Katsuki motions for him to do so. He pushes in Izuku’s chair as he and Kyoka debate (gush) over the stylistic choices in a new song from a band they both admire. Katsuki starts to walk away with both bags over one shoulder and his hand held out behind him. Izuku moves without a thought even as his wide eyes blink down at the offering (demand) in awe and beads of sweat collect at the nape of his neck. When Katsuki’s hand curls around his, a scream is barely held at bay by the skin of his teeth. 

Kacchan is holding my hand. 

Kacchan is holding my hand. 

Kacchan is holding my hand. 

His palms are so soft and smooth, not at all what I would have imagined given how hard he trains. His strength is incredible, surely he should have at least half the callouses I have? It must be a product of his quirk, given the nitroglycerin-like substance. Fascinating! He must never need to moisturize. I wonder if, since he can produce his sweat, and therefore his quirk, over his entire body, if it would produce the same texture, and keep him virtually eternally youthful?! That would be amazing, which only makes sense because Kacchan is amazing! 

Wait. If his hands are super soft, and mine aren’t, does he hate the way my hands feel? Are they too rough? My knuckles always crack and bleed in the winter, but now that it’s almost spring, they aren’t as bad. But they’re not great, either. I wonder if Kacchan would notice if I—

“You’re not going anywhere, nerd.” 

Izuku looks up, dropping his thumb from his lip. “Huh?”

“Your hands are fine, relax.” Katsuki punctuates his statement with a squeeze of his palm before dropping his hand. It takes a moment for Izuku to realize he must’ve been mumbling under his breath again. 

“Oh,” he says with a quick, barely-there smile. Izuku looks around and realizes they’re in the dining hall, and Kyoka is nowhere to be seen. 

Katsuki rubs the back of his neck as he moves up in line. Izuku moves with him, unsure what he should do now. Maybe there’s a guide he can look up online…

“And yeah, it’s because of my quirk. I still have to moisturize, like anybody else, but my hands less so, since I use my quirk so often, and predominantly contain use to that one area.” 

“Oh,” he says again, looking at his feet. This is great information—stuff he’s never thought of before. He needs to add it to his notebook before he forgets.

“Go.”

“Huh?” That one, inarticulate response feels like his general state of mind today.

“Go,” Katsuki says, gesturing with his head at the tables. “Grab a seat. I know you want to jot down all your stalker thoughts while they’re fresh. I’ll get our food.”

Izuku doesn’t even hesitate. He beams at Katsuki with a quick thanks and beelines to their usual table, whipping out the almost-full Hero Analysis for the Future Vol. 16 he brings with him everywhere and inserting a tab to remind him to copy the information down into his Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight Volume when he gets back to his room later. 

“Bakugou’s got your food?” Hitoshi asks as he sits down across from him. 

Izuku hums in affirmation, scribbling down notes slower than his brain would like. “He knows better than me what I like, anyway.” 

“I know that’s true,” Hitoshi mutters.

“Hm?” Izuku looks up.

“Hm?”

Izuku tilts his head, his pen suspended in the air to prevent an inkblot. “Did you say something?”

Hitoshi’s eyes flick past him instead of answering. “Bakugou,” he nods, “Todoroki, Ochaco.” 

Katsuki nods at him before dropping the tray with a loud clatter. His friends take their usual seats on the other side of the table. “Have at it, nerd.”

“One sec—”

“No. Eat now, Q&A later.” Katsuki closes his notebook for him and slides the tray in its place without a glance, focused on the noodles lodged in his chopsticks. 

“Oh, uh,” Izuku says, food centimeters from his lips—not in his mouth, thank you very much, “Are you eating here? W-with m–us, I mean?”

Katsuki grunts. “What’s it look like?”

“Yes…?”

“Then that’s your answer. Stop asking stupid questions.”

“Right,” Izuku says quietly, staring into his bowl of yakisoba. “Right.”

The rest of lunch carries on that way, as does the remainder of the school day. It’s the same—Katsuki is the same—they’re the same—except it’s not. He’s not. They’re not. 

They walk together, but they’re also holding hands. Katsuki sits with him at lunch the entire time, rather than just for a few minutes at the start and end. Katsuki either lets Izuku and his friends chat amongst themselves without interruption or chimes in civilly, with only goodnatured sass on occasion. When they sit beside one another, Katsuki spontaneously pulls him in by the waist until their thighs are touching. When they sit across from one another, Katsuki loosely holds his ankle hostage between his own. 

It feels scandalous, and like his skin is on fire. Although, now that he thinks of it, that could be a side effect of Katsuki’s quirk; they’ve never been in consistent physical touch for long, so it’s something Izuku’s never noticed before. He knows Katsuki runs hot, after all, so that must be it. Izuku’s body is definitely not overheating and tingly for any other reason. He’ll have to ask him about that later, too. 

The strangest thing, though, is that, for the most part, no one is acting as if anything is different, even though it very obviously is. Katsuki? Constantly touching another person? Outside of battle? Without threat of dismemberment? Hello?! This is groundbreaking, and, aside from a few curious looks from students from other years, they’ve barely garnered a second glance. Even Aizawa-sensei glossed over their locked hands and nodded at them in dismissal as if it was business as usual.

It very much is not business as usual—every time Katsuki does anything even remotely boyfriend-y, Izuku’s mind goes blank. He becomes no better than a robot, cataloguing every microexpression for analysis, stalling when met with an unfamiliar prompt, computing the best response and adapting accordingly, moving in stilted motions when trialing a new development between them. 

Still, he almost appreciates the nonchalance. If their class or—All Might forbid—a random student made it a big deal, it would only rile up Katsuki more than Izuku accidentally did this morning, drawing even more eyes to them, which would not help his nerves in the slightest. 

Only his closest friends have subtly let on that this isn’t all in his head. Izuku can feel Shouto’s eyes on him more than usual—which offers a strange comfort that he appreciates—Hitoshi noticeably opts not to taunt Katsuki—an almost unsettling change—and Ochaco—

“Hey.” She grasps Izuku’s elbow before he follows Katsuki out of their last class of the day. Slowing his steps, Izuku turns to her, plastering on a smile that he knows she doesn’t buy, because hers is the mirror-image of it. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Izuku says with a forced laugh. “Of course. Kacchan’s just being Kacchan, after all. I know how he can be, even with games and hypotheticals. I shouldn’t have poked the bear.”

Ochaco tilts her head, squinting at him. Cautiously, she says, “I don’t think he’s joking…”

Izuku’s laugh comes slightly more naturally to him this time. “Well, no, he really meant that he would be the best! And if Kacchan believes that, then it must be true. Kacchan can do anything he puts his mind to!” He rubs the back of his neck, sighing. “But I’m not the same pushover I used to be. Not that I’m saying he still sees me that way,” he rushes to clarify, “because he doesn’t! I just mean that…I know him, I guess.” 

Izuku picks at his nails for a moment, mulling over his thoughts, trying to find the right words for the jumbled mess in his head. Ochaco, blessedly, lets him. 

“And if this actually means something to him, then I’m not just going to roll over and accept his opinion as the truth. I’ll stand by my judgment unless and until he proves otherwise. Kacchan only accepts proper victories, anyway.”

She frowns, considering him for long moments, before patting the back of his hand comfortingly, ending his fidgeting. “As long as you know what you’re doing.”

“I do!” He answers automatically. “I do,” he repeats quietly. 

“You ready?” Izuku looks up, realizing they’ve made it to the exit. Katsuki waits by the door with his eyes on Izuku as his friends chat amongst themselves nearby. Katsuki holds his hand out, his face betraying nothing. 

As if this is an everyday occurrence. As if holding Izuku’s hand isn’t strange, or foreign, or a means to an end. 

Izuku steps forward instinctively, glancing back at Ochaco. Are you seeing this?! She merely waves him off with an amused grin, and off he goes, hand-in-hand with Bakugou Katsuki and the Bakusquad.

“Didn’t I tell you to stop calling it that?!” 

“Embrace it, bro!” 

“This is all your fault, Pinky!” 

“YAS! Credit where credit is due! I love it, Bakubabe!” 

“DIE!” 

Izuku has a stitch in his side from all the laughing by the time they make it back to the dorms, enamored by Katsuki’s patience for his friends and the playful way he pretends at their irksomeness. As he sits down for dinner—cooked and plated for Izuku, and only Izuku, much to Denki’s vocal disappointment—Izuku realizes that, between his conversation with Ochaco and the levity of Katsuki and his friends’ antics, somehow he completely forgot about their pretend relationship and all the baseless worries that fluttered around in his stomach.

xx

The rest of the week passes in the same vein, although with two marked differences: one, Izuku slowly gets more comfortable with Katsuki’s new behaviors after they reappear on the second day, reminding himself of his internal vow to let Katsuki prove himself; and two, Katsuki escalates his role as Izuku’s Boyfriend a little bit each day, seemingly taking his newfound comfort as permission to continue. 

Izuku doesn’t challenge that understanding. 

On Tuesday, Katsuki shifts from holding Izuku’s hand in the halls to resting his hand on Izuku’s thigh while they eat lunch. Izuku jumps so high, he stands, and remains there, staring at nothing.

It’s admittedly not his best moment. 

“What…are you doing?” Hitoshi asks as Shouto eats his soba without missing a beat.

“Fix him,” Ochaco whispers, leaning across the table.

“Oi, nerd,” Katsuki says, tugging on his pants. “Sit down.”

“Right.”

Katsuki’s hand returns to Izuku’s thigh, his thumb rubbing soothing circles until his muscle relaxes. When they’re done, Katsuki leans back and wraps an arm around his shoulder as they talk with his friends; any remaining tension melts from Izuku’s body as he leans into Katsuki’s side. 

The following day, Katsuki texts him.

Kacchan 💥

morning nerd

Izuku blinks blearily at his screen until his vision clears. He gasps and sits up fast. 

Izuku

kacchan!!

good morning!!

Kacchan 💥

breakfast in 10

get down here in 9 or i’m giving it to sparky

Izuku tries and fails to hide a smile, biting his nail as he debates his response. Eh, in Katsuki’s words, fuck it.

Izuku

no you won’t (˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ )

Kacchan 💥

no i won’t

tick fucking tock nerd. u got 7 minutes

Izuku jumps out of bed and scrambles to get ready quicker than ever before. He makes it downstairs with a minute to spare.

Katsuki texts him throughout the day, even though they’re rarely far apart. Izuku studies with Ochaco, Tenya and Shouto after dinner in the common area and scrambles to open his messages when he sees a notification from Katsuki.

Kacchan💥

night nerd.

don’t stay up too late

He shouldn’t. He really shouldn’t. But…

Izuku

or what ∘ ∘ ∘ ( °ヮ° ) ?

Kacchan💥

the fuck

or else i won’t make u breakfast, shitty nerd

Izuku

yes you will

Kacchan💥

u wanna try me?

Izuku isn’t even aware of the grin splitting his face, or the look Ochaco and Tenya share when they clock it.

Izuku

it’s fine if kacchan doesn’t wanna feed me!

i can just get something from the machine or skip

not like it’d be the first time

Kacchan💥

u little fucker 

Izuku

goodnight kacchan ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂)⸝♡

The next day begins and ends the same way, with a good morning and good night text from Katsuki and delicious food in between. 

During the day, though, is a different story; Katsuki throws the biggest curveball yet. 

After the class walks over to Gym Gamma, Aizawa-sensei assigns them partners and opponents from Class B. Katsuki huffs as Izuku gets paired with Shouto against Kendo Itsuka and Tetsutetsu Tetsutetsu, leaning on Izuku with his elbow on his shoulder. He grabs Izuku by the hand and drags him over to an approaching Shouto.

“You do anything that lands him in Recovery Girl’s office or causes him to use the last of the Embers in some hackjob simulation training battle, and you’re going to slurp soba through a straw for the rest of your life. You got that, Icy-hot?”

Shouto contemplates his words. “Why would I do that?”

“HAH?!”

“That seems inefficient. It’s much faster to use chopsticks.”

Katsuki steps as close as possible to Shouto, squinting at him so fiercely and at such a miniscule distance, that their eyes nearly cross. Eventually, Shouto’s upper lip spasms.

“Fuck you, Half-and-Half.” Katsuki shoves Shouto back a step, both of them trying and failing to hide their mutual amusement and begrudging friendship. Izuku watches them with a fondness he can’t describe. 

“You.”

Izuku points at himself. “Hm? Me?”

“Yeah, you.” Katsuki stops short of passing him, their shoulders brushing, his breath ghosting Izuku’s face. He leans in, brushing his lips over Izuku’s ear and whispers, “Give those extras hell.” Before he pulls away, he kisses Izuku’s cheek, soft and affectionate. 

Izuku gasps, his hand cupping his cheek protectively as he spins to follow Katsuki with his eyes, watching as he and Monoma Neito grin manically at each other and slap hands in greeting, huddling to form a battle plan against Kaibara Sen and Tenya. 

“Ready?” 

Izuku turns to face Shouto, shaking his head to focus. “Yes. Yeah! Okay, so, for Tetsutetsu, I was thinking…” 

Shouto listens intently, offering his own thoughts to supplement Izuku’s battle plan as they find higher ground in their assigned sector. All the while, Izuku’s cheek tingles and buzzes and burns, Katsuki’s words lighting a fire under him as he slides fast on Shouto’s ice, lighter than air.

He gives them hell.

Later, Izuku walks back to the dorms with his friends after a text from Katsuki telling him to go on without him. 

It’s strange. It’s strange in how strange it is, in how quickly he got used to Katsuki’s company; in how comfortable he became after he let himself enjoy Katsuki’s one-man campaign; in how easily a routine was formed and relied upon. 

Hours later, well after dinner, the Bakusquad enters Heights Alliance in their rowdy, infectious way: laughing and teasing each other over some exaggerated blunder on their walk, piled around a scowling (yet indulgent) Katsuki, whose eyes find Izuku immediately. 

Izuku looks away quickly, his eyes glossing over the same manga panel six, seven, eight times before Katsuki reaches him, leaning over the back of the couch where Izuku sits.

“Hey.” His voice is low, as if he’s trying not to startle Izuku, even though he must know Izuku saw him arrive. He places another gentle kiss on Izuku’s cheek in greeting. 

Izuku smiles before he can prevent it, warmth rising in his cheeks. “Hey,” he says, just as quiet, closing his manga. Katsuki smells of cinnamon and smoke and fresh air and Izuku is struck with the sudden urge to lean in and nuzzle his face in the crook of Katsuki’s neck until it replaces all the oxygen in his lungs. He clears his throat. “Uh, welcome back?”

“Did you eat?”

Izuku nods. Katsuki raises an eyebrow. “I swear,” he promises with a laugh. “Shoji-kun made dinner for everyone tonight.”

Katsuki nods, patting the back of the cushion in emphasis as he straightens. “Good. Come to my room before you go to bed. I have something to show you.”

Denki laughs loudly as he passes by with Eijirou and Hanta. “HA! I bet you do!”

“CAN IT, SPARKY!”

Hanta shoves Denki forward with a shake of his head as Denki snickers and Eijirou looks back in apology. Katsuki gives him a look. “Later, yeah?”

Izuku gulps. “Sure, Kacchan.”

He only lasts forty-five minutes before he finds himself selecting the fourth floor on the elevator. He has no idea what happened in the last couple chapters of his manga but Katsuki asked Izuku to come to his room—a sentence Izuku would’ve laughed at a month ago. Katsuki doesn’t allow anyone into his sacred space; even Eijirou has only been allowed to hover in the open doorway, the furthest anyone’s gotten. He really can’t contain his curiosity, which, Izuku realizes after racing down the hall and knocking three times succinctly, Katsuki must’ve banked on.

“It’s open.”

“Oh, shit,” Izuku gasps under his breath. With shaking hands, Izuku opens the door and steps through.

It’s everything and nothing Izuku imagined it to be. It’s tidy, minimalistic, and every area serves a function at maximum output. His desk is orderly and organized, lined with textbooks and other resources that pique Izuku’s interest. There’s training equipment by the closet, but nothing too bulky or impractical. Shelving on the opposite wall holds now-retired support items from old versions of his hero costume, which makes the fanboy in Izuku quake in his slippers. 

“Stop snooping, you’re getting drool everywhere.”

“Oh!” Izuku spins, wiping his chin and finding it dry. He glares at a smirking Katsuki, who lounges against the wall on his bed in his trademark loose tank top and joggers. 

“C’mere,” he beckons with his hand. When Izuku sits on the edge of his bed, Katsuki leans over, his shirt riding up on his waist, revealing a strip of lean muscle and the hint of a scar. Izuku pointedly looks away until Katsuki sits up with an exhale, done rifling through his backpack on the floor. “Here.”

Izuku frowns, curious. “What’s this?”

Katsuki rolls his eyes. “Open it.”

“Oh, Kacchan,” Izuku says, every syllable dripping in awe. His hands tremble as they grip the packaging, so he sets it down ever so gently on the bed, worried he’ll dent it. “How did you…”

Pride fills Katsuki’s voice, briefly tearing Izuku’s eyes away from the Special Edition Golden Age All Might Cape. “Told the old hag about it once the drop location was announced, had her pull a few strings to get in early. I’m talkin’ like four a.m. early. She still had to wait over an hour before they opened the doors but…yeah. She dropped it off today.”

Izuku’s jaw drops. “Kacchan!”

“What?!”

“Your mom got this?! Here,” he pushes it towards Katsuki. “I can’t accept this.”

Katsuki gawks at him. “HAH?! Yes, you can.” He pushes it back towards Izuku. Izuku stares at it with undisguised want, but doesn’t make a move. Katsuki sighs, softening his voice. “It’s for you, idiot. Take it.”

Izuku does, but only because he has no self control. “I need to write her a thank you letter.” He jumps off the bed, holding it to his chest with the tenderness of a young mother holding her newborn child, and makes for the door. 

“Now?! Wait! Hold the fuck up,” Katsuki yells, chasing after him and holding the door open. “I’m the one who devised the whole thing. I should be the one getting a ‘thank you.’” He’s not pouting as they walk to the elevator, but he’s not not pouting. It’s kind of adorable?

Izuku bats his eyes at Katsuki and says in a sing-song voice, “Thank you, Kacchan.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He rolls his eyes, fond as ever, and jams the ‘second floor’ button with far too much force.

“Wait!” Izuku exclaims, coming to a halt as soon as he steps onto his floor. Katsuki keeps walking ahead of him. “I take it back! You liar! You let me think these were sold out!”

“I didn’t lie to you,” Katsuki grins over his shoulder, shark-like and heart-stopping. “I just didn’t correct you.”

Izuku’s jaw drops open. “You…”

Katsuki turns around, walking backward with his hands in his pockets, grinning. “Me, what?”

“You…” Izuku screws up his face and goes for it. “YOU FUCKER!”

Izuku hears a muffled “LANGUAGE!” from the third floor as Katsuki barks out a laugh that surprises them both, leaving him doubled over and shaking. Izuku presses his lips together, trying desperately to contain his own laughter, riding the high of his new gift and the melody of Katsuki’s unrestrained amusement. He did that.

“Fuck, shitty nerd,” Katsuki says after a moment, wiping his eyes. Izuku glances at him with his cheeks aching and a warmth in his chest he can’t put into words. They slow to a stop at his door. “So. Wanna study tomorrow? We have—”

“You don’t have to do this, Kacchan.” The words are out before his brain even registers them.

He frowns. “Do what?”

“This,” Izuku says with a wave at his door. “This whole…performance.” Katsuki squints at him, tracking his wild hand movements that have a mind of their own. “Don’t get me wrong—I’m so thankful for this gift, really, I am. You have no idea. Well. I guess you have some idea. You have more of an idea than anyone else, probably. Less an idea and more of an understanding, I should say. But—y’know, no one’s around, and it’s a nice touch, really, but don’t feel like you have to text me or walk me to my—”

A deep, drawn out groan interrupts Izuku’s rambling, followed by a loud thunk. Izuku looks up abruptly. Katsuki leans against the wall next to Izuku’s room with his hands over his face, breathing out frustrated laughter. 

Izuku waits, pulling at the hem of his t-shirt.

Katsuki drops his hands, and Izuku straightens. Rolling his head to the side, crimson eyes stare him down. “You still think this is a game, huh.” Izuku swallows, thrown off by the small upturn of Katsuki’s lips and the taunting nature of his words. “You’re still not taking me seriously.”

That’s the furthest thing from the truth. Izuku always takes Katsuki seriously; he would never do him such a disservice. “I just don’t want to intrude on your day. I mean,” he looks at his wrist where his watch would be, if he had one, “you’re normally in bed at this time and—”

“Do I ever do anything I don’t want to do?” Katsuki bends his head to catch Izuku’s gaze, but Izuku swiftly dodges it. “Do I ever say something I don’t mean?”

“...No. No, you—”

“So you still think Shitty Hair is the best, huh? Is that it?” Katsuki’s grates out.

Izuku blinks, holding his hand out between them. “I didn’t say—”

“You think I can’t be the best? HAH? When have I ever failed to get what I want?”

“N-never, Kacchan. I—” 

Izuku abruptly cuts off whatever platitude was on his lips as Katsuki takes one large step forward, backing Izuku into his door. Katsuki leans forward. 

Closer. 

Closer, still. 

Izuku can feel the cold metal of the door at his back and the heat of Katsuki a hairsbreadth away from his chest. It makes him dizzy, delirious, short of breath. Katsuki’s eyes drop to his mouth just before he descends.

Oh, shit. Oh, shit. Shitshitshit— 

Katsuki bypasses his lips, skimming his mouth along his cheekbone to reach his ear. Izuku shivers as his eyes flutter closed.

“Don’t you worry your pretty little head, Izuku,” Katsuki whispers. He presses a delicate, lingering kiss on Izuku’s jaw, and Izuku shamelessly turns into it, completely without thought. He feels Katsuki’s lips curl into a smile; it feels like a brand. 

Katsuki’s hand smooths down Izuku’s ribs and around his waist, light and possessive, uncaring about being found in the precarious position they’re in. 

“I’m coming for you,” Katsuki promises against his jaw, and then there’s a faint click and Izuku is stumbling back into his room, barely catching himself and protecting the packaging in his hand. 

Izuku looks up, panting, heart racing. Katsuki leans in his doorway, bare arms braced against the frame, smirking at Izuku like a predator playing with his food.

“Sweet dreams, baby.”

xx

Kacchan💥

morning nerd

Izuku

good morning kacchan!!!

it’s friday YAY

Kacchan💥

get ur ass down here. food’s gonna get cold

Izuku

yes kacchan (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)

Phew. Izuku mentally wipes the sweat from his brow as he makes his way to the kitchen. This is good. This is normal. 

Well. Normalish. Back to their new normal, he supposes. No more of—

“Hey, Midoriya!” 

Izuku freezes midstep, surprised to find Tsuburaba Kosei from Class 3-B in their building. Looking around, he realizes most of the other class is present, too, and belatedly remembers they’re bussing to U.S.J. together this morning.

“Good morning!” Izuku smiles warmly, excited for another day of collaborating with the other class this week. Their sections mingled a lot more often after the war, but he admittedly doesn’t know Kosei well. It’d be nice to change that; make a new friend. “Ready for today?”

“Yeah, absolutely!” He says enthusiastically, stepping close to Izuku. “Hey, if we’re allowed to choose our partners today, do you want to team up?” He extends his arm, playfully punching Izuku in the shoulder. 

Izuku masks his surprise, his smile pulling wider. “Yeah, of course! I’d love to. Your quirk is so interesting! I’ve always wanted to ask you some questions that I have about it. Do you mind?” He drops his backpack on the floor, gesturing to it and reaching for the notebook inside.

Kosei’s eyes light up. “Not at all! Maybe we can sit together on the bus, too, and you can ask whatever you’d like,” he suggests with a lopsided grin.

“Sur—ooomf!”

Izuku stumbles, succumbing to gravity until he falls into a warm, solid chest that smells of cinnamon and smoke. When Katsuki speaks, Izuku can feel the rumble against his back, bringing an involuntary smile to his face. “You’re late, nerd.”

“Oh! Sorry, Kacchan!” Izuku apologizes, leaning his head back against Katsuki’s shoulder to get a look at him, but the other boy is locked in a staring contest with their Class 3-B counterpart. “I, um, I ran into Tsuburaba-kun and we were talking a-about today’s training. Isn’t it crazy that in all these years at U.A., we’ve never been partners?!”

“Mm, crazy.” Katsuki’s arm pulls tighter around Izuku’s waist, and Izuku leans into him willingly.

“Yeah.” Kosei’s boyish grin from moments ago veers into a smirk, victorious and taunting. It confuses Izuku, and doesn’t go unnoticed by Katsuki, if the sudden tensing in his muscles is any sign. “Midoriya-kun and I are going to partner up today. We were actually just about to head to the bus to grab our seats, right?” He gestures with his head towards the doors expectantly, only to pause when Katsuki drops his head back in a humorless laugh.

Oh, no. Izuku knows that laugh.

“What?” Kosei scowls.

“Just hilarious, is all,” Katsuki shrugs.

The other boy exhales loudly through his nose. “What is.”

Katsuki leans down until his cheek is nearly pressed against Izuku’s. It takes everything in Izuku not to close the distance; to not beg to be wrapped up in a Katsuki-cocoon and fall back asleep for another few hours. But then Katsuki’s free hand comes up to cup Izuku’s chin, and he stills, his adrenaline surging, as he holds Izuku in place for Kosei to view him.

“The fact that some extra like you thinks you have a chance with him.” 

Izuku shivers at the casual confidence in Katsuki’s voice, at the possessiveness oozing from his tongue. A small part of his brain puts the pieces together—clues him in on his schoolmate’s ulterior motive—and registers the vague outline of hurt overshadowing any supposed flattery he felt minutes ago. 

But then Katsuki rubs his waist in slow circles and speaks again, drawing those serotonin levels higher and higher. “Tell him who you belong to, baby.”

“Kacchan,” Izuku says on command, already twisting his chin into Katsuki’s hand in a silent, unconscious request. Katsuki fulfills it automatically, kissing his cheek with a muttered, That’s right, nerd.

Kosei blinks, eyes darting between them. He scoffs. “No way.”

Katsuki’s voice hardens from honey to steel in an instant. “Get lost, loser.” With one last disbelieving look at Izuku, Kosei does just that. 

“Kacchan!” Izuku scolds, turning in his hold. Katsuki’s hands clasp together at the small of Izuku’s back. “That was a little uncalled for, don’t you think?”

Katsuki shrugs unapologetically. “Tch. He’s just some extra who was too slow when it counted. He lost you, hence, loser.” He raises his brow at Izuku. “Isn’t that right?”

Izuku clears his throat. “Y-yeah. You’re right, Kacchan.”

He smirks, dropping his arms to shoulder their backpacks and grab ahold of Izuku’s hand. “Always am. Now, c’mon. You can eat on the bus.”

Training at U.S.J. is a blast, and not just because Katsuki is at the top of his game, surpassing his peak physical condition during the war. He, Shouto, and Izuku are grouped together as U.A.’s Big Three, tasked with defending against, neutralizing, or combating various groupings of attacks from their classmates in quick succession as dictated by their teachers. It’s challenging, thrilling, and satisfying in a way Izuku can’t explain. Even with extremely limited use of One for All, Izuku holds his own with and against the heroes around him. 

Later, Katsuki sits Izuku on the kitchen counter (“So I can keep an eye on you” “Mhm, sure, Kacchan”) while he prepares dinner for them. He lets Izuku ramble about one topic and the next, throwing out questions at the exact moment Izuku starts to wonder if he’s even listening, but they’re always relevant and inspire a new tangent to extrapolate. By the time he’s settling in his seat beside Katsuki, one hand casually resting on his thigh, the warmth in Izuku’s chest is a tangible thing, and when he finally registers what Katsuki made them (him), it threatens to consume him. 

“Kacchan,” he gasps. “You made me katsudon?”

“No.” Izuku frowns, giving the dish a second, scrutinizing look. “I made your mom’s katsudon,” Katsuki clarifies, smirking around his chopsticks. 

“Kacchan!” It’s true, down to the small volcano of negi on top, his mom’s signature touch. His voice is wet as he takes that first heavenly bite. It’s actually better than his mom’s—not that he would ever tell her that. “How did you…”

Katsuki shrugs. “Texted her.”

Izuku gapes at him, one hand covering his full mouth. “You just… texted my mom?”

He shrugs again. “Yeah? So what?”

“Is that…a normal occurrence for you?” Izuku narrows his eyes at him, then scarfs down another bite as soon as possible.

“No,” Katsuki scoffs, casting a look at Izuku like he’s crazy. Was it really that unreasonable of a question to ask? “Just every couple of weeks or so.”

“WAHH?” Izuku inhales the food in his surprise, choking and turning red. Katsuki pats him hard on the back until his throat clears, eating all the while, muttering this is why you shouldn’t talk with your mouth full, idiot. 

A third shrug. “Sometimes she likes to check in on you, because she knows you aren’t a good judge of your own limits. Calm your tits,” he holds up his hand, preemptively halting Izuku’s affronted complaints about being ratted out to his mother when he’s an adult with a provisional hero license and a war hero! “I’m not sending her reports or some shit. Just easing her worries. Y’know she survived the war, too.” Katsuki sends him a pointed look.

Izuku’s shoulders deflate. He knows he can’t possibly understand what it was like for her, not knowing where he was or what condition he was in, aware he was being hunted by the worst villain in history, and then knowing where he was and watching him destroy himself for the good of the world; she had a front row seat to her worst nightmare, helpless and scared, unsure if he’d return to her at all. 

“I know,” is all he says, pushing the food around his bowl.

Katsuki nods once, as if he can read his mind. He just might; it must be a similar situation with Mitsuki and Masaro. It’s not something they talk about much these days. 

“Besides,” Katsuki says after a swallow and swig of his water. He looks at Izuku from the corner of his eye, a smirk dancing on his lips. “That apartment doesn’t need any more water damage. It’s the heroic thing to do, y’know, to keep her from crying so much.” 

“Hey!” Izuku shoves him with his shoulder, laughter spilling from his mouth. Katsuki’s quiet snickering eggs on his own, and a weightlessness floods his veins. He spent so many days and nights wondering if Katsuki and he could ever get to this place, this comfort and ease, and whenever Izuku consciously reminds himself that they have, it feels so surreal it makes him want to scream from the roof.

“Movie night!” Mina rounds the corner and spies them. “Hey, lover boys. Movie starts in five! Grab your seats or we’re starting without you.” She keeps walking, calling out movie night! to any other stragglers on the ground floor.

Izuku shovels the rest of the food in his mouth and grabs Katsuki’s bowl before he can do the same to Izuku. 

“Oi!” 

“Go on, Kacchan!” Izuku nudges him away from the kitchen. “Let me wash up, please.” He breaks out his puppy-dog eyes, as Hitoshi calls them, and sure enough, it works with one well-aimed elbow jab and minimal grumbling from Katsuki. Victorious, Izuku cheers silently to himself and rushes to the sink to get to work.

The lights are already off when Izuku finishes cleaning. He hovers in the corner, searching for an open spot with a good view—

“Ooomf!” 

A strong grip wraps around his wrist and pulls him down…into Katsuki’s lap. Izuku freezes. “O–oh, sorry, Kacchan!” 

He starts to sit up, reaching for the arm of the couch for leverage when a rasped whisper against his curls renders him motionless.

“Stay.” 

Izuku peers behind him. Blue light paints Katsuki’s face in technicolor, highlighting the sharp outline of his jaw, the scar on his cheekbone, the ash blonde of his hair as flashes and bangs race across the screen. He’s cinematic, his own personal hero in Plus Ultra HD, and Izuku is rooted to his seat. Still, he needs to be sure… 

“Kacchan?”

In answer, Katsuki adjusts them so they’re both facing the television, pulling Izuku against him so his head rests on Katsuki’s shoulder. Izuku immediately melts into the embrace, more comfortable than he can ever remember being before, especially with how Katsuki’s hands alternate between rubbing his thumb over his hip and tracing the scars on his arm. 

Somewhere between infiltrating the compound and the rescue scene, Izuku falls asleep. 

“Look at him! He’s so adorable.”

“I don’t know if I’ve ever seen him so quiet before.”

“Bakugou, how much are you freaking out inside right now?”

“Die.”

“Yeah, bro! This is, like, your dream come true!”

“Yeah, man! This is progress!”

“Fuck. Off.”

“Well, aside from having his babies.”

“Oh! True.”

“Can’t forget the Wonder Duo tied at #1, though.”

“Or their engagement announcement!”

“Oh my god, I can’t wait for the wedding.”

“IF YOU LOSERS WAKE HIM UP, I WILL END YOU!” 

….

“I call dibs on favorite Uncle.”

“YOU BETTER SLEEP WITH ONE EYE OPEN, DUNCE FACE.”

“He’s not even awake?!”

Izuku slowly stirs when cool sheets replace cozy warmth.

“Shhh. Go back to sleep,” comes a soft whisper.

“...Kac–Kacchan?” Fingers burrow into his curls, lightly scratching his scalp. His eyes lose the battle and fall firmly shut. “Mmmm. Time’sit?” 

“S’late, nerd.” The hand leaves his hair and gently pets the freckles on his cheek. “Now go to sleep. I’ll see you in the morning, yeah?”

“Stay,” he whines, clutching the soft hand against his face.

A quiet inhale; an audible smile. “Not tonight, nerd.” Katsuki traces the line of his bottom lip. Izuku drowsily purses his mouth, seeking more of Katsuki’s touch. “But I will tomorrow, if you want me to.”

“Yeah?” Izuku sighs, losing his grip on consciousness. “Prom’iss?”

“Yeah,” Katsuki agrees quietly. “Promise.”

xx

“Kacchan! Look!”

Katsuki rounds the aisle and gives Izuku a flat look. “How many is that now, nerd? Twenty-six?”

Izuku scoffs, adding the volume to his basket and perusing the shelves for more. “Eleven, actually. I didn’t even know you could count as high as twenty-six.”

“Oi!” Katsuki halfheartedly shoves his shoulder. “Shots fired.” He tugs on a curl at the back of Izuku’s head. “C’mon, I’m starving.”

“But Kacchan! I haven’t finished yet.”

Katsuki tilts his head, a universal sign for Nice try, loser. “You already went through these aisles twice.”

Izuku tries the puppy-dog eyes again. “But what if I missed something!”

“Izuku, you have eleven volumes in your basket right now!” 

“But—” He bites his lip, thinking of three volumes he didn’t find during his first two searches.

“Oi, nerd.” Katsuki tugs his hand until they clasp together. “After exams, we’ll come back and get whatever you think you’re missing now.” He bends down, his expression pensive and sincere, and searches Izuku’s face. “Can you hold out until then?” 

The promise of coming back later soothes the illogical anxiety inside him. Izuku nods with a small smile and a sheepish glance at Katsuki. His grin grows once he registers the satisfaction on Katsuki’s face. 

Deep in the back of his mind, Izuku knows what he’s doing—he knows the manga will distract him from the stress of exams, the bittersweet countdown until graduation, the inevitable uncertainty and distance that comes with leaving U.A. behind; he knows the comfort Katsuki is offering is a temporary bandaid, a convenient crutch, a secret indulgence. 

But with a shake of his head and a quiet sigh, those thoughts are buried once again, and Katsuki is leading them out onto the sidewalk, hand-in-hand. When they reach the restaurant, nestled beside a pop-up marketplace, Katsuki, surprisingly, leads him away from the entrance. 

“Kacchan, what are you—is that a photobooth?!” Izuku speeds up, now the one tugging Katsuki along. Izuku looks back at him, savoring the easy smile on his face as he pulls him inside. “Kacchan, we haven’t done one of these since we were kids!”

“Tch. I remember,” Katsuki says, turning his knees to the side to fit more comfortably, then places the bag between their legs. “We had to stand on the seat so our faces fit in the screen.”

“Yeah!” Izuku laughs. He probably still has those photo strips tucked away somewhere. “Okay, get ready! 3…2…1…”

Katsuki screams. “F-F-F-FUCKER!”

Izuku breaks down in laughter, unable to help himself, giggling hysterically between wheezes and words. “You—you—screamed—so—high!”

“You tickled me!” Katsuki’s genuine offense makes it that much funnier. “That’s fighting dirty, nerd. You know that I’m going to get you back when you least expect it, right?”

“Sure, Kacchan,” Izuku sighs as his laughter quiets, catching Katsuki’s eye. “But I think I can handle you.”

“Oh, you think so?” Katsuki creeps closer, smirking.

“Mhm,” Izuku nods, high on false confidence and drunk on proximity.

“We’ll see about that,” Katsuki threatens against his cheek, lingering there.

Izuku releases a shuddering breath as he draws away and turns toward Katsuki, who hasn’t moved away. The seconds stretch out between them as Izuku breathes in the air Katsuki breathes out; as Izuku’s gaze fixates on Katsuki’s lips. He’s poised to move, about to cross that one-way line, when an obnoxious jingle startles them apart.

Your photos are ready! 

He completely forgot about the other photos after devolving into a laughing fit, and from the look on Katsuki’s face, he did, too. 

They scramble out of the booth at the same time. Katsuki snatches the photo strips from the dispenser and slips them into their bag before pulling Izuku into the ramen shop. 

He’s about to protest—he really wants to see how hilarious the photos are, considering they weren’t paying attention—but some part of him stays his hand, so he refrains. For now, at least.

Hours later find them reclining on the couch watching an All Might cartoon rerun, Izuku’s head on Katsuki’s shoulder and his arm wrapped around Katsuki’s, tucked against his chest. They were already an episode into their impromptu marathon when Izuku realized what he’d done, and how easily Katsuki let it happen.

All week, Katsuki initiated any physical affection between them, whether or not they were alone, and Izuku had simply accepted it each time. This was the first occasion where Izuku sought out Katsuki’s touch, rather than merely permitting it. Their roles had switched, and it felt like a milestone, a special privilege granted only to him. 

When it came to Katsuki, Izuku knew he could be slightly…selfish. He hates that part of himself—cringes, for multiple reasons, when he thinks about a certain kidnapping that happened a few years ago—because he knows he doesn’t own Katsuki; he doesn’t have any claim to him simply because he’s known him the longest. He even knows that he’s not Katsuki’s best friend—Eijirou is—and that Ochaco, Shouto, and Hitoshi are his.

And yet, an ugly creature peeks through the cage of his ribs, greedily adding this piece of Katsuki-treasure to the pile he’s collected and hoarded over the years.

Izuku yawns, covering his mouth with his hand.

Katsuki groans. “That’s it.” 

“What?” Izuku sits up with a frown—but only because Katsuki so rudely stood up from the couch. He could’ve fallen asleep there, he was so comfortable!

He turns the television off (much to the complaints of Eijirou, Mina, and Hanta) and gestures for Izuku to follow him. “You’ve yawned ten times in the last two minutes, which means you were about to fall asleep right there. Let’s go.” 

Izuku stays in his seat, fruitlessly hoping Katsuki will come back. “...No, I wasn’t.”

Katsuki looks at him with disbelief. “Did you just lie to me?”

“...No?”

Katsuki sighs and turns back to him. Izuku starts to grin, thinking maybe, just maybe, he won—

“WAHH!” The floor is suddenly on the ceiling. “Kacchan!! Put me down!”

“Not a chance, nerd. Later, losers.”

“Goodnight!” Mina sing-songs.

“Night, bros!”

“Give Bakugou a kiss goodnight for us!” Hanta teases. 

“He wishes!” Izuku yells, smacking Katsuki’s back. As Katsuki steps into the elevator, he smacks Izuku on the ass, eliciting a surprised yelp from Izuku and a round of laughter from their friends.

Izuku sighs in the quiet of the elevator. “...Are you going to put me down now?”

“Nope,” he answers, dragging out the word with self-satisfaction.

The doors open to the second floor and Katsuki enters Izuku’s room with an air of authority Izuku doesn’t even possess when he does the same. Balancing him over his shoulder, Katsuki navigates the space with confidence, grabbing a few items before exiting and entering the elevator once again.

“Uh…”

“Spit it out, nerd.”

“My room is…um, that way?” Izuku points at the floor, not that Katsuki can see him.

“Tch.” Ding. Fourth floor. “I’m not the one of us who’s directionally challenged.”

Izuku scoffs, throwing his hands around wildly. “That was one time! I was six!” 

“I was also six. You had a map!”

“What kind of six-year-old knows how to read a map!”

Katsuki shrugs and Izuku wobbles with it. “I could read a map at six.”

“You also mastered reading at four, Kacchan. I don’t think you’re a fair measure.” Katsuki shoulders the door open and plops Izuku down on his bed with a bounce. He disappears behind his bathroom door for a moment and reappears in black sweatpants.

“All I’m hearing is that I’m the best and you wandered into a doghouse.”

“THE MAP WAS DRAWN IN CRAYON, KACCHAN!” Izuku’s hands fly to his hair—he might actually pull it out. 

Katsuki’s shoulders shake with repressed laughter. “You were supposed to find my treehouse, Izuku!”

“IT WAS IMAGINARY, KACCHAN! YOU DIDN’T ACTUALLY BUILD A TREEHOUSE!”

“MAYBE I DID! YOU NEVER FOUND IT SO HOW WOULD YOU KNOW?!” Katsuki shoves Izuku’s clothes into his hands. 

“MY MOM TOLD ME! SHE SAID YOU—wait,” Izuku coughs; his eyes widen and water. “What—what are you nipp–doing?”

Katsuki throws his top into his hamper, standing before Izuku shirtless—piercings and muscles on full display—barefoot with his pants hung low on his hips, his hands hidden in his pockets. Katsuki furrows his brow. “You going to change for bed sometime tonight?”

“H-here?” Izuku points at the bed, then himself, still in shock.

“Yeah,” Katsuki says, sinfully sweet, leaning down to Izuku’s eye level. “My bed’s comfier. Also my sheets are flame-retardant. So you’re bunking with me, baby.”

“Ooh.” Izuku gulps. “Right.” 

“You still want to, or was that some sleep-drunk nerd-speak last night?”

“No!” Izuku shouts, waving his hand. “I mean, yes! I mean—”

“Izuku. Breathe.”

Izuku does, scooping up his clothes and darting to the bathroom. Just before the door closes, he says, “I do want to. Stay here, I mean. With you. If that’s—is that okay?”

Katsuki lounges in his bed, scrolling on his phone. “What’d I say about stupid questions?”

Right. 

Izuku exhales, and gets changed as quickly as possible, not wanting to lose his nerve. It’s not a big deal, anyway. It’s not like Katsuki and he never had sleepovers before. It’s not like they haven’t shared the same bed before! It’s exactly the same. 

It is not the same.

Izuku is lying in Katsuki’s bed. 

Izuku is cuddling with Katsuki. 

Izuku is spooning Katsuki. 

IzukuisspooningashirtlessKatsukiandhesmellslikecinnamonandsugarandhemightbehypervent—

“Oi.” His voice is gravel-rough and not appreciated (so very appreciated) right now. “Stop thinking so damn loud and go to sleep.”

“Sorry!” Izuku squeaks. “It’s just…” A grunt. “Aren’t you, um, cold? You’re probably cold, so, maybe I should get you a shirt, or a blanket—”

“Don’t need it.” Izuku’s mouth opens and closes a couple times, trying and failing to brainstorm solutions that do not include him spontaneously combusting (a nut) in his childhood friend turned enemy turned rival turned friend turned fake-boyfriend’s bed. “I run hot. M’quirk.”

“Oh,” Izuku breathes, relaxing slightly at the ‘Q’ word and the tangent his brain welcomes on instinct. “Right.”

“Mm.”

“Wait!” A groan. “Then I shouldn’t—I’m probably—my body heat—”

“Feels good.” Katsuki pulls him closer.

Izuku freezes. A blush creeps up his neck. He subtly shifts his hips back. 

Katsuki stills. “You okay?”

“Mhm. Yup. A-okay, partner.”

Katsuki looks over his shoulder. “You know I don’t do shit halfway, Izuku. But if you’re uncomfortable—”

“No!” Not in the way he means. “I’m not. I’m good.”

Narrowed red eyes in the semi-darkness see through him like lasers. “Turn over.” When Izuku doesn’t immediately move, Katsuki shoves him until he does. He rearranges the blanket to drape over Izuku and then curls around him with one arm wrapped around his waist. “Better?”

He’s fully surrounded by Katsuki—grounded by his touch, dizzy with the scent of his shampoo on his pillow. He’s never in his life felt more safe than he does right now, which is a jarring realization, given everything he’s been through—the places he slept, the nights he forwent rest, the bullseye on his back marking every shelter a flimsy excuse for refuge. 

Emotion lodges in his throat, making it hard to speak. He nods, and Katsuki drops a feather-light kiss to his neck. 

“Good, now sleep. Night, nerd.”

Izuku laces his fingers with Katsuki’s and does just that.

xx

Izuku is warm, so warm.

Spots of yellow and orange take shape behind his eyelids, signaling a new day and stirring him from a deep slumber. He’s in that wonderful liminal space between asleep and awake, well rested and greedy for more, seduced by the bedding that cradles him and the weight against his front. 

Izuku burrows into it further, holding it tight to his body, just barely tethering him to that dream world that’s starting to slip out of reach. He strains further forward, and a shiver wracks his frame. He does it again, slowly, more purposefully. It feels good. 

He rotates his hips, nuzzling his face until he’s—yeah. His eyes nearly roll back in his head, between the friction, the heat, the sugar-smoke that makes his mouth water. He moves again, and again, his mouth opening of its own volition, needing just a taste—

“Mmf.”

Izuku shifts again, shivering, tingling, chasing that sound, his mind empty except for—

“Iz’ku…”

He stills. Squeezes his eyes closed for one, two, three seconds before opening them, certain that this was all just a—

Oh, fuck. Shit. Shitshitshitfuckshit.

Izuku retracts his arms and legs and fuck, his groin, from Katsuki as quickly and quietly as he can and lumbers out of the bed, snatching yesterday’s clothes before easing the door open and closed behind him. 

He closes his eyes once again, trying to will the anxiety from his bones.

His breath is shaky, his heart races. 

He opens his eyes, and meets Mezo’s. 

The panic must be evident and immediate because Mezo raises all of his arms in surrender and backtracks to his room. “I didn’t see anything.”

Izuku nods in thanks, unable to speak, and dashes to the stairs, unwilling to wait for the elevator. Besides, his system needs movement; needs somewhere to expel the buzzing in his blood. 

He goes on a long run, and opts for a cold shower in the training room, even if his nose is ruby red from the late-winter wind. It doesn’t matter anyway; the imprint of Katsuki’s body is still there.

He avoids Katsuki for the rest of the day, holing up in his room and ignoring any knocks on his door. He waits to respond to Katsuki’s texts for hours, citing an assignment he forgot to complete—a lie, and they both know it—and sends something vaguely similar to his friends. Separately, Izuku texts Shouto for a favor, asking that he drop off food throughout the day, knowing that he’s the least likely to ask questions even if he’s just as curious as Ochaco or Hitoshi. Because he’s a good friend, he does. 

Kacchan💥

u eat yet?

Izuku

yeah, thanks kacchan!! you’re a lifesaver

Kacchan💥

no shit

im a hero

But it physically pains him to see the miso soup and tamagoyaki, the curry, the gyudon, and know Katsuki made it all for him. 

He’s sure Katsuki must’ve held Shouto hostage until he deemed the dishes sufficient, and ordered him to report back for the next meal, knowing that Izuku would’ve skipped it while in an anxiety spiral. 

Hours pass. The sun sets and the stars wink at him. He did it; he successfully hid in his room all day like an absolute coward. Mission accomplished!

Izuku groans, pressing his palms into his eyes. It was a miserable day, full of nothing but his own company and a lack of distractions. He’s tired, and he feels like an idiot, for so many reasons. He wanted to go to the new mall with Ochaco and Tenya. He wasted a beautiful day inside. 

He misses Katsuki. 

His phone pings with a new message.

Kacchan💥

u up?

Izuku snorts.

Izuku

now what kind of girl do you take me for, kacchan?

Kacchan💥

the easy kind

knew that’d get you to answer

Izuku’s sudden laugh veers into an uneasy sigh. He bites his thumbnail as the guilt overwhelms him. He’s not even sure if Katsuki was aware of what happened, or almost happened, this morning. But either way, Izuku ran out like a spooked horse or he ghosted Katsuki out of nowhere, and that must’ve felt like shit.

Kacchan💥

stop thinking so loud nerd

Izuku

sorry

can’t help it

Kacchan💥

wanna spar?

Izuku

kacchan it’s almost curfew!

Kacchan💥

so?

aren’t we the token problem children or some shit

Izuku huffs a laugh, considering it. 

He does want to see Katsuki, and he’s craving a good workout because he still feels restless. But Katsuki is both the problem and the solution to that; he wouldn’t go easy on Izuku just because he’s having an off day, but seeing Katsuki panting, getting all sweaty? Catching a glimpse of his chiseled abdomen, after holding him all night? Feeling his muscles bunch and flex under Izuku’s fingers? Pinning him with his hands and hips? Katsuki, above him, grinning mischievously as he held Izuku down? As he rubbed his—

Nope.

Izuku

raincheck? 

Kacchan💥

u sure?

figured you’d wanna get ur hands on me again

Izuku drops his phone on his face. “Ow, fuck! Shit. Shiiiiiit.”

He starts typing frantically.

Izuku

IAM SO SORRY KACCHAN

YOU WERE AWAKE??????????

???1!

IMSORRY 

PLEAS FORGIBE ME

I 

Kacchan💥

what’re u apologizing for

Izuku

AM 

SO

wait what??? 

Were they not talking about the same thing? Did Katsuki not know what Izuku—

Kacchan💥

did it sound like i wanted you to stop nerd?

Izuku’s throat is suddenly very, very dry. Is this a hypothetical? What should he say? One minute passes, then two. He needs to say something. 

What he opts for is:

Izuku

(⸝⸝๑﹏๑⸝⸝)

Thank god Katsuki is fluent in Izuku-speak.

Kacchan💥

it felt good

wanted u to keep goin

Izuku

yeah?

Kacchan💥

yeah 

fuck i was so hard

and u felt so big 

Izuku puts his phone down and paces his room, fanning his face. Is this happening? Was this really happening? 

“What the fuck is my life right now,” he mutters, his hands folded atop his head. 

He looks at his phone laying promiscuously on his bed, the screen open with the messages on full display, tempting him and his non-existent self-control like a cheap whore and an easy mark. Izuku flings his shirt off and onto the floor. “Fuck it.”

Izuku

you wanted it?

Kacchan💥

fuck yeah

needed it

Izuku

idk kacchan

idk if you can handle it

Kacchan💥

???

come over rn and u can watch how good i handle it

Izuku’s hand slides into his pants. “Shiiiit, Kacchan.”

Izuku

nah

Kacchan💥

the fuck

cmon izuku lemme have it

Izuku

i want you to work for it kacchan

show me you deserve it

Kacchan💥

izuku

u think ur hand’s better than mine?

don’t u wanna feel me touch ur cock izuku

don’t u wanna hear me whisper in ur ear how badly i want ur cock 

His pants are off, pushed to the foot of the bed. He palms himself and feels it throb, already leaking and aching after being snatched from the edge this morning. Damn. What he wouldn’t give to hear Katsuki’s raspy voice say such filthy things while his hand worked him over. 

Izuku

are you touching yourself kacchan? 

tell me

Kacchan💥

yeah baby im so fuckin hard

makin a mess all over myself thinking about ur cock

Izuku

fuckkkk kacchan

you been thinking of my cock all day?

Kacchan💥

u have no idea

ive already gotten off twice today

“Kacchan, Kacchan, fuck. T-too soon,” Izuku holds the base of his cock, easing away from his eager orgasm.

Izuku

kacchan thats so hot 

shit keep going

Kacchan💥

yeah?

u like picturing me getting off to u? 

Izuku

so much yeah

whatd you think about

tell me you have to tell me

Kacchan💥

i was thinkin about ur cock in my mouth

holdin u down by ur hips as i sucked on u

then me on my knees

u pulling my hair and fucking my face

Izuku

fuckkkk fuck kacchan

you want that?? you want me to do that to you?

Kacchan💥

izuku i wanna taste you so bad

fuck i wanna gag on it

Izuku

Kkacchann

Fuck. He thinks of Katsuki, laying naked in the bed they slept in, fucking his fist. He thinks of Katsuki moaning his name, begging to come with Izuku’s cock in his mouth. He would sound so good; he’d sound so pretty with his voice all wrecked from Izuku. 

Kacchan💥

wanna feel u in my throat for days baby

Izuku

yeah wanna do that to you kacchan

wanna fuck your pretty mouth 

Kacchan💥

yeah cmon izuku

Izuku

wanna make you beg for it

Kacchan💥

please izuku please 

i want it

Izuku

you gonna cum like that kacchan?

you gonna get off with my cock in your mouth?

Kacchan💥

fuck

yeah yeah cmon

Izuku

cum when i cum kacchan

when you feel me cum down your throat 

Kacchan💥

fuck izku yeahbbby im there im close

u gonna cum 

cum in my mouth izuku

im c

“Fuck, fuck.” Izuku gasps as he lets go. “Kacchan, shit. That’s good, that’s good.” He lifts his clean hand to his hair, idly noticing the way it shakes. He feels like he ran a marathon, or five. He’s not sure he’s ever climaxed so hard or so much before. His fingers and toes tingle, and his body feels sluggish as he quickly cleans up. 

Izuku

kacchan

that was…

amazing 

kacchan is amazing

He’s, unfortunately, painfully aware of how cool he is categorically not playing it, but, well. Katsuki shouldn’t be surprised at this point.

Kacchan💥

yea

Izuku bites his lip to contain his grin. Far from a ringing endorsement for anyone else but from Katsuki? The lack of an automatic insult? No denial in sight? If Izuku still had Float, he’d be walking on clouds. 

Should he say something else? Should he thank him? What’s the etiquette? Anxiety begins to disrupt the sex haze and Izuku opens up his browser, about to search for what he should do next when—

Kacchan💥

night, nerd

He releases a breath, not bothering to tamper the dopey smile on his face.

Izuku

goodnight kacchan ( ˶˘ ³˘)♡

xx

There’s a good morning text when Izuku wakes up, same as every other day. Any lingering doubts or concerns immediately evaporate in the face of Katsuki’s gruff demand for his presence.

He’s practically skipping when he slides into the kitchen, turning his cheek up for Katsuki in a silent request for a kiss. His pseudo-boyfriend scoffs at his cheekiness but Izuku can see the mirth dancing red-hot in his eyes as he does as bid.

Izuku lingers by Katsuki’s side as he makes breakfast, and any time Izuku gets distracted and drifts away, Katsuki slips a finger in his belt loop to pull him back to his side.

They spend the day actually studying, since Izuku failed to get anything of substance done the day prior. Some of their classmates join them over time (Ochaco, Kyoka, Momo, Fumikage) while others are either too easily distracted (Denki, Eijirou, Tooru) or too easily distract Izuku (Mina, Hitoshi, Hanta, Shouto). 

“Mindfreak. Remove your boyfriend’s ass from this table or I will blast your favorite appendage from his body.”

“Oooh, touchy,” Hitoshi drawls. He pulls Denki from the table and onto his lap.

“Good. Now you both can leave.”

Denki pouts. “But Midoriya-kun and I still have so much to talk about,” he pleads, casting a not-so-subtle look at Katsuki then Hitoshi, and finally leaning flirtatiously towards Izuku. He slowly walks his finger up Izuku’s arm. “Such as a possible proposition that he might be interested in, hm?”

“Uh.” Is it hot in here? Did he ever ask Tenya to check the thermostat? “Oh, um. Maybe…?”

Katsuki forcibly turns Izuku’s head back to his essay, ignoring his startled yelp. “You, work.” He glares at Hitoshi. “You two, get lost.” 

“But he just said ‘maybe!’”

“Consider your half-baked offer rejected, Pikachu. Don’t put your flat ass where we eat again.”

Hitoshi stands. “Don’t knock it ‘til you try it, Bakugou.” He winks at Katsuki, who flushes red. “C’mon, babe. Give them time; I think we came on too strong.” He pulls Denki away with his arm draped around his shoulder, their heads bent together as they speak in low tones.

Two minutes pass in studious silence.

A hand drops to his thigh. 

Thirty seconds later, it slides higher.

Izuku rereads the same sentence seven times.

It slides higher again, practically in his lap.

“Kacchan…” he whispers.

“Hm?”

“Hey guys!” Izuku jolts dramatically enough for both of them, barely registering Katsuki sneakily pulling his hand back into his own lap. Tooru speaks up from…somewhere. “We’re about to play Plus Ultra! Wanna join?”

Izuku gives his essay one more quick skim and then he’s packing up his things and dragging Katsuki by the hand to the other side of the common area. 

They watch as Ochaco tramples Tsuyu’s Grape Juice with Mt. Lady, as Koji uses NightHide to lull Rikido’s Vine to sleep, and then as Fumikage blinds his own Dark Shadow against Shouto with Invisible Girl. Finally, it’s Izuku’s turn. 

Katsuki steps up behind him, pulling Izuku’s back against his front. “Go get ‘em babe,” he says, punctuated with a kiss to his neck before stepping back, making him painfully aware of Katsuki’s absence.

Izuku takes down Minoru’s Lemillion in record time with Lady Nagant, unable to help the smirk of pride as Katsuki and Eijirou jostle his shoulder and Minoru stomps his way to the elevators in defeat.

When Katsuki’s up against Momo, Izuku can’t keep his eyes off him. He’s always struggled with that, if he’s honest, but watching his mind work in real time, away from the chaos of battle with no distractions? It’s a thing of magic, and Izuku can’t help but be bewitched.

And then Katsuki’s final card is revealed. 

It’s Deku.

“FUCK YEAH, YOU SECOND-RATE MOTHERFUCKER! GET READY TO BEG FOR MERCY!” 

Izuku chokes as cheers erupt around the table, and Izuku doesn’t bother fighting the flush crawling up his face.

Katsuki makes quick work of Momo’s Endeavor with colorful commentary that has everyone laughing and encouraging him—including Momo—and of course, Shouto most of all.

Izuku, on the other hand? 

He’s on fire. 

The way Katsuki unabashedly claimed and cheered for Izuku’s player lit something up inside him; something he’s not sure he ever really knew he harbored. He forgave Katsuki long ago; he knew Katsuki believed in him, cared about him, viewed him as a hero.

Maybe it’s because Izuku can feel the Embers waning, and their diverged paths approaching. 

It means something, Katsuki’s genuine excitement over Hero Deku. 

A flash of memory sparks to life in his mind: two young kids, watching their favorite hero take down a villain on live television, cheering him on, their faith never wavering, his victory tasting like their own. 

Katsuki catches Izuku’s eyes across the room as everyone applauds his unquestionable triumph, patting his back, clapping, and loudly rehashing the play-by-play. 

Today, he truly feels like a winner.

Izuku looks up from his card game with Shouto. “Hey.” Katsuki stops midstep. Izuku beckons him closer. He obeys. “Where are you going?”

Katsuki rolls his eyes, but there’s no venom in it. “Shitty Hair needs me to look something over for him before class tomorrow. You good?” Izuku nods, so Katsuki does, too. He taps the back of Izuku’s seat twice in quick succession before he straightens. 

“Wait!”

Katsuki huffs, making a big show of stepping back to hear what Izuku has to say. “What now, nerd?”

Izuku’s smile is shy, unsure. “Uh, I was wondering if, um—can I stay with you tonight?”

To a casual observer, Katsuki would appear unaffected at best and inconvenienced at worst, the way he narrows his eyes and flexes his fists, looking off to the side for a moment before sizing Izuku up. 

But Izuku isn’t just anyone.

Katsuki reaches out to poke him in the forehead and push him back until he almost falls out of his seat. “Come up when you’re ready.”

“Thanks, Kacchan!”

Katsuki turns to walk backwards, his hands casually tucked away in his pockets. “If you stay up too late, I’m locking you out.” 

Pffft. As if Izuku’s going to waste any time when he could be pressed up against Katsuki’s warm body in his bed getting the best sleep of his life.

Except…damn it. Izuku turns back to the card game, fidgeting with his fingers. Katsuki’s going to be busy for at least a little while helping Eijirou, though, given the time, it shouldn’t take too long, either. He also has this card game to finish…

Shouto sighs, world-weary and full of burden. Izuku jolts, pinned in place by heterochromatic eyes. He waves his hand lazily. “Just go.”

Izuku beams at his friend and jumps up, patting him on the shoulder as he goes. “Thanks, Todoroki-kun! See you tomorrow!”

Katsuki traces a pattern on the back of Izuku’s hand where it rests over his scar and the pulse Izuku measures his breaths by.

“So?”

Izuku peers at the back of Katsuki’s head in the dark room. “So…what?”

Katsuki slowly, intentionally drags Izuku’s hand down his abdomen. “Did I earn it?”

He swallows, anticipation thick on his tongue. Izuku shifts, brushing his lips over Katsuki’s neck as his fingers reach his waistband. “I don’t know, Kacchan…”

“C’mon, Izuku,” Katsuki breathes into the quiet. He places Izuku’s hand over the bulging fabric of his pants. Izuku inhales sharply, instinctively grinding his hips into Katsuki as he traces the outline of Katsuki’s hard cock. A sound catches in Katsuki’s throat and Izuku aches to unravel him. 

“Still not sure you deserve it,” Izuku teases, squeezing the head of Katsuki’s cock through the material as he drops barely-there kisses up the line of Katsuki’s throat. 

A growl rumbles in Katsuki’s chest, then he’s turning in Izuku’s hold. “I can handle it,” he promises, shimmying his pants down and throwing a leg over Izuku’s hip. Izuku’s brain shortcircuits. Katsuki drags Izuku’s hand up his bare thigh until he cups his ass with Izuku’s palm. “Let me show you.”

Then Katsuki maneuvers two of Izuku’s fingers to his wet, loosened hole and presses them in, and Izuku’s brain promptly melts into goo. 

“Oh, fuck,” he gasps, watching Katsuki’s jaw drop open in pleasure with heavy-lidded eyes. Izuku withdraws his fingers and pushes in again. He does it again, harder this time. Katsuki’s head drops back, his fingers dig into Izuku’s shoulders, and a gasp falls from his lips. He does it again, curling his fingers this time. Katsuki whines. “Kacchan, Kacchan, you’re so good. You’re amazing, shit, you feel amazing.”

“Y-Yeah?” Katsuki’s eyes open slowly, ink-black with a thin ring of red. He lifts his hips and drops them back down, and Izuku never wants to leave. “‘s’good?”

“Yeah, baby,” Izuku praises, leaning his forehead against Katsuki’s as he presses a third finger inside. “Feels so good. You’re incredible, Kacchan. Can’t wait to get my cock inside you.”

Katsuki moans, and Izuku can’t hold back anymore. He surges forward and swallows the sound, wanting to taste every infectious noise he wrings from Katsuki’s lips. 

It’s life-altering. 

Izuku can’t begin to understand how Katsuki could star in his earliest memories, how he’s seen him nearly every day of his life, how they’ve battled and screamed and sweat and spit on each other, strung together by secrets and promises and a shared goal, and yet, they’ve never been connected like this. 

How can he ever look at Katsuki again and not want to steal the oxygen from his lungs and flood it with his own?

Katsuki kisses the same way he leads his life: unapologetically, boldly, and with his whole heart. His tongue glides across Izuku’s bottom lip once and then his teeth nip at the top one, learning Izuku in .2 seconds and then diving in headfirst, licking into his mouth and sucking on his tongue until Izuku groans, rutting against Katsuki’s cock. 

Izuku curls his fingers in time with Katsuki’s little thrusts. “F-fuck!” His voice cracks, and Izuku shivers. He—wrongfully, he now realizes—assumed Katsuki would want to top; at least, that’s how he pictured it happening in most of his take-it-to-the-grave fantasies. Admittedly, though, when it came down to it, he was a simple guy, and all he really wanted was to stick his cock in Bakugou Katsuki’s ass until he was sick of his own name. “Izuku! Right there, right there!” 

“That feel good, Kacchan?” Izuku pants against his ear, scraping his teeth against the skin there.

Katsuki shivers and nods. “Y-yeah.”

“Mm.” Izuku just barely fits a fourth finger inside Katsuki, stretching him just that much further, making sure he’s ready. Katsuki’s breath hitches. “Now imagine if it was my cock.”

Katsuki grabs a chunk of Izuku’s hair and pulls his head back sharply, causing him to hiss. They lock eyes. Izuku withdraws his fingers and roughly pushes them in. Katsuki gasps. 

They both grin at the same time, and then dive into each other, starved. 

“Want it, want it, want it,” Katsuki chants. 

“Yeah.” Izuku nods, carefully pulling his fingers out. He works quickly, his heart squeezing at the pained whimper that falls from Katsuki’s lips. Izuku turns him over onto his hands and knees, then slicks himself with the lube Katsuki throws at his head from…somewhere. Under his pillow, maybe. It’s unimportant.

Izuku looks at the view in front of him, pumping his length in appreciation. He takes in the long line of Katsuki’s back, his strong muscles bulging from restraint, the fine beads of sweat glistening on his skin, the round globes of his delectable ass, the wet, pink hole that wants—needs to be filled. 

“I have plans after this, hurry the fuck up.” 

Izuku smacks Katsuki’s ass—just hard enough to feel the sound in his teeth but not enough to leave a mark. Katsuki jolts forward, then rocks back, curving his spine further. Shit. Izuku rubs his mouth, then rubs his cock over Katsuki’s opening. He really does want to leave a mark though…

“You trust me, Kacchan?”

“What?” Katsuki hangs his head with a groan. “Why aren’t you inside me yet?!”

“Just tell me. You trust me, yeah?”

Katsuki looks over his shoulder. “Obviously, nerd. You think I get my ass up and open for anyone?”

Izuku smiles, biting his lip, and rubs Katsuki’s ass, pulling his cheeks apart, letting Katsuki watch him stare. “I don’t have a condom. That okay?”

I’m a virgin. Do you still want me?

Katsuki swallows, nodding quickly. “Yeah, that’s—yeah. Better, I think. Me either.” 

Me, too. 

Izuku grins, holding his gaze. “Good. Watch me, Kacchan.”

“Fuck,” he hears, quiet and muffled. 

Izuku licks his lips, fisting his cock and pressing the leaking head against Katsuki’s hole. With his other hand, he opens him further, watching as Katsuki’s body tries to close around nothing, swallowing Izuku’s precum with a ravenous hunger. 

“Sh-shit, Kacchan.” Katsuki presses back, moving his hips so he can feel Izuku’s cockhead catching on his rim. He moans, and does it again, again, again.

“Fuck! I’m coming, Kacchan, I’m—” Izuku bends forward and presses inside Katsuki without warning, sliding in halfway and filling him up as he goes. 

“Ho—Holy shit, Izuku,” Katsuki breathes, collapsing onto his forearm with one hand between his legs, staving off his own orgasm. “You’re such a fucking freak.”

Izuku rocks forward, pushing further into Katsuki. They both cry out. Loud music starts playing in the room next door; neither of them register it. “Yeah,” Izuku admits dazedly, eyes rolling back as he bottoms out. “Only the best for Kacchan.”

Katsuki’s laugh cuts off into a whine as Izuku draws back and pushes in to the hilt. “Did—a-are you calling yourself the best?”

“It’s true, isn’t it,” he pants, thrusting in again, hypnotized as Katsuki welcomes him in. “That’s why I’m the one in your bed.” He rolls his hips on the next thrust, delighting in the way Katsuki buries his face in the bedding. “That’s why you begged for my cock.” 

“Sh-shut up, nerd,” Katsuki moans. “Fuck me already.”

Izuku laughs mockingly, but begins in earnest, gripping Katsuki by the hips and pulling him back into his thrusts. “So bossy.”

Fuck, he’s so tight, Izuku might actually die.

Their bodies slap together in a filthy melody as Katsuki whimpers and moans; music to Izuku’s ears. Then he adjusts his angle and Katsuki screams, his palms sparking and snuffing out as Izuku shifts him on the bed with his thrusts. Izuku curses under his breath, biting his lip, his mind stuttering at the fact that he just made Bakugou Katsuki lose control of his quirk.

Katsuki pushes back on his hands, increasing the angle and letting out bitten-off little gasps as Izuku hammers his prostate. “Y-you gotta f-fill me up again, Izuku.” 

He laughs meanly. “And I’m the freak?”

“F-fuuuck—y-you—”

Izuku grabs his hair and pulls him up, until he’s sitting in Izuku’s lap. Katsuki reaches for the headboard with one hand, the other curling around Izuku’s neck. Izuku lifts Katsuki, easing the strain on his hips and knees, transfixed by the way Katsuki rides him; by the sight of Katsuki’s leaking dick bobbing against his abs. 

“Kacchan,” Izuku breathes, a confession and an obsession all in one. 

Katsuki holds his face to his neck. “Tell me.”

“So good, so good. So fucking tight, shit.” 

“Keep—mm—going,” he orders, tightening the hold in Izuku’s hair.

“Beautiful,” Izuku tells him, kissing his neck, his jaw, the corner of his mouth. “So pretty like this. So fucking strong. Look at you, baby. Can’t stop looking at you, Kacchan.”

“Izuku.”

He reaches around and holds Katsuki’s cock in a loose fist. Katsuki chokes, moans, whines. It’s Izuku’s new favorite song. 

“Izuku.”

“You gonna come for me, Kacchan?” Katsuki nods frantically, pulling Izuku’s mouth to his. Izuku kisses him thoroughly, pouring every sappy, stray thought and starry-eyed emotion he’s ever had for Katsuki into it. “Now.”

Katsuki comes all over Izuku’s fist, silently at first, until a gasp is pulled from his chest and then it’s just “IzukuIzukuIzuku,” and Izuku follows him over the edge, dragging Katsuki onto his cock until he can’t handle the sensation any longer. 

Slowly, carefully, he pulls out, gently shushing Katsuki when he lets out a soft cry of protest. Izuku stands on shaky legs and cleans them up, even pulling Katsuki’s pants on to grant him some modesty, since he’s so against using a blanket. Izuku does the same and slides into bed behind him, earning himself an adorable grunt of annoyance, likely because he left Katsuki, even for a short, necessary while. 

Curling around Katsuki, Izuku smooths the hair from the nape of his neck and places a feather-light kiss below his ear. “Goodnight, Kacchan.” 

Deep, dozing breaths tell him Katsuki’s already fallen asleep. 

xx

Izuku wakes up earlier than usual, likely because his personal space heater is no longer in bed. He stretches out, relishing in the slight soreness in his muscles, unused to the way they were exerted. The spot next to him isn’t completely cool, which means Katsuki hasn’t been gone for long. 

He jumps out of bed, donning the rest of his clothes and heads to his room to get ready in record time. Izuku checks his phone as he steps out of the elevator; no morning nerd text yet, which is exactly what he’d hoped for! He speeds up, eager to surprise Katsuki in the kitchen before breakfast is ready and prove to him that he’s not entirely hopeless when it comes to early mornings. 

What Izuku doesn’t expect are the multiple voices in the kitchen with Katsuki. He’s notoriously the first one awake and downstairs by a long shot, and, looking at the clock, it’s only—

Wait. 

Ochaco?

“—set up, but I didn’t anticipate…this.”

A cabinet opens and closes, and Izuku watches his footing, careful not to make a sound. Something tells him he’s not meant to hear this conversation.

“Don’t you think you’re, you know, taking it a little too far?” He can practically feel Ochaco’s patience wearing thin. 

“Tch. Don’t underestimate me, Cheeks.”

“Bakugou—” Eijirou, too? “—you know Midoriya didn’t actually—”

“Shut it, Shitty Hair. I don’t wanna hear anything more from you about this.”

A drawer slams shut; cutlery jingles together. The whip of a whisk stirring liquid in a bowl.

Eijirou laughs, but it’s strained; exasperated. “But—”

Katsuki’s voice lowers, and Izuku struggles to hear. “I don’t lose. You should know by now that I will always win, on my own, by any means necessary.”

Izuku’s stomach drops. He steps back. His hand trembles as it touches his lips. 

“I don’t think he realizes—okay, okay! Sorry...” Ochaco breaks off midsentence, shocking Izuku; she’s not one to back down, even with Katsuki.

Eijirou sighs deeply, muttering something he can’t hear. 

“Irrelevant, asshole. None of this would’ve happened if it wasn’t for you.”

“I didn’t even do anything!”

“Tch. Outta my way. You’re going to burn my—”

Izuku’s heard enough. 

He takes the stairs two at a time, uncaring if the stairwell door banged against the wall and alerted them to his presence. 

Kacchan💥

morning nerd

Izuku opens the text but doesn’t reply.

Kacchan💥

breakfast is ready 

Izuku sits on his bed, his hand wrapped around his backpack strap, and watches the clock tick with a blank stare. More messages appear on his screen and are left unanswered.

Kacchan💥

oi

do i need to ring a bell for u now, u spoiled brat

izuku

One Missed Call from Kacchan💥

hey

i can see u opened my texts. u okay?

nerd we’re gonna be late

At the last possible second, Izuku heads down the stairs and races out of the building, waving at Katsuki in passing and ignoring the confused, wounded look that flashes across his face, too sudden to mask in his surprise. 

Izuku sits down at the bell. Katsuki and Eijirou wander in a couple minutes later, bowing their heads in apology to Aizawa-sensei. 

Before he sits down, Katsuki piles two tamago onigiri on his desk. 

Kacchan💥

wtf was that?

u going to tell me what’s going on or u just going to spiral on ur own

Izuku glances at his texts, surprised that Katsuki broke one of his core rules—no texting in class—to message him. 

He doesn’t answer.

Kacchan💥

k

Izuku shuts his phone off. When the bell rings, Izuku beelines for the door. 

On his desk sit two unopened onigiri.

He skips lunch, hiding out in All Might’s office without saying much of anything at all. Luckily, he doesn’t probe. 

Izuku goes through the motions of his day without really processing anything, including what he overheard earlier. There’s too many thoughts, too many questions. Too many feelings at war with each other: confusion, dread, disgust, betrayal, humiliation, grief, apathy. 

Hurt.

Much later, after he forces down a few bites of Kyoka’s dinner in the seclusion of his room, a knock sounds. 

It’s harsh, angry, a natural disaster in the form of a fist.

Izuku knows who it is, so he doesn’t answer. 

A second knock, louder than the first. His door shakes with the pressure.

“Really, Izuku?” Katsuki scoffs, kicking the door. “I thought being hot and cold was Half-and-Half’s thing, not yours.”

There’s hurt in Katsuki’s voice—the pleading undertone, the snark, the slow, shaky breath between his words. 

Guilt opens the door for Katsuki.

Anger prevents him from making it far.

“What are you doing here, Kacchan?” Izuku asks tiredly; curtly.

Katsuki blinks, shocked. He recovers quickly, drawing on his own ire. “Tch. I’m here to trick or treat. Why the fuck do you think I’m here, huh? I want answers, Izuku.”

He shrugs. “Well, I don’t have them for you.”

Katsuki’s mouth falls open. “You don’t have them? What the hell does that even mean!”

“It means,” Izuku stresses, grinding his teeth, “I’m done. I’m done playing this—this whatever it was. It’s gone on long enough.”

“Fuck off with that.” Katsuki says, backing into the wall by the door. His voice is quiet, devoid of all emotion. “Tell me what to—last night we—”

Izuku shakes his head, hating how his voice quivers when he’s mad. “You had your fun, but I didn’t sign up for this. It's over. You win. Happy?”

“Oi, oi, wait a damn minute, Izuku,” Katsuki breathes, holding out his hands in front of him. Izuku ignores him, grabbing the door handle and pulling it open. “Please.”

“I don’t want…any part of whatever it is you’re offering, Kacchan.” Izuku turns his head to the side, looking out into the hallway. “Please, just go.”

It takes a minute, or a millenia, but Katsuki does. He exhales like he’s been punched in the chest, reaches out for Izuku and then pulls back. When he passes Izuku to step into the hall, Katsuki tries to meet his eyes, but the effort is futile. 

Izuku turns back into his room, ignoring the palpable hurt on Katsuki’s face and shuts the door on him.

He waits, Izuku can tell. 

He waits and waits and waits and—

Eventually, he goes.

Only then does Izuku slide to the floor and cry.

xx

It’s unbearably awkward for the rest of the week. Or, it would be, if Izuku let it bother him.

It does not bother him.

His friends know something is up, everyone does—it’d be hard to miss the thick tension in the air and the tightrope everybody’s walking on. Thankfully, no one brings it up to him, and his friends do their best to balance space with distraction. He doesn’t clear the air with Ochaco, but not because he’s upset with her; given what he overheard, it sounded like she wasn’t on board with Katsuki’s plan and tried to defend Izuku, even if the details are murky. It’s more that he doesn’t know what to say.

He just feels stupid, really. He’d rather just move on.

Katsuki stays away, which is both a relief and a physical ache. There are no more good morning or goodnight texts, no random messages throughout the day. There are no meals for him, no meals with him, no invitations to mingle with the Bakusquad. No sparring, not even in class, which means Katsuki must’ve said something to their teachers about not being paired together. No studying together, no walks to their ramen shop. 

No casual touches. No fleeting looks. No flirting, no berating, no teasing, no complaints. No knocks on his door. 

No cinnamon-sweet smell on the pillow, and no strong arms holding him at night.

Katsuki doesn’t go to movie night. He leaves whatever room Izuku enters. He doesn’t speak up in class and he retires to his room shortly after training every day. 

He does exactly what Izuku wanted. 

Izuku doesn’t let it bother him. He’s determinately not bothered.

By Saturday, Izuku is worn out. One exam is under his belt and more wait in the wings, which means there’s no time to slow down. 

“You sure you guys are good?” Izuku chugs the rest of his water, holding the door open to his room. “We have Gym Gamma reserved for two hours, and we only used about thirty minutes of that.”

Shouto spreads his arms out and dives facedown onto Izuku’s bed as Hitoshi plops into his desk chair, spinning around and around until he slows to a stop, coming face-to-face Izuku.

He suddenly has the overwhelming suspicion that he’s in trouble. 

“We’re good.”

“Really?” Izuku asks, pointing behind him, trying to ease the gradual tension. “Because I could keep going if—”

“No,” Shouto groans. It’s muffled, but Izuku heard him loud and clear.

Izuku’s mouth closes abruptly. He frowns at Hitoshi, pointing at their friend. 

“You’re off your game, Midoriya,” Hitoshi translates for him, sighing tiredly. “It’s obvious. That’s why we called it early.”

Izuku scoffs, folding his arms over his chest. “No, I’m not.”

“Yeah, you are,” Hitoshi implores seriously.

Izuku swallows, fighting back the sting in his eyes. He focuses on a Golden Age All Might poster hanging parallel to him. “If this is about the Embers—”

“S’not about th’embers,” Shouto assures him.

“Oh.” That only slightly mollifies him. “Then…?”

Hitoshi shrugs. “You tell us. But we are getting to the bottom of it, because you’re going to hurt one of us or yourself if you keep on like this.”

“Like what, exactly?” He thought he’d been holding it together pretty well, all things considered. He’s been focusing on school and training, almost exclusively, all week. He’s never been more locked in.

“Distracted, slow, half-hearted,” Hitoshi supplies. 

“Sloppy,” Shouto adds, hot on his heels, like he’d been waiting to say it.

Fuck. 

Izuku sighs, sliding down the wall, his face turned up towards the ceiling.

“Midoriya.” Swallowing the glass in his throat, Izuku rolls his head to look at Hitoshi. Shouto sits up. “What happened?”

He tells them. Mostly. 

The story jumps around, because they were there for some of it, but a lot of it—the majority of it was just…small things, things he can’t really convey properly with only one language at his disposal. He glosses over the details of their more intimate moments but retains the gravity, the weight of what transpired and the shift in Izuku’s perception of what was going on between them. 

He’d barely admitted it to himself but, for a little while, Izuku actually thought that it was real. That this wasn’t still some game; that it wasn’t the second coming of Katsuki’s superiority complex rearing its explosive, competitive head. 

Hitoshi lounges on the bed next to Shouto, now. “And what, he rejected you or something?”

“No, not exactly,” Izuku says, twirling a pen around his fingers as he sits at his desk.

Word for word, he repeats the conversation he overheard in the kitchen, with whom and with what inflections at which times. But reiterating it is distinctly unsatisfying. He realizes that he’d been bottling it all up, waiting for the twisted opportunity to lay out his hurt and betrayal for someone else to dissect; to look at him and nod solemnly as they confirmed his theory. 

But that’s not what happens. He doesn’t do the scenario justice; doesn’t convey the emotion adequately—the concern in Ochaco’s voice, the stubborn determination in Katsuki’s, the tired caution in Eijirou’s interjections. Izuku can see in their faces that they’re not grasping it, not fully.

Izuku sighs in frustration, rubbing his eyes. “I’m not explaining it right.”

Shouto and Hitoshi glance at each other. “Well, what did Uraraka say?”

Izuku shakes his head dismissively. “I didn’t talk to her about it.”

“What? Why?” Hitoshi asks.

He shrugs. “I didn’t know how. It just felt, I don’t know…like it was already in the past? I felt dumb enough already, getting so carried away like that after talking to her days before about how I knew what I was doing. That I was fully on board with it, actually.” 

He scoffs at his past self, shaking his head self-deprecatingly.

“I just…It’s just so unfair.” Izuku looks up at two of his closest friends. “Why do I have to feel guilty when Kacchan is the one who did something wrong, not me? I’m the one who was humiliated, not him.”

Shouto inclines his head. “How were you humiliated?”

Izuku blinks. “W–well, I was made a fool of. In front of everyone. My friends, the student body, even the teachers!”

“But how were you made into a fool? I don’t understand. I didn’t see it that way,” Shouto continues, frowning at Hitoshi, who nods in agreement. 

“I can’t speak for everyone,” Hitoshi ventures, “but I think most people just think you two finally got together, and that you had a bad fight. Or that you broke up.”

Izuku reels back. “What?”

Hitoshi leans forward, forearms on his knees. “I mean, think about it. Did anyone react badly when you two started this whole ‘situationship’? Did anyone seem remotely surprised, or like they were in on some joke, during or after everything that happened?”

Izuku thinks back, scanning his memories. “Well, there was one person, but I think that was more about him than about me or u-us—Kacchan and me, I mean. Um,” he scratches his chin, “there were a few surprised faces at lunch sometimes, but no one I really knew.”

“Right,” Hitoshi nods. “To be honest, as an outsider, there really wasn’t much of a difference in how you two acted.”

“Shinsou-kun,” Izuku deadpans. “C’mon. Todoroki-kun, tell him!”

Shouto shrugs. “He’s not wrong, Midoriya.” 

Izuku gawks at them, concerned about their eyesight. Oh, no—did they miss their annual eye exam? Does Izuku need to get a new one after graduation? Blue light has been affecting him more and more recently—

“Aside from the physical affection,” Shouto goes on, pulling Izuku’s attention back to him, “and the whole sleeping arrangement thing, you guys carried on as usual. For you two, at least.”

Izuku stares at them skeptically. “How?! Every little thing felt like a major shift in our dynamic.” He throws his hands up. “I was constantly worried it would ruin what we worked so painstakingly hard to repair. I thought I could handle it—the teasing, the handholding, whatever—because it was kind of funny, and fun, but then…” He groans, sliding in his chair. “Kacchan is one of the most important people in my life, you guys, and now everything is ruined anyway.”

Hitoshi takes a deep breath then holds out his hand, punctuating his talking points by counting on his fingers. “You’ve long been the only person Bakugou will cook for. If he found out I didn’t eat for three days straight, we all know he wouldn’t sit me down and feed me every meal from now on, he’d just reprimand me constantly. He texts your mom updates on how you’re doing and shares recipes with her. He always saves you a seat on Movie Night, which he does not do—and has not ever done—for anyone else, even when asked. He cares about your sleep schedule, and knows how to predict—and soothe—your existential anxiety. He follows your mutterings and ramblings every single time, even if he plays it down—not even we can do that, at least not consistently. He had his mom stand in a line at four a.m. to get you Special Edition All Might merchandise he knew you wanted, and arranged for that weeks ago, before any of this started.”

“He calls you pet names,” Shouto offers.

Izuku gives him a flat look. “I don’t think ‘nerd’ or ‘loser’ or ‘idiot’ or ‘dumbass’ count.”

“Don’t forget ‘shitty nerd,’” Hitoshi supplies.

“Thanks,” Izuku deadpans.

Shouto shrugs. “He says it like an endearment, which he doesn’t do for anyone else. He buys you lunch every time you guys venture off-campus, and he’s quick to spoil you; always has been.”

“Yeah, that’s true,” Hitoshi agrees. “And he always chooses to spar with you, even when you were working your way back to health and weren’t the biggest challenge for him. He never says no when you ask to study with him. In fact, he almost never says no to you about anything.”

Izuku shakes his head. “That’s not—you guys are making this all out to be more than it is.”

“Are we?” Hitoshi asks dubiously. Izuku doesn’t answer, startled by Hitoshi’s certainty. “Listen. Bakugou hates games; he’s a straightforward, blunt guy. Doesn’t he always go on and on about how he never does anything he doesn’t want to do, and he doesn’t say anything he doesn’t mean?” Izuku nods hesitantly. “Then why are you doubting him now?”

“Well, because,” Izuku says, feeling more lost than he did five days ago. “What he said, in the kitchen—”

“Midoriya.” Izuku turns to Shouto. “You said so yourself that you don’t know what to think, or how you feel. Maybe you should get the whole story first. Give Bakugou a chance to explain, if he’s that important to you. Bakugou’s grown a  lot, and he may be a lot of things, but he’s not the type to screw around with people’s feelings, especially not yours.”

Shouto stands, and Hitoshi joins him. 

“You should probably think about why you were so quick to throw out Kirishima’s name, and why, even if you did think it was a game, you never admitted to yourself what you already know.”

Izuku swallows, afraid. “And what’s that?”

“That if you conceded, you’d no longer have an excuse to keep up the pretense that you were only humoring him.” 

Izuku turns away as he inhales sharply, and nods once, unable to say anything with the pressure in his throat. Hitoshi moves closer, speaks softly.

“I know I’m no professional or anything, but that right there?” He flicks something stuck in the pile of books on the corner of his desk. He doesn’t remember putting those there. “That’s not the face of someone who doesn’t care deeply about you. Unless he’s a psychopath,” Histoshi says, looking over his shoulder at Izuku, “which I haven’t ruled out yet.”

Izuku laughs—it’s weak, but it’s genuine. Kacchan? A psychopath? Not a chance.

He swivels in his chair as the door shuts behind them, and pulls out the photobooth strip he never saw. He forgot about it entirely, actually; he hasn’t even opened a single manga volume since they returned. He was too wrapped up in Katsuki, and then too hung up on everything that happened after, or what it meant. Or didn’t mean.

Even with all the complicated feelings fighting for dominance in his chest, Izuku can’t help the wide smile that blooms bright when he looks at the photos.

In the first, Izuku’s face is a bit manic, a grin splitting his face as he tickles a horrified Katsuki.

In the second photo, Izuku’s a little blurry, laughter wracking his body in the aftermath as Katsuki both looks like he’s planning Izuku’s murder and that he almost doesn’t want to; his eyes are wild and his smile is fond, and Izuku can’t believe he missed it.

The third captures the next moment where their eyes meet, soft smiles mirrored at each other, genuine happiness oozing from their every pore. It’s impossible not to feel the unmistakable affection they have for each other. It almost feels like he’s intruding.

Which is a dumb thought, obviously. He urges himself to move on.

But the last photo steals Izuku’s breath. His eyes are downcast, and there’s the subtlest flush on the bridge of his nose and underneath his freckles. Katsuki’s kissing his cheek, but his eyes are low, locked on Izuku’s expression, and his lips are upturned at the corners, like he just couldn’t help himself.

Izuku stares at it far longer than he’d like to admit. It hurts, but it feels like a good hurt. It feels like evidence; proof that it wasn’t all in his head; confirmation that he wasn’t—couldn’t have been—in it alone, even if for a fleeting moment.

He hangs the photostrip up, unable or unwilling to keep it hidden. Internally ashamed at forgetting about all the manga he was initially excited about, Izuku opts to reorganize his shelves as he mulls over everything Hitoshi and Shouto said to him.

But just as he’s about to shelve the last volume, Izuku finds something else; something unexpected. 

It’s a brand new composition notebook. On it is the title: Hero Analysis for the Future, Vol. 17. 

The only thing is, Izuku didn’t buy this notebook, and that’s not his handwriting. 

It’s Katsuki’s.

xx

Most people are surprised when they first learn that Izuku and Katsuki are close. To them, Izuku and Katsuki couldn’t be more different from one another. 

For one, Katsuki is competitive to a fault; he’s brash and rude and extremely driven. Izuku, on the other hand, is kind, a people-pleaser, and curious to a fault. 

But that’s just what’s on the surface. 

The truth is, Izuku is just as competitive and driven as Katsuki, it just presents differently. And Katsuki is secretly kind, and equally as curious as Izuku, though he hides it well. 

He’s also unreasonably impatient, a characteristic Izuku shares with him.

Two hours after Hitoshi and Shouto stage an intervention, Izuku finds Katsuki in the locker room. 

“Oh!” Eijirou jumps. He sidesteps and elbows Katsuki obnoxiously, making him stumble into the open metal door.

“You wanna die—”

Eijirou widens his eyes and wears a strained, too-wide smile. “Hey, Midoriya!” 

Katsuki stills for a millisecond before intentionally carrying on as he was.

“Uhm, hi, Kirishima-kun.” Izuku raises his hand in a hesitant greeting. “Uh, could you, maybe—”

“Of course, bro! Say no more.” Eijirou turns and grabs his things, giving Katsuki a consoling pat on the back. As he hobbles past Izuku with one leg in his pants and his shirt hanging around his neck, he mouths, good luck, and makes a swift exit. 

He really is one of the good ones.

Izuku takes a deep breath and turns back to Katsuki, only to let out an embarrassing squeak when he sees Katsuki’s dropped his towel and is bending to slip on his joggers. “I—um, sorry! I’ll just wait—”

Katsuki sighs tiredly, pulling a shirt over his head. “Just get it over with, Izuku.”

Right. This is fine. He anticipated a hostile Katsuki, not a resigned one. He can adapt. He can go with the flow. He’s cool. He’ll just—

“Well?” Katsuki says, pushing a headband into his hair and turning to face Izuku with an impatient look. “Say what you came to say.”

Izuku squeezes his eyes shut and blurts, “What did you mean when you said you’d win by any means necessary?”

“...What?”

Izuku opens his eyes to find a lost, annoyed Katsuki. Really? “You know—in the kitchen the other day? With Kirishima-kun and Uraraka-san?” He waves his hands around just as impatiently, trying to jog Katsuki’s memory with the power of his will alone. “You blamed everything between us on Kirishima-kun? Do you really not remember? You didn’t want to be underestimated and it was all a set up and—”

“Hold the fuck up.” Katsuki pinches the bridge of his nose. “You have no idea what you’re saying.”

Izuku’s arms drop to his sides in a loud slap. He huffs. “That’s why I’m here, Kacchan! Because, seriously? ‘Any means necessary’? Are you for—”

“I said shut the fuck up.”

“Um,” Izuku scrunches his mouth, “you didn’t, actually. You said—”

“Just shut the fuck up, Izuku! Fuck!” Katsuki slams his locker and rubs his face. “Are you kidding me with this shit?” Izuku just looks at him. Katsuki glares back. “Well? I asked you a question, nerd.”

‘Nerd’ felt promising. 

“Oh,” Izuku blinks. “That wasn’t a hypothetical?”

“No, it fucking wasn’t a fucking hypothetical!” 

Izuku explodes. “THEN NO I’M NOT KIDDING! WHY WOULD I BE KIDDING, KACCHAN?!”

“OBVIOUSLY YOU’RE TRYING OUT SOME NEW COMEDY ROUTINE BECAUSE I KNOW YOU’RE NOT THAT DUMB, DUMBASS!”

Izuku rounds the bench between them, unable to keep still. “I DON’T KNOW, KACCHAN, APPARENTLY I’M A DUMBASS SO WHY DON’T YOU SPELL IT OUT FOR ME?!”

Katsuki’s eyes twitch, and he holds his hands out by his sides as if he’s trying not to lose control of his quirk. 

“I SAID WHAT I SAID!”

“BUT WHAT DID IT MEAN, KACCHAN?!”

“WHAT DON’T YOU UNDERSTAND??”

“LITERALLY ALL OF IT OR ELSE WE WOULDN’T BE HERE RIGHT NOW!”

“IT MEANS THAT I FUCKING LOVE YOU, YOU MOTHERFUCKING IDIOT! AND I WAS GOING TO DO EVERYTHING POSSIBLE TO PROVE TO YOU THAT I WAS THE BEST AND YOU SHOULD PICK ME!”

Izuku goes pale, gaping at Katsuki panting red-faced in front of him. “What?”

“WHAT, DUMB AND BLIND AREN’T ENOUGH FOR YOU? YOU HAVE TO BE DEAF, TOO, NOW?!”

“Kacchan,” Izuku gasps. “Don’t mess with me right now—”

“WHO’S MESSING WITH YOU?!”

“Stop yelling! I can’t think!”

Katsuki groans like he just threw his back out. “YOU YELLED FIRST! AND WHAT IS THERE TO THINK ABOUT?! DO YOU LOVE ME TOO OR NOT?”

“OBVIOUSLY, KACCHAN! OBVIOUSLY I LOVE YOU!” Izuku rolls his eyes, rubbing his temples. “I thought you were supposed to be some genius-prodigy!”

“OI! What more was I supposed to do?! I told you I was serious!”

“Yeah, about a game!”

“IT WAS NEVER A GAME, IZUKU!”

“Well, I didn’t know that!” Izuku whines, exasperated. “You kept saying you wanted to beat Kirishima-kun, as if he was ever in competition with you! I thought it was just about your ego!”

Katsuki leans forward, seething, his patience somehow thinner than his waist. “It was about you, idiot!”

Izuku stretches his collar; he’s starting to overheat. “I know that now!” 

Katsuki releases the world’s longest sigh of exasperation. “I explicitly told you to take me seriously! I told you I was coming for you! How much clearer could I be?!”

Izuku’s jaw drops open. He gestures between them with incredulity. “A LOT clearer, Kacchan!”

He pulls his hair. “I TOLD YOU IT WASN’T A GAME!”

“I THOUGHT THAT WAS JUST KACCHAN-TALK FOR ‘ME BEST, YOU SEE’!”

An offended laugh is pulled from Katsuki’s throat. “Was that supposed to be me?!” 

What is happening right now?! 

Izuku gives him a flat look, his hands on his hips. “No, it was an impression of my mom, Kacchan! I’ve been practicing, what did you think?”

Katsuki scoffs, then charges at him.

“WAHHCHAN?!”

He grabs Izuku by the face and turns him, pushing him down onto the bench and climbs into his lap. “You are so—” Katsuki kisses him, hard, “—fucking—” and kisses him again, “—stupid. You know that, right?”

Izuku comes up for air and regrets it immediately. He nods deliriously, reaching up to frame Katsuki’s face and pull him back to his mouth. “Yeah. So stupid.”

Their kiss is aggressive, apologetic. It’s passionate and sweet, soft and deep. Izuku pulls him closer and Katsuki tries to mold them into one being. They touch and laugh and mumble insults that sound like confessions until Katsuki abruptly pulls away.

“You want this, right? That’s what’s happening, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Izuku gasps, trying to pull Katsuki close again, to no avail. 

“Then say it.”

He pulls back, frowning. His brain is working too slow for this, what is Katuski doing?! “Say what?”

Katsuki leans close, brushing his lips against Izuku’s teasingly. “That I’m the best boyfriend.”

Izuku pushes Katsuki onto the floor and stands up.

“OI!” Katsuki grabs his ankle as he tries to make a quick getaway and drags Izuku onto the floor, too. 

“Ooomf!” He goes down hard, but Katsuki crawling over his body like a hunter that’s caught his quarry more than makes up for it.

Katsuki grips Izuku’s hair and pulls their faces close, but not close enough for what Izuku wants, needs, craves. “Say. It.”

“If I say it, will you kiss me again?”

“Say it and find out.”

Izuku rolls his eyes, but the curve of his lips betrays him. “Bakugou Katsuki is officially crowned the title of Best Boyfriend Ever and I, Midoriya Izuku, am not biased at all.”

Katsuki glares at him, assessing. Izuku turns on the puppy-dog eyes. He sighs. “Acceptable,” and kisses him. “You know what this means, right?”

“God, who knew you could talk so much?” Izuku mumbles against his lips.

Katsuki pinches his side and swallows his giggles. “Shut up, nerd. Answer me.”

He sighs dreamily. “What does it mean, Kacchan?”

“You have to date me now,” he says with a manic grin. “Officially. Again. Or else.”

A laugh bubbles out of Izuku’s chest. “Or else, what?”

Katsuki pinches his other side and Izuku yelps, trying to get away. “OR ELSE YOU DIE, HOW ABOUT THAT?!”

Izuku can barely breathe through the laughter. “Is that—your idea—of romance, Kacchan?” He gasps and then lowers his voice until it’s smoky and gravely and full of doom. “Date me or die!”

Katsuki exhales through his nose, too amused to pretend otherwise. “You’re such a fucking nerd.”

“Mmm,” Izuku pecks him on the lips. “Your nerd. Wait! Kacchan!” He says with a gasp, smacking him on the shoulder.

“What?”

“We have to tell our moms!”

“Nah,” he smirks. “Already told them.”

“What? When?”

“Yesterday, when I dropped your manga off in your room,” he confesses with a shrug and an unapologetic grin.

Izuku punches his shoulder. “You are insufferable.”

Katsuki kisses his cheek, and then his lips. “You love it.”

He loves it. 

xoxo