The first time it happened, Izuku thought that the feeling of an itch he couldn’t scratch and the strange heat in his gut were from anxiety. He’s used to Katsuki being angry, used to him yelling— but the tears are new.
Katsuki’s confession of having someone better than him is new. Katsuki saying he’s going to prove something to him, Izuku, is new. Never before had Katsuki ever viewed Izuku as a threat in this way, and something about that confrontation after their first battle training exposed this vulnerable part of him that Izuku had never really seen before.
Maybe it was the change in crying. The way his eyes shine from fresh tears, red rimmed and so open, even if still brimming with anger. Though, this emotional display changes the fury into something else that pulls Izuku in, a depth to Katsuki’s emotions that Izuku’s never experienced.
That’s enough to be anxiety inducing, right? A new side to Katsuki that’s, once again, aimed at Izuku and only Izuku?
The second time it happened, there’s that same, strange heat and itchiness that felt impossible to dig deep enough inside of himself to satiate, but its cause is an easy explanation: adrenaline, he figures. They just had a huge fight with a tidal wave of an emotional catharsis, after all. His face hurts, there are probably some burns that need to be attended to, he’s sore— but there’s an intimacy that comes with having a shared secret.
Katsuki looks pretty, even when his face is beat to hell and his cheeks still wet from crying.
That’s the culprit.
This third time, though, is a lot harder to explain.
There is no explosive anger, there isn’t even a fight.
Izuku just walks in at the wrong moment.
But the way Katsuki’s tear stained cheeks reflect the light of the moon on the rooftop, his face flushed from either his crying or the autumn wind or both— his lips are swollen, dark. There’s an urge to touch them that Izuku doesn’t quite understand.
A strange cocktail of emotions is mixing in Izuku at this moment— he wants to comfort, to stub out the origin of his friend’s pain, but that same, fiery sensation burns at his guts just like the past two times he’s seen this happen, but it feels more intense now than ever before.
Izuku swallows. Something primal in him is stirring— an urge to feel, to touch. He wonders what Katsuki’s tears would taste like under his tongue.
It’s an unexpected thought that pierces his brain like a bullet.
He can barely register what it means before he realizes Katsuki’s been yelling at him.
“Are you fucking deaf? What do you want?”
The thing that surprises Izuku the most about this situation is Katsuki’s lack of denial— he does not mop up his tears, does not deny that he’s crying alone on the dorm roof to Izuku.
Has the notion of Izuku being the only one to accept Katsuki’s feelings still ring true after all this time? After their three years at UA? He has other friends too, Izuku reasons. But maybe, Katsuki feels a semblance of trust for Izuku to see him in this state?
The idea of it has Izuku’s body feeling like a furnace, pulsing heat so intensely he’s sure Katsuki will say something about the temperature change. It’s the same scratch he can’t itch, a warmth pooling in his groin—
“Do you wanna go for a run?” He blurts out, the words vomited out so quickly he wonders if Katsuki can even register them as a sentence.
Running clears Izuku’s head. Maybe it will clear Katsuki’s too.
God knows Izuku really needs it right now.
Katsuki’s eyebrows furrow, eyeing Izuku up and down, like he’s trying to figure out his game. Or maybe just trying to figure what the hell he just said.
Much to Izuku’s regret, Katsuki wipes the sleeve of his windbreaker on his face, drying his tears off, the reflection on his cheeks now gone. He wonders why he feels so disappointed by it.
The cold air burns at Izuku’s lungs, his fingers numb and mind blank. They don’t talk throughout their run— just the sound of their combined panting, shoes pounding on the school’s track, and the steady hammering of Izuku’s heart beats in his ears.
He’s not sure when the amicable silences started, or the lack of arguments. Not that they don’t ever argue, but it’s significantly less than usual. Their fights are more like spars now. Friendlier. As All Might once said— like proper rivals.
After a few laps, they’re both lying against the wet grass of the field, catching their breath, Izuku now so frigid he wonders if the weird warmth that burned in him earlier had ever existed.
Katsuki sits up, muttering about how they should head back to the dorms since it’s nearly curfew. Izuku hums in agreement, but shuts his eyes, remaining still on the grass.
When he opens them, Izuku stares in confusion at the hand extended to him.
“Well? Are you getting up or what, dumbass?”
Izuku takes Katsuki’s hand, pulling himself up, clinging onto the warmth of his hand for as long as Izuku can before it becomes too strange.
The critical looks Katsuki keeps throwing at him throughout the night makes him think that maybe it’s a little too late for that. He’s doing it again now, after letting go of Izuku’s hand.
“Thanks,” Katsuki finally says, eyes focused on the ground. “I guess.” He turns, burying his hands in his jacket pockets before walking to the dorms without a second glance.
“Y—yeah,” Izuku stutters out before following.
Izuku hopes as he’s dragging his heavy, exhausted legs back to his dorm room, that he can get this weird...whatever feeling that was out of his system. He likes where things are with Katsuki. He likes that Katsuki can feel open around him. He likes these peaceful moments.
However, when muddled images of swollen lips, flushed faces, ash blonde hair and tear-stained cheeks penetrate his dreams only to give him a sticky mess when he wakes up, he begins to think that he may have a problem.
Izuku likes to think that he’s a perfectly normal, healthy person.
As much as he squirms in discomfort about how brazenly some of the boys talk about sex or porn or any other related topic, he’s not exactly innocent in having his own lewd searches that needed a good delete-history scrub from time to time.
But this is...different, he thinks.
What a gross sounding word.
Izuku also likes to think that he’s not a sadistic person. He doesn’t enjoy seeing others in pain, or take pleasure in someone’s suffering. Apparently, dacryphilia can be caused by getting off to the power play in seeing someone in emotional distress.
It makes Izuku uncomfortable to think that’s a source of— a source of arousal. For him. Especially considering that his hero course graduation is right around the corner, the expectation of being a servant of the people, full of valor and a pillar for hope.
He’s never rescued anyone thinking it was— ugh. Thinking it was like,
So where does it stem from? This discovery makes him feel like that he may be a bad person.
But rather wallow in his guilt, Izuku does what he will always do in times of confusion: research.
Now that he has a word, a descriptor for his feelings and bodily reactions, he can zero in on what the cause is and how to get rid of it.
The videos he finds are, ah, well— uncomfortable at best and downright horrifying at worst. He gets absolutely nothing out of watching these women being debauched and crying. He clicks out of the remaining windows, wipes his browser history clean and rubs his eyes with the heel of his hand, hoping it also wipes out some of the images from his brain.
Okay. Well. It’s not, like— undiscriminated dacryphilia, he concludes. He doesn’t find any crying hot. There’s relief in that discovery.
His face remains hidden in his hands. But he does find some crying hot, if his reactions from Katsuki are anything to go by. If this internal spank bank material going straight to the image of a crying Katsuki is anything to go by.
Well, Katsuki is male. Most of the videos he finds star women, so maybe narrowing down his search to only men will change things up.
Izuku swallows. He’s never really— he’s never
been able to look up anything porn related with men involved without clicking out of the window before it’s finished. There’s a looming cloud that floats over him about it, thinking that if he finishes the video it confirms something about himself he’s not really ready to face.
He’s not sure if he’s really ready to face it even now, but he’ll brave anything in the name of research. Anything to assuage this guilt.
It’s not quite as easy to find the same material starring men, but Izuku’s relentless internet searching skills pay off once again when he finds a video titled ‘Blond Twink Cries To Daddy Pt 2’.
Izuku sighs. This is not a result of his efforts he should be praising himself about. Sometimes his masterful internet searching skills are both a blessing and a curse.
Before pressing play, he double checks that his headphones are securely plugged into his laptop, glancing around just to make damn sure no one is watching. He knows the door is locked because he already made sure he locked it three times before any of this research started.
Living in a dorm has made Izuku hyper-aware of the proximity of others around him and how thin the walls actually are, especially in times of, ah— privacy.
Izuku inhales through his nose, readying himself, then exhales and presses play.
The same, awful music in every budgeted porn video begins playing which, god— he wonders if it actually works for people. There has to be a reason it’s always used.
The man on screen, who he assumes is the ‘blond twink’ the title suggests, is handsome, Izuku will admit, but if he had to be completely honest with himself— which is slowly, though agonizingly, getting a little bit easier to do— he is not quite as handsome as Katsuki.
But maybe he is just biased. He knows Katsuki. He’s more used to Katsuki.
The actor on screen is still kind of pretty, though— his eyes are bright blue, brighter than usual thanks to the tears that are streaming down his face. His eyelashes are much longer and thicker than Katsuki’s, clinging together due to tears and face flushed a pretty shade of red.
Alright, maybe, he is getting closer to a source. Maybe it’s just— it’s just guys crying he likes? He’s a little more into it this time with this particular video, but it’s not quite invoking the same intensity like when he’s with Katsuki.
That heat is still missing. Right now it’s more like a lukewarm interest.
He continues watching, a slow simmer building in his gut as the blond on screen begins to sniffle and sob, tears continuing to stream down his face like rapid rivers.
A hand from off screen comes in, running a thumb across his cheek, smearing tears, snot, running across his lips, only to be greedily sucked in by his mouth, with pink, swollen lips stretched across the invading digit—
The slow simmer shifts into something hotter, closer to how it’s made him feel before. His mind drifts, thinking about what it’d be like to run his fingers across Katsuki’s wet cheeks, touching tears and his swollen, crying face—
At least he wonders until a dick comes on screen, rubbing on the blond’s face, catching tears, then starts slapping against tear stained cheeks, making Izuku squeal in shock, scrambling to exit out the window and causing him to accidentally pull his headphones out of its socket, making sounds of moaning, slapping skin and horrible music pour into his room.
“Shit, shit, shit, shit—“ Izuku chants in a full panic, slamming his laptop shut with a loud snap and restrains himself from tossing it across the room, distancing himself from the cursed object.
He freezes, listens. The dorms are quiet.
Maybe no one heard.
Too much, too fast, he concludes. But at least he learned one thing about this disaster: he’s not fixated on just Katsuki. Just…blond men crying, apparently.
He places his laptop on his nightstand, then flops face first down on the mattress of his bed and lets out a frustrated moan.
He has better things to be doing than wondering about weird, newly discovered fetishes anyway. He has finals soon. A graduation to look forward to in the spring semester. A job to find.
Sleep comes fitfully, the ever present guilt sloshing around in his brain with the same images of Katsuki on a rooftop.
Running at night becomes a new ritual for him and Katsuki— usually when one of them feels pent up and needs something to release stress, one would knock on the other’s door.
Not a whole lot of talking is exchanged, but Izuku doesn’t mind— it’s a vast improvement over them fighting, though sometimes their runs morph into a sparring session if one of them is feeling particularly ire.
Izuku watches a bead of sweat roll down Katsuki’s temple, shoving down the depraved part of him that wants to see more than just sweat glistening on Katsuki’s face. His favorite part of training with Katsuki is when he tilts his head back, chugging water after a session, watching his adam’s apple bob with each swallow, imagining the trails of sweat that trace down the tendon and muscle of Katsuki’s neck are stray tears that have wandered too far—
“Quit fuckin’ staring at me, you little weirdo,” Katsuki snaps, putting his water bottle down with more force than necessary.
Izuku looks away, his face flaming up.
After that particular session, Izuku presses his forehead against the cool tile of the shower stall, biting his lip in attempt to remain as quiet as he can in the shared bathroom. It doesn’t take very long for a combination of water, guilt and his own release to circle down the drain as he remembers how the rivulets of sweat roll down Katsuki’s face in a similar fashion to his tears.
Izuku taps his forehead against the tile a few times, frustrated. This is not a good distraction to have.
Apart from the showers he has after a run with Katsuki, Izuku doesn't give his newfound problem too much thought after his botched video searching. He barely has time or the emotional investment to think about anything except for final exams, future job prospects, and training.
But his weird fixation rears its ugly head once again, hitting him like a freight train during graduation. He was not at all prepared for it.
Katsuki and his mother have such a striking resemblance, even when Katsuki was a little kid.
But as Katsuki has gotten older, filled out, gaining more height, age chiseling his jaw and bone structure— standing next to his father, their resemblance is also uncanny. He’s grown into his namesake: the perfect combination of Masaru and Mitsuki.
Bakugou Masaru doesn’t play as significant of a role in Izuku’s childhood in the same way Katsuki’s mother has, but he does remember him being the quiet, solid foundation of the Bakugou household. The glue that keeps his difficult son and equally difficult wife together. The equilibrium of their home.
He’s also reminded on this day that both him and Bakugou-san have one thing in common: they’re both crybabies.
“God, Masaru, get it together. We need at least one nice photo without you covered in snot,” Izuku hears Katsuki’s mother grumble, standing on the other side of their son.
If Izuku put his hand up to block out Bakugou-san’s nose and eyes, the lower half of his face would look exactly like Katsuki’s.
Izuku is also not prepared for the depths of depravity his fixation has lowered him to as he openly watches Bakugou-san sob, the sound eerily close to the sounds Katsuki makes. Same lip shape, same jaw— Izuku swallows, stares. Fixated.
He wonders if Katsuki’s lip trembles the same way his dad’s does when he’s worked up. Bakugou-san is more a sobber than Katsuki is, too. Katsuki’s crying stems from anger; he’s usually yelling, hiccuping, gasping for breath— but not really sobbing.
He also wonders what Katsuki’s sobbing would sound like. Would it sound similar to Bakugou-san’s? Maybe it’d crack more since Katsuki’s voice often does when he cries—
Izuku’s mom snaps him back into reality, calling his name over and over, trying to get his attention to take more photos.
When Izuku finally tears his eyes away from Bakugou-san, he catches Katsuki’s eye.
He’s squinting, mouth in a frown, watching Izuku.
Like Katsuki is trying to figure him out.
The way Katsuki looks at him during graduation haunts Izuku.
It’s stupid to think that Katsuki manifested another quirk that can allow him to read minds, but what if . He’s so keenly observant that there’s no way he doesn’t suspect something. He needs to nip this fixation in the bud.
The last time he looked at videos, it felt like he was moving too fast. He’s still spooked out by this if he thinks on it too long. Maybe it is just men. Maybe it’s situations where it isn’t necessarily...sexy? Ugh.
For now, he nixes kink videos. Maybe he should start slow.
So he starts watching regular, cinematic movies.
A lot of movies.
Movies with crying people, in particular.
Not a whole lot really happens.
Maybe it has to do with how cinematic the entire experience is— which, yes, of course, it’s a movie after all— but taking notice of how it’s lit, or how the actors still have perfect makeup and don’t really let loose in their crying, or the swelling of emotional music behind all of it that lacks in sincerity that the kink video had, that Katsuki or his father had.
He decides that maybe, he should try an actual movie theater. With actual people. In a sad movie, where they might cry.
It’s not a creepy thing to do, he insists to himself. It’s not creepy if all he plans on doing is seeing if watching people cry in a dark room stirs up some kind of interest in him. It’s not like he’s going to act upon it or anything gross like that. It’s just to see if he gets any kind of emotion, or, ah— interest.
Yeah, no way is the guy watching the crying audience of a sad movie to see if it gets his rocks off is like, creepy or anything. Research is research. That is Izuku’s story and he is sticking with it.
Izuku wonders if the guilt he feels about any of this will ever be assuaged. Why couldn’t he develop like, a normal kink. Why did it have to be something as emotionally vulnerable as crying?
Even if it is creepy, the plan is spoiled: the movie is too interesting, so he gets invested. It’s too sad for Izuku himself to bear, and ends up leaving the theater in a fit of his own tears, deciding that maybe a less interesting movie that doesn’t also make him incredibly devastated would be a better approach.
At least he learns that his own crying doesn’t really do anything for him, but he’s also full of too many sad emotions brought up by the movie to feel any kind of arousal, let alone any kind of joy , period.
So he tries a comedy.
The idea of people crying for joy rather than sadness makes Izuku feel a little less like a monster, too.
This time he is careful to pick a movie he only has, at most, a lukewarm interest in. It’s easier to avoid getting sucked in by the story, and fortunately for him there is someone a row behind him that is incredibly into it, their tears of laughter pouring down their face.
Nothing happens, again.
This person also isn’t someone Izuku is normally attracted to anyway— so maybe it’s just a matter of finding the right person to cry? Someone he’s interested in and also looks pretty when tears are spilt.
It takes a while before anyone notices Izuku’s fixation with movies. Mostly because him and his friends are no longer in the dorms together, instead full-on young adults starting their brand new careers. There’s a lot less time together, which is disappointing, but now that hanging out is more intentional rather compulsory, it makes Izuku’s heart flip a little when Kirishima asks to get dinner one night when their shifts end.
He’s known for being a ‘movie guy’, sure— always the one to insist on watching this weird foreign film, or suggesting a psychological thriller when move night rolled around at the dorms, making everyone groan. But it is a little ridiculous that a dozen movie tickets have to be taken out of his jacket in order to see if he still has that yen bill he swears exists to pay for his food.
“Whoa, Midoriya— you’ve really been hitting up the theater lately, huh?” Kirishima asks, picking up the pile.
“Oh, uh—“ Izuku flushes, the yen bill temporarily forgotten. “Um, yes. I guess so.”
Kirishima begins sorting through the tickets, reading each one to see the movie titles. He frowns before saying, “dude, these are like. A bunch of sad movies and rom-coms. You okay?”
“Oh! Yes!” Izuku laughs nervously. “Just, you know—“ he shrugs, nonchalantly. “Kinda what’s caught my interest these days.”
“Really? Huh,” Kirishima responds, stacking up the tickets to give back to Midoriya. “Normally you’d watch like, horror movies and weird psychological stuff but I guess it’s good to expand your horizons.”
Izuku swallows, nodding. It’s not like Kirishima needs to know the real reason.
“Well if you ever want company, let me know. I do love a good, sappy rom-com,” Kirishima says, grinning.
The gears turn and click in Izuku’s head. It’s not—it’s not totally weird if Kirishima is the one that volunteers. Well, he volunteered for watching movies, not to be ogled, the sensible part of his brain argues.
It’s not weird if he intends on not acting upon it, right? It’s just to see if it gets a reaction. If his very platonic friend comes over to watch a movie in a platonic way to see if his crying elicits some kind of platonic arousal.
Maybe it would even work, and Izuku would no longer be a total freak— he only enjoys watching people he cares about cry.
God, he’s a monster.
“Um, yeah,” Izuku says, laughing nervously again. “Actually, that sounds good. Is there one you haven’t seen? Or, I dunno, a classic you always go to?”
Izuku’s surprised how well versed Kirishima is in this topic— he does truly love rom-coms, and it’s surprises him further how well Izuku himself can actually keep up with this conversation.
Definitely watching too many of those movies lately.
They settle on one of Kirishima’s favorites that Izuku hasn’t seen, meeting up at Izuku’s place over the weekend when they’re both free from their shifts.
“It always makes me cry like a baby, so don’t judge me,” Kirishima says with bashful smile. “It’s manly to cry!”
“Yeah,” Izuku agrees. “It...sure is.”
It’s not that Izuku isn’t thrilled about the prospect of working with Katsuki, when he walks into Miruko’s agency a week after Izuku started— it’s a dream come true, in a lot of ways. The problem lies with Izuku’s thoughts and how jumbled they’ve become about him since this weird problem he’s discovered started, how deep in it he is.
So, Izuku decides to avoid him the best he can despite working together at the same agency.
It seems like a solid plan, anyway. Katsuki seems frustrated having Izuku around— more so than usual. Izuku’s sure it has to do with the fact that Katsuki is sharing the spotlight with him, both being up-and-coming and widely anticipated rookie pro-heroes at a Top Five ranking hero’s agency, but Izuku quickly learns it’s something else.
The slam of Izuku’s locker door jumps him out of his reverie.
“You keep fucking staring at me and it’s goddamn weird —“ Katsuki snarls, his hand keeping Izuku’s locker door shut, his arm trapping Izuku between Katsuki and lockers. “So what the hell is your deal, nerd?”
“Uh, I— um— n—nothing.”
“N—n—n—n—nothing, huh?” Katsuki mocks, tilting his head. “You do it all the damn time. I got something on my face or what? You’ve always been a creep but normally you at least try to hide it.”
It hurts, a little— the insult Katsuki throws at him. He’s used to them by now, and it’s usually not hurtful since they’re thrown at everyone indiscriminately or they’re so ridiculous it’s almost comical, but considering his recent affliction, the knife tears into Izuku with more vigor than usual. He’s not wrong — Izuku knows what he’s into is creepy.
“I’ve just been— distracted lately. Is all,” Izuku responds, swallowing. Until this moment, he hasn’t noticed how often he has been staring at Katsuki. “I didn’t realize I stared off in your direction so much. Sorry, Kacchan.”
Katsuki clicks his tongue, eyes flitting across Izuku’s face probably for some evidence of insincerity. If there’s one thing Katsuki hates, it’s a liar. It’s not a total lie, he has been distracted— but by Katsuki’s meer presence, apparently.
He has no idea what that means, but Izuku hopes it passes as soon as this problem of his gets figured out.
Izuku notices how close Katsuki’s face is coming towards his, a little unsettled by how concentrated Katsuki looks.
“Are you um— okay?” Izuku asks, nervous. Katsuki freezes.
“Well, whatever,” Katsuki grumbles, ignoring Izuku’s question and pushing himself off the lockers, away from Izuku. “Just knock it off.”
He almost seems— disappointed? His anger deflates more rapidly than usual when he turns to walk away, snatching his gym bag in frustration before disappearing from the locker room entirely.
The back of Izuku’s head hits the lockers with a soft thud.
He really needs to get it together.
Despite the hiccup in the locker room, Izuku quickly perks up at the idea of watching bad movies and eating take-out with Kirishima, even if there are some underlying ulterior motives.
He’s not entirely a bad person for it, he reasons— he does after all, value and cherish Kirishima as a friend and thoroughly enjoys his company.
He might just have a teeny, tiny experiment going on. Not a big deal.
He knows Kirishima cries when others do— he’s the type that feels so much for his friends that it overflows into his own emotions.
Problem is, Izuku already knows when he cries, it doesn’t really add anything for him. It’s a distraction, even. Crying is cathartic when he does it— emotionally fulfilling and evidence of how he wears is heart on his sleeve, but his own tears do nothing for him the same way others’ have.
But, Izuku is just very good at crying in general. Faking it to see if it elicits a response from Kirishima should be no problem, right? Crying for Izuku is second nature, and knowing that Kirishima will probably follow suit is a surefire way to see if maybe, he just needs a personal connection with the crying person.
Katsuki is, after all, a friend and someone that Izuku has been with since they were children. Maybe it can’t just be a total stranger? Videos have done some things, but he has yet to reach the same plateau as times with Katsuki.
Kirishima shows up a little late, having to be held back by a post-patrol meeting, but in apology shows up with a bag full of take-out options for the two of them to enjoy.
He also brings a tissue box.
“Just in case,” Kirishima explains.
Right, Izuku thinks. Just in case.
The movie isn’t really Izuku’s type— then again, most rom-coms aren’t really his type. He mostly watched them just for the audience reaction. This one, though, gives Izuku a lot of impatience: two people in a dance of pining where there are constant missteps— be it their lack of communication, their obliviousness of the other’s feelings, or just total denial .
It’s kind of pathetic to watch, even for Izuku— and he’s been known to patiently listen to his friends when they’re in their own romantic dilemmas. It took almost an entire year to crack the nut of Todoroki’s emotional constipation and feelings towards a certain wind-bearing giant.
He’d rather relive that year of clueless conversation than continue watching this movie. How do two idiots stay so oblivious to each other’s feelings? It’s so obvious to Izuku.
Kirishima, however, is completely engulfed. It’s hard to believe he’s this invested in a movie he’s apparently seen ‘a million times’. He’s been holding a dumpling between his chopsticks for the past ten minutes, focused on the screen and nowhere else.
His eyes are shiny— reflecting more light from the TV screen than they were previously. Kirishima’s tears are so close to spilling over.
“Oh god,” Kirishima says after a moment, stuffing the near-forgotten dumpling in his mouth. “I love this part,” he says between chews.
He doesn’t get it. Sure, it’s the romantic conclusion, but maybe if they just had listened to each other, then the painfully embarrassing lack of observation could’ve been skipped altogether.
This movie may not be to Izuku’s standards, but being a big crybaby himself, it’s almost too easy to shed some tears for the sake of getting Kirishima to collapse.
Izuku sniffles, bringing attention to himself from Kirishima, who lets out a quiet ‘ I know ’ before he finally breaks down.
He feels a little bad about it— he’s not nearly as invested as Kirishima, and the comradery that Kirishima must be feeling regarding this movie is built on a bed of lies.
Kirishima is also pretty when he cries, but it only feels like a cold stone has been dropped in Izuku’s gut. It’s still not the same, even with a friend, someone he’s familiar with.
The red of Kirishima’s eyes are so similar to Katsuki’s— but the shape of them and the person behind them are so different. Kirishima’s eyes are a cooler shade of red, with flecks of purple and maroon while Katsuki’s burn bright and vivid like flames.
The observation raises the question in him: Why is he always searching for Katsuki in all of this?
Everything he tries out drags his thoughts back to Katsuki. Comparing every person or actor or whoever is the subject of his latest research experiment to Katsuki, how Katsuki makes him feel.
Why is it always him reminding Izuku of his annoying affliction?
“Hey,” Kirishima says softly, catching Izuku’s attention, breaking him of his thoughts and realizing he has probably been staring at Kirishima for a while. Kirishima looks worried. “Are you alright?”
Izuku feels something break in him.
The tears flowing down his cheeks feel a little more real, less performative to what his earlier intentions were. The conclusion of all of this has been staring at him in the face the entire time, and it’s only this moment he’s realizing what he's been stubbornly denying throughout this entire ordeal.
“I— I think I have feelings for Kacchan,” he confesses quietly, barely audible over the movie.
Kirishima doesn’t seem deterred from how out of place the statement is; they are watching some sappy, romance movie so at least it seems fitting. Izuku can’t tell him how he really got hit with this realization, but he’ll let Kirishima believe otherwise.
“Shit, man,” Kirishima says, sobering up, wiping his eyes, the remainder of the movie now ignored by both parties. “That’s rough.”
A watery laughter bubbles up out of Izuku, and Kirishima follows suit. ‘Rough’ is one way of putting it. Impossible is another. Suicidal is, maybe, another way to put it.
“You should tell him,” Kirishima says, handing a tissue over to Izuku.
“No way,” Izuku balks in response, grateful for the tissue from Kirishima before blowing his nose. “It’s totally hopeless.”
Kirishima gives a lopsided smile, looking away. He chews on his bottom lip, as if contemplating something, before he says, “Look, I’m not trying to like...break bro-code or anything, but. You know. It may not be as hopeless as you think it is.”
Izuku huffs, rolling his eyes and blowing his nose. “You don’t have to make me feel better—“
“I’m not,” Kirishima interrupts, his tone a touch more serious than his typical manner. “I mean, I’m not saying it for that reason. But you guys are pretty stupid when it comes to each other, you know?”
Izuku pauses, confused. He’s not sure if he should be insulted or not.
“Like, you guys are always pretty clueless about what you think of each other. You both just...assume the worst? All the time? It’s kinda frustrating to watch sometimes.”
“But he does think the worst of me,” Izuku insists, confusion digging a hole in his brain. Why would Kirishima give him any kind of hope? It’s almost mean.
“Oh my god,” Kirishima moans, scrubbing his face with his hands. “You guys are more frustrating than the people in this movie.”
Izuku sputters, now officially insulted, flinging his used tissue at Kirishima.
The agency is dark when Izuku wraps up his final reports for the evening. Everyone has either gone home or they’re still recovering from the events from earlier in the day, leaving a perfectly quiet agency in its wake.
Apart from the sounds that come from the gym, that is.
Someone is absolutely wailing on the punching bag, given how loud the smacks are and how prominent the clattering of the chains echo down the halls.
Izuku has a pretty damn good guess at who would be crazy enough to be in the gym at the agency this late after today.
It’s been a long and exhausting day. Emergency callings that scattered amongst many different prefectures, resulting in one of the largest crises for heroes in a few years.
Izuku, miraculously, comes out pretty unscathed. A lot of bruising, some stitches— later he finds he has a sprained ankle, after the adrenaline wears off.
Fortunately, Katsuki also comes out fine. Minor injuries. He probably shouldn’t be punching a sandbag, though.
Only minor injuries, but there’s guilt that’s probably ebbing away at him. A guilt that is completely unfounded, in Izuku’s opinion— he doesn’t personally know what it feels like yet, but he knows heroes can’t save everyone. Someone is going to slip through your fingers at some point.
To Katsuki though, it’s a complete failure. The news is about as sympathetic to him as he is to himself, despite his efforts in trying to save everyone to the point where his hands went numb from overuse of this quirk. It’s not fair that Katsuki’s hero debut is tainted with the public’s lingering misconception that he had a hand in All Might’s fall. He’s suffering enough with the aftermath of this situation; he doesn’t deserve the additional, unfound criticism to go with it.
Izuku watches silently as Katsuki takes every last bit of anger out on the poor punching bag, his fists colliding with it with a force that shakes the bag precariously from the chains keeping it attached to the ceiling. He almost looks manic— his hair sticks up every which way from sweat, dark circles staining his face, his mouth twisted into a grimace.
Izuku heart clenches. He looks so exhausted, defeated— but he’s still so pretty, even when a complete mess.
“No, I don’t wanna fucking run,” Katsuki spits out between punches, totally unprompted by Izuku, his sights still set on the punching bag. “Just fuck off and leave me alone.”
“Can’t really run anyway,” Izuku responds, gesturing to his ankle. “Wanna drink instead?”
The words come out of his mouth before he registers them. Neither one of them are much of drinkers, really.
The words seem to catch Katsuki’s attention— he grows still, the steady rhythm of punches now coming to a halt. The only noises are the chains rattling from the swaying of the bag, Katsuki’s panting.
“I haven’t eaten dinner yet, either,” Izuku adds, biting his lip. It’s not a total lie if one counts the jelly energy packets he sucked down when doing paperwork qualify as human food, and the idea of finally getting a real meal makes his stomach growl. He’s also pretty sure Katsuki hasn’t eaten anything since he officially got off duty.
Katsuki rubs his gloved hand over his nose, his face somber in contemplation. His gaze finally moves over to Izuku, a storm of conflicting emotions behind his eyes, utter disappointment in what Izuku can only guess is directed at himself.
Izuku’s heart clenches in his chest again.
“Fuck, fine, whatever,” Katsuki finally says, stripping off the boxing gloves. “I don’t live far from here. We can pick something up on the way. I’m gonna go shower first,” Katsuki says before he grabs his towel, wiping off sweat and heading towards the showers.
Izuku stares, dumbfounded.
For one, fleeting second, Izuku permits himself to believe Kirishima’s words from their movie night.
They’ve never really just...hung out before. Normally their one-on-one hangs hinged on necessity; training, studying, something that facilitated a purpose more than leisure.
Izuku can’t fight the wobbly smile that forms on his face.
Katsuki’s studio apartment is pretty small— probably overpriced too, considering how close to city center it is, but those factors probably don’t matter as much to Katsuki, outweighed by his need to be on-call as quickly as possible.
The apartment is clean with minimal decorating without feeling sterile. There are enough things around to give it some personality— including some photos. He’s pretty sure Katsuki’s friends set those up rather than Katsuki himself, but it’s telling that the photos are still on display.
A crack gets Izuku’s attention.
Katsuki is holding out an open can of beer for Izuku, who takes it gingerly. Beer is an acquired taste he hasn’t really gotten used to just yet, but Katsuki grabbed it before Izuku could protest.
“I thought you were hungry? Or are ya gonna keep snooping through my shit?”
“Ah, sorry—“ Izuku says, taking the seat next to Katsuki at the chabudai, food hot and ready.
Izuku’s surprised to learn that cooking is something that Katsuki actually looks forward to doing. Izuku finds it pretty stressful, trying to find time to cook something of nutritional value for himself between work shifts, only a perfunctory practice that keeps him from malnutrition.
Katsuki, though, seeks it out. When Katsuki said they’d ‘pick something up’ on the way to his place, he assumed it was take out. As soon as they entered a grocery store, Izuku realizes he meant ingredients.
“Wow, Kacchan,” Izuku says after taking a bite. “This is really good.”
“It’s just fucking yakisoba, Deku, keep your pants on.”
It takes a few mouthfuls of food before Izuku realizes that Katsuki hasn’t touched a single noodle or vegetable of his food since he sat down. The beer rests in his hands, staring into the table, into nothing.
“You should eat,” Izuku says softly, looking at Katsuki’s untouched plate of food before drawing his attention to Katsuki.
Katsuki rolls his jaw, clearly annoyed by being told what to do, but says nothing. Tension radiates off Katsuki as toxic and insidious as nuclear energy.
Izuku can feel the storm brewing, and he takes a nervous sip from his beer. There’s a part of him that’s eager for when the storm finally breaks, but the insurmountable guilt he feels about looking forward to his friend collapsing into a crying fit overshadows it pretty quickly.
Just, for once, be a normal person, he tells himself.
“I’m never gonna get rid of this, am I?” Katsuki asks, his eyes still fixated on that same spot on the table.
Izuku sips his beer again, silent. He doesn’t need to be told what ‘this’ is. He knows.
He’s the only one that knows.
“I think, eventually,” Izuku starts, then swallows. “Eventually you’ll outshine everything they’ve ever said about you. About the incident.”
“That’s so stupid.”
“But it’s true—“
“Like fuck it’s true,” Katsuki spits, his fist slamming on the table, plates and utensils clattering, making Izuku jump. “All I’m ever gonna be is the guy that ended All Might. I’m gonna forever be this shitty little stain in history. It doesn’t matter what I do—“ Katsuki’s voice finally cracks, threading his fingers through his hair, hands covering his eyes and banging his elbows on the table.
He’s trying so hard not to cry, while Izuku tries so hard get his heart rate under control. He takes sip after sip of his beer, trying to calm his anxiety, but all the alcohol does is make him light-headed.
“Even if I successfully pulled off today, as soon as I do anything they see as wrong, it’s fucked. I’m fucked .”
The dam finally breaks, and Katsuki releases a sob. Izuku’s hand trembles around the nearly empty can of beer.
It sounds just like his dad’s.
“You’re not—“ Izuku clears his throat. “You’re not f—fucked—“
“What do you fucking know?” Katsuki roars in response, tearing his hands away from his face, revealing his face, reddened in anger, fat tears rolling down his cheeks.
Izuku’s brain short circuits for a second. A glitch in a very important conversation that his scattered, tipsy brain can’t afford to mess up right now.
“Nothin’, huh? What does Golden Boy fucking know about anything—“
“I know that you’re not the type of person to back down from a fight,” Izuku interrupts, his brain finally kicking into gear. “Or that you’re the type to let what people say get to you. All Might knows you’re not responsible, so you’re gonna let some hack journalist trying to make a cheap buck for tabloids make you quit?”
Katsuki stares so intensely at him that he could bore holes into Izuku just by sheer effort if he wanted to, and Izuku can’t look away even if the entire building collapsed around them, even if, maybe, he might be pushing it a little with his last question.
Katsuki’s eyelashes are a darker shade of blonde, almost brown from being wet, now clumped together by tears. His eyes swirl with so much emotion, but the one that shines through the most seems to be curiosity. He sniffs, his nose red and Izuku watches as one lone tear rolls down his cheek.
“Of course I’m fucking not,” Katsuki responds after a beat, his voice eerily more quiet than before.
Carefully, Izuku raises his hand, his eyes not moving away from Katsuki’s face. Katsuki’s eyes flicker to the hand that comes closer to him before meeting Izuku’s gaze again.
He doesn’t protest when Izuku wipes away the tear. His cheeks are so warm, just as Katsuki is always so warm, and Izuku tries so hard to bite back the heat pooling in his guts at getting to touch Katsuki like this.
It takes every last bit of restraint for Izuku to not lick his thumb when he pulls back.
Instead, he rubs his fingers together, letting the moisture dissipate between them and says, “Then prove them wrong.”
Katsuki licks his lips— his plump, post-cry lips— and the familiar, steely look in his eyes is coming back, though the edge of curiosity is still in them, eyes still shiny from recently shed tears.
Guilt churns in Izuku’s chest as he feels himself getting hot around the collar by how exposed Katsuki is when he’s like this. How beautiful he can be when he’s vulnerable.
A surge of gratitude sweeps through Izuku, too— he feels grateful for being one of the few that gets to see Katsuki like this. He knows it’s not an accident— Izuku wouldn’t be here if Katsuki didn’t want him to be.
A frustrated, almost growling noise escapes from Katsuki’s throat before he asks, “Why is it always you?”
Izuku blinks, startled by the sudden change in tone. “W—what does that mean?”
Despite seeing Katsuki’s eyes turn to Izuku’s mouth, watching him as he turns his body, leaning in cautiously like a skittish cat about to smell someone with their extended hand, Izuku is still caught off guard when Katsuki presses his mouth against his own.
The first thing that Izuku thinks is that it’s wet.
The second thing he thinks is how little that bothers him.
Like everything Katsuki does, he also kisses with confidence, but the stiff and tense posture he holds gives away how nervous he actually is. Izuku wonders if he’s ever kissed someone before this?
While the idea of making Katsuki nervous is cute, he’s so stiff. Izuku leans forward, scooting himself closer, his hand resting on Katsuki’s neck as he returns the kiss, trying to get Katsuki to relax. It seems to work a fraction as Katsuki posture loosens up, his mouth relaxing, and then Izuku feels it.
The tears that have tracked down Katsuki’s face meet Izuku’s hand.
Izuku’s pulse roars in his ears, flames licking at his insides more intensely than they ever have before when he imagines this situation. Never once did it occur to him that this could be real.
Izuku tilts his head, licking into the other’s mouth, taking Katsuki’s bottom lip between his teeth. Katsuki pulls back, a quiet plop when he does, his bottom lip more swollen than before.
There are some unshed tears still lingering in Katsuki’s eyes, though now they’re darkened, only a sliver of red pulling through. It wasn’t a mistake, then— this is very real. Izuku is here, in Katsuki’s apartment, having kissed him— and Katsuki’s eyes are still so watery.
All it takes is another tear to escape for the last remains of restraint to give way. Izuku pushes Katsuki down, straddling his legs, hands pressing firmly onto his shoulders, keeping him on the floor. He barely registers what his body’s doing, unadulterated desire taking the lead before any other self-preserving thought about how Katsuki may react to this.
“What the fuck are y—” Katsuki gets cut off by Izuku, who kisses up Katsuki’s cheek, taking in his tears and stunning him into silence. It’s a stupidly bold move, Izuku knows— his motivations simmering maybe too close to the surface. He might be flying a little too close to the sun right now, but he savors the salt on his tongue, tasting sweet with victory, getting to finally live out part of a fantasy.
Katsuki makes an impatient noise, gripping his fist into the collar of Izuku’s shirt, yanking him down and slamming their mouths together in a sloppy make out. His hair is tugged back sharply, gasping in a mingled pain and pleasure, before teeth dig into his neck. A whimper eases its way out of Izuku’s throat, his hips rolling forward, an electric current running up his spine when their groins meet.
They both freeze.
Izuku swallows, feeling Katsuki’s breath and mouth still on his neck. Slowly, he arches his back, rolling his hips again to grind himself against Katsuki, who sucks in a breath at the contact, a shaky sigh released moments after.
Katsuki’s hands move up Izuku’s shirt, touching skin and muscle, his hands callous and hot, the thought that maybe it had to do with his quirk vaguely drifting in Izuku’s mind.
“Take this off,” Katsuki says impatiently, yanking at the hem of Izuku’s shirt.
Izuku complies after some fumbling, after his hazy mind finally registering Katsuki’s words. Things escalate quickly once his shirt hits the floor— the rest of their clothes are strewn about, taking advantage of exposed skin, bodies moving against one another in an almost desperate pace, legs wrapped around Izuku’s waist to pull him closer, hands roaming, grabbing, touching, thrusting—
Izuku doesn’t expect Katsuki to be as vocal as he is, but it’s a pleasant surprise. Every touch, caress and movement elicits some kind of response from Katsuki. It’s the kind of honesty that Katsuki usually tries to hide with bravado or deflection— instead he’s open, another variety of vulnerability that Izuku gets to witness.
His heart stutters, leaving him to wonder if maybe that’s what Katsuki meant earlier about it always being him . Izuku has always been the one that’s received these feelings.
He didn’t think that meant it’d accumulate to this .
It ends as abruptly as it starts— almost embarrassingly so, though Izuku doesn’t have any other experience to measure this with. He comes with Katsuki’s hand wrapped around both of them, his knees throbbing against the hard wooden floor, and collapses his weight onto Katsuki.
Izuku’s head buzzes, a pleasant thrumming under his skin as his cheek presses against Katsuki’s chest, catching his breath.
“There’s a spare toothbrush under the sink,” Katsuki says quietly.
Izuku blinks sleepily, his eyelids heavy with exhaustion from the catastrophe of today, from the emotional roller coaster he’s been on finally coming to a stop, from recent activity with Katsuki. He barely registers the words the other’s saying.
“If you wanna stay, I mean.”
Izuku’s eyes snap open, suddenly awake. The implication of the toothbrush comment now loud and clear. Now aware of the fingers that play with the curly strands of his hair, the touches are gentle, intimate— different from the heated, mindless actions of before, softer than what Izuku thought Katsuki is capable of.
“I’d like that,” Izuku chokes out before the heart in his throat becomes too painful for him to speak.
“Then get up, loser. I’m covered in jizz and it’s fucking gross.”
Izuku huffs a laugh before prying himself off Katsuki, following him to the bathroom to wash off. Katsuki puts away the leftovers while Izuku does dishes. They brush their teeth. Izuku can’t help but notice that the spare toothbrush is green. Katsuki’s bed isn’t particularly large, but there are worse places to be than being pressed between Katsuki’s back and the wall.
The reality of his changed situation with Katsuki doesn’t quite hit him until the next morning.
Out of everything that has transpired between them in the last few hours, the one thing that throws Izuku for a loop is when Katsuki kisses him goodbye before he leaves for work.
The shock on Izuku’s face must be evident, as Katsuki huffs in annoyance when he looks at him after.
“Get your ass moving or you’re gonna be late,” Katsuki snaps when Izuku is still standing in the genkan, shocked.
“R—right,” Izuku responds, hastily throwing on his shoes before giving Katsuki one last wave before he’s out the door.
His sense of fashion has never been great, so coming into the agency wearing the same clothes as yesterday doesn’t seem like it should be too weird for Izuku to do, especially after a late night at the office. He feels lucky that Katsuki was ordered to take the day off, knowing that both of them coming in at the same time would maybe arouse suspicion.
Miruko, though— for a person as loud and rambunctious as she is, she is still keenly observant.
Miruko notices the hickey on his neck, and it only takes a few ticks before she figures out the reason why he’s wearing the same clothes as yesterday hits her like a ton of bricks. She’s cackling about it throughout the entire day, and thanks to his sprained ankle, he can’t use any patrols as an excuse to get away from it.
After being called ‘lover boy’ for the upteempth time, he thinks that maybe breaking his ankle on patrol would be worth it.
If asked, Izuku wouldn’t be able to properly label his relationship with Katsuki to save his life after what’s been happening between them. Before it was easy, now it’s just— confusing, at best.
They were still rivals, in a way— at least in matters work related, and, well, anything that raised a competitive streak in them. That leveled out to something equal in their first year.
Izuku considers them friends— but friends don’t sleep with each other. But that’s not entirely true either, since the term ‘friends with benefits’ had to start somewhere. He’s also pretty sure Katsuki would deny they’re friends even when he’s had his dick in his mouth already.
But sometimes, Katsuki does these things that seem almost— date-y, for the lack of a better word. Would romantic be a better term? It’s not a word he’d ever use to describe Katsuki, so date-y it is.
Katsuki kisses him goodbye, Katsuki kisses him hello— granted, only if they were alone and not at work. He’s a lot more tactile than Izuku ever would’ve pegged him to be. A touch on the small of his back, a hand through his hair, an arm around his waist when they share a bed.
Sometimes, Katsuki makes him lunch. His excuse being that he always made too much, though there have been too many occasions of Katsuki berating Izuku for not eating properly.
There’s also the sleepovers.
Katsuki is not an easy person to sleep with, he learns quickly. He tosses, he turns, tangling himself into the blankets and around Izuku’s body. He feels lucky he’s a heavy sleeper, otherwise sleeping with Katsuki would be impossible.
But sometimes, Izuku will wake up to Katsuki’s head buried in the crook of his neck, arms draped over him, legs tangled with his, expression peaceful and tension free.
It’s kinda cute.
It’s kinda weird, too.
They don’t talk about it. Any of it.
For now, this suits Izuku just fine. He’s still trying to wrap his mind around it.
What finally breaks the wall of silence is a villain called Crybaby, which, even to Izuku— just sucks . The name, the quirk, everything about him.
Though, that teeny tiny guilty part of Izuku he tries to bury as deeply into the dark pits of his heart is just a little grateful that Katsuki is the one that gets hit with this quirk.
It’s not a dangerous quirk by any means, just annoying for the person hit— it makes them cry uncontrollably for hours. So Katsuki is fine, even successfully apprehending this annoying jerk despite the tears clouding his vision and sobs getting in the way of his speech.
This kind of crying on Katsuki is surreal— almost comical, his outrage more dramatic than the emotional turmoil that usually starts his tears. It’s almost like he’s trying to carry on with his normal demeanor despite the hiccups and sniffling. He still yells, curses, seems to be completely fine other than the crying.
But god — his tears are so much fatter than normal. There’s no pause to them, there’s no stopping the flood that cascades down his cheeks.
It’s a struggle trying to remember details of this patrol, what happened exactly, when Katsuki sits next to him as a big, sobbing mess, distracting him with his big tears rolling down his face, breath hitching between words, sobs escaping—
“What the hell’s the matter with you?” Katsuki practically wails at him, and it’d be funny if it wasn’t also a little bit hot. What would it take to get Katsuki sound like that in a different environment—
“Sorry,” Izuku says, straightening up, piecing his head back together while relaying what happened to Miruko back at the agency.
He volunteers to take Katsuki back to his apartment after their briefing, driving him home so he doesn’t have to suffer the embarrassment of crying in public transit or in the back of a cab. Izuku turns the radio on, trying to drown out some of the noise coming from Katsuki— the confined space of the car makes it all that much louder, making it harder for him to concentrate.
When they get back to Katsuki’s, it’s difficult to resist pushing Katsuki into the wall, licking up every last tear, feeling Katsuki’s sobbing mouth around his fingers—
But he resists. Like any other normal person would.
Maybe he should leave. Leave Katsuki to get rid of this embarrassing quirk on his own. He’s in the privacy of his own apartment, it’s not like he needs Izuku there—
And Izuku, for once, would like to not feel like a total freak around a crying Katsuki. A crying, stripping Katsuki, getting out of his hero costume as tears, hiccups and sniffles pour out of him.
“D—do you um, want me to do anything before I go?” Izuku asks, trying not to stare too intensely at Katsuki’s chest.
“Go? Why the hell are you leaving?”
He knows it’s just the quirk, but the crying makes anything he says so much sadder .
So Izuku drops his bag and stays. Defeated.
“Sorry, I just assumed that you would uh, wanna be left alone since this quirk is, um— embarrassing, or something,“ he says, slowly making his way to Katsuki’s bed and sits on the edge, uncomfortably close to the edge, with his back turned from Katsuki.
Izuku feels the bed dip slightly, a hand rests on his shoulder, and then there’s sniffling in his ear .
He stiffens under the touch.
“You’re acting weird,” Katsuki says, and it almost sounds like the quirk is leveling out, his voice thick and hiccupy but no sobs to make it difficult for him to speak.
It’s stupid how fast his dick jumps to attention. He squeezes his legs shut. This would be a dream come true if it wasn’t such a nightmare.
“Sorry, I just—“ he starts, turning his head to Katsuki, then stops.
Izuku’s mouth goes dry.
Katsuki’s face is so close to his— tears sparkling on his lashes, biting his puffy lips to prevent sobs from pouring out again. It’s the tears dripping on Izuku’s shoulder, hot and so heavy, that does him in.
Izuku dives in for Katsuki’s mouth.
It’s so wet and sticky and should be gross, but his hands on Katsuki’s cheeks feel so good. Maybe he can play this off somehow. It’s not weird to want to passionately make out with the person you’ve kinda-been-seeing when they’re crying, right?
Katsuki seems to agree, as his hand reaches right for Izuku’s crotch, squeezing, making his breath hitch and spine arch into the touch, whimpering when Katsuki pulls away—
“I fucking knew it.”
There’s something off. Katsuki’s voice isn’t the wavering mess it was, the constant flow of tears have come to a halt.
It’s like— it’s like he was faking it. Like he’s had it under control for a while.
Dread curdles in Izuku’s chest.
“I knew you were a fucking pervert,” Katsuki says as he wipes the tears off his face, but he doesn’t look smug at having caught Izuku. For once, his expression is difficult to read.
Izuku’s guts turn to ice. “I don’t— I don’t know what you me—”
“Cut the crap, Deku. You’ve been getting your rocks off to this for a while, haven’t you? Every time I cry, you act weird and stare at me like a piece of meat. Fuck— we started hooking up a night I was crying.”
The guilt comes crashing in, wave after wave.
“What is it about it, huh?” Katsuki asks indignantly, getting into Izuku’s space. “Getting off on me being weaker than you? Jerkin’ it knowing that you’re so much better than me—”
“It’s not like that,” Izuku blurts out.
Katsuki clicks his tongue. “So it’s somethin’, huh? What the fuck is it like, then?”
Izuku deflates, pressing his hand over his eyes. Shame washes over him like tidal waves, lapping up against his guts in what is easily the most embarrassed he’s ever felt.
“I just— I— I don’t know how to explain it,” Izuku confesses, his hands coming to his sides, refusing to meet Katsuki’s eyes. “It has nothing to do with thinking you’re weak,” Izuku adds quickly, before Katsuki gets a word in.
“I just really like it. When you cry. It’s. I don’t know, I just think you’re pretty.” It sounds lame, even to Izuku, but he struggles to articulate himself under such sudden scrutiny.
“ Pretty? Is this some kind of fucked up joke?” Katsuki asks, nose wrinkling, and panic floods Izuku’s lungs, thinking that Katsuki is just...disgusted. There are a lot of negative feelings that Izuku has taken from Katsuki, but disgust has never been one of them.
“Why didn’t you just fucking tell me then?”
“Yeah, because saying, ‘hey Kacchan, nothing gets me harder than watching you cry’ would go over so well.”
Izuku’s already embarrassed. Humiliated, even. He doesn’t need a lecture about honesty on top of being outed in a mortifying way. He rather just tell Katsuki on his own terms, when he’s ready.
It’s not that he planned on keeping this a secret forever— no way he could. Katsuki’s too smart, too observant for Izuku to keep it under wraps for too long. Obviously, since he figured it out pretty quickly.
“Well, it’s a fucking start.”
Izuku isn’t sure what to do with that.
He braves it, finally looking up at Katsuki who doesn’t look nearly as pissed off as Izuku was expecting. Frustrated, maybe, but there’s also curiosity.
Maybe under different circumstances, a situation where Izuku wasn’t humiliated, he’d find that hopeful.
“You always call me a creep or a weirdo. Maybe I just...was afraid of how you’d react. Now that the quirk is gone and you’re fine, I’m gonna go,” Izuku says, standing abruptly, tears of humiliation burning behind his eyes.
“You’re kidding,” Katsuki huffs, smirking, almost like he’s amused by all of this, grabbing Izuku’s wrist in attempt to prevent him from getting to the door.
Izuku breaks the hold easily before grabbing his bag, shoving his feet into his shoes in the genkan, Katsuki at his heels.
“Deku, fuck, calm down —“
He knows Katsuki can be insensitive, teases him about everything, and normally Izuku can handle it but this— it’s still something that he feels guilty about, something a little too fresh.
The only response Izuku gives is slamming the door behind him.
Katsuki hasn’t reached out for a few days.
No texts, no calls— work talk is kept to a minimum, and he barely shoots a glance Izuku’s way.
Maybe it’s not entirely fair to expect Katsuki to apologize. It’s Izuku who has the weird... thing that’s at the expense of Katsuki’s vulnerability.
Doesn’t mean Katsuki had to trick him. Or hurt his feelings about it.
Or maybe Katsuki truly is disgusted by it all, and hasn’t bothered to reach out because he’s done. Izuku finally crossed a line, and is now reaping punishment for it.
That thought hurts a lot more than Izuku expects. He has no idea what he means to Katsuki, but he figured after everything that’s transpired over the last few weeks, there would be some kind of attachment.
But maybe not. They never said anything about any kind of commitment.
Maybe that’s fair, since Izuku wasn’t always honest either.
Izuku isn’t sure if he’s really that surprised to see Katsuki leaning against his car after their shifts are over. This confrontation was inevitable, eventually— they’re co-workers, they have to move past this at some point. Be professionals.
So here it is: the inevitable, heartbreaking closure conversation to finally put this weird, intimate chapter behind them. Izuku braces for it with every step he takes towards Katsuki.
“Are you done being a fucking baby yet?”
That is not what Izuku expects him to say.
Izuku flounders, trying to grasp at words to respond with, rooted to the spot.
“You’re all moody and been ignoring me forever—“
“ You ignored me—“ Izuku interrupts, stunned that Katsuki tries to pin that on him.
“Oh for—“ Katsuki throws his hands up, frustrated. “I was— I was giving you space or whatever bullshit sensitive babies like you need.”
“I didn’t need space , I needed to know that you— you didn’t think I was a freak, or something.”
“You are a freak and why didn’t you just fucking say so?”
“Why didn’t you ask?!” Izuku suddenly yells, their voices escalating with each question they throw at each other until there’s nothing.
A tense silence stretches on, Katsuki glaring at Izuku while he refuses to back down from this strange staring contest of wills.
Katsuki finally sighs, rolling his eyes. He loosens his crossed arms and slouches a little against the back of Izuku’s car. He holds up a bagful of groceries Izuku realizes he’s been holding the entire time.
“I think it’s weird— and I’m damn well within my right to think it’s weird since it fucking involves me . But. Whatever. You’ve always been a freak. It’s fine. I have dinner you enormous, overdramatic, fucking baby.”
Izuku bites the inside of his cheek.
It’s not perfect, but he knows an apology when he sees one.
Dinner is katsudon— it’s unusual for Katsuki to decide making this, given how oily it is, not a dish that Katsuki cares to eat, let alone make. It’s also weird that he remembers this is Izuku’s favorite dish.
It’s kinda sweet, that he still remembers.
Izuku sits at the kitchen bar of his apartment, Katsuki diligently cutting onions on the other side. It’s a pungent onion, even making Izuku’s eyes water a bit even sitting further away from the offending vegetable.
Katsuki doesn’t fare much better.
Katsuki stops cutting, squeezing his eyes shut. He blinks rapidly, tears spilling down, wiping them away before proceeding to cutting the onion.
A spike of excitement courses through Izuku, and he looks away, trying to maintain a degree of neutrality. It’s not even a good cry, just tears, but his betraying, awful body doesn’t really seem to care about that, or even the fact that Katsuki has already stated that his fixation is, in fact, weird.
Katsuki glances up at him every so often, cutting thin slices of onion, every now and then wiping away stray tears with his shoulder.
“What do you like about it?” He asks, his voice strangely calm and neutral, almost as if he’s genuinely curious and not trying to goad Izuku.
Izuku bites back a groan. Of course he knows that Izuku is deliberately not looking at him right now.
“Um, well,” Izuku starts, shifting nervously in his seat. “I think my favorite thing is uh— when your face gets all kinda red? It’s— you’re um. You’re pretty when you cry. I mean I think you’re attractive no matter what but like—“ Izuku quickly supplies, wildly gesticulating his hands, looking up at Katsuki whose face is indiscernible. His mouth feels dry, this throat constricting. It’s nerve-wracking having to be pinned under Katsuki’s inscrutable stare as he tries to explain himself.
“I don’t know. The way you let yourself be— vulnerable. I guess. I like seeing it because I feel like it’s rare. It makes you. Really pretty. I think crying can be pretty, yeah?”
Katsuki doesn’t say anything right away. He continues preparing food, as if he hadn’t been listening, setting aside the onions, currently whisking eggs. Every passing second of silence takes a year off Izuku’s life.
“No way,” Katsuki finally says, pouring some soy sauce into the egg mixture. “You’re really ugly when you cry.”
“Then why are you um, asking about it then?”
Katsuki’s face scrunches up, looking uncomfortable. It takes another moment for him to finally respond, sauteing onions and getting the pork ready to be fried.
“I mean, isn’t that like...what people do?” He finally asks, dipping breaded pork cutlets into the hot oil. “When they’re together or whatever? Compromise on whatever weird shit they’re into?”
“Together?” Izuku repeats, dumbfounded.
Katsuki looks at him like he’s a fucking idiot.
“The fuck else do you call this?” Katsuki asks, waving his finger back and forth between them.
Izuku, legitimately, doesn’t know how to respond. He’s had no idea what to call it, let alone think that Katsuki was so dedicated to it. Whatever it is.
“I don’t know. I haven’t really thought about it much? I just...I guess I didn’t think you’d take this or me all that seriously?”
“When the fuck have I ever not taken you seriously?” Katsuki asks incredulously. “You’re the only one here that’s never taken this seriously.”
Izuku stares, confusion etched on his face. He’s always taken Katsuki seriously. Maybe this weird dating slash sleeping around thing is still new and confusing, but he’s serious .
“What makes you say that?“
“I initiate everything. Like today. You ignored me until I approached you. I’m always the one asking if you wanna hang out, have sex, and shit, even kissing, Deku, it’s fucking pathetic,” Katsuki says as he takes his frustration out on cutting the freshly fried pork cutlet.
He almost seems a little...hurt.
“I...started the last time we kissed?” Izuku offers weakly, remembering that he did initiate the last kiss even though it ended in disaster. He decides to ignore that part.
“Wow, Deku, guess we can just forget about every other time then, huh?” Katsuki bites out, anger evident as he roughly shoves a bowl of food in Izuku’s face. With a clatter, he drops chopsticks for him too.
“I thought, um, I dunno. You were being nice? Pitying my stupid crush—”
“Being ni— when the fuck have I ever done anything to be nice? Also, what the fuck, stupid—“
“So it was for me. You did these things...because you thought that’s what I wanted.”
“Well, yeah, I thought…” Katsuki trails off. “Is that not what you want?”
It’s there, for a fraction of a second— the insecurity. It’s a blink-and-miss-it moment, but Izuku catches it before it turns back into familiar anger again.
“Then what the fuck do you want?”
Izuku stares at his perfectly composed, pork cutlet dish that sits in front of him. Onions are sauteed to the perfect shade of brown, the cutlet looks perfectly fried and crispy, eggs whipped and cooked to the right fluffiness, all laid on a bed of rice and diced scallions as a garnish on top.
The perfect katsudon bowl. Made especially for him, in some backwards way of apology, by a person who clearly cares, though it’s often raw and difficult.
Tension rolls off Katsuki like waves, the rolling of his fingers into fists, over and over, an indication of his anxiety. It’s clear to Izuku, that this is something that Katsuki enjoys too, as much as he seems to never want to talk about it either. Despite Izuku’s weird desires, he’s still here.
“I don’t know,” Izuku confesses. “I didn’t— I didn’t really think this far ahead. I didn’t really think I’d get here? But. I do know— I know that I like you. I like...this. Whatever it is.”
Katsuki stares, almost incredulous. “Even with this, you don’t think ahead? Just jumping the gun as usual. You’re a real fuckin’ embarrassment, you know that?”
Izuku huffs, digging his chopsticks into the food, taking his first bite. Perfect. As good as his mom’s, though he’d never tell her that.
“Maybe. But you’re kinda stuck with me, yeah?”
Katsuki sighs, like he lost some kind of game, propping his arm on the counter and slouching before digging into his own food. He says nothing in return, but the silence is answer enough.
Dinner is finished in near silence, tension melted and a calm washing over Izuku. It almost feels like their moments during school in third year, a quiet comfort. Conversation stays small, short— at least until dinner is over and Izuku finds himself pinned down on his couch by Katsuki.
“I don’t get it— why is a slobbery, wet, gross face so pretty to you?” Katsuki asks, his hands on Izuku’s shoulders, pressing him into the cushions.
“What’s there to get? It’s just— a thing. Everyone has a thing —“
“Yeah, but this one’s kinda sadistic for you, ain’t it? Getting off on seeing someone suffer?”
“It’s not— suffering. That part isn’t the appeal for me—“
“So, is it some weird, fucked up revenge fantasy thing?”
“No, of course not! There’s nothing to get revenge on—“
“You sure, Deku? You think I don’t deserve it?” Katsuki asks quietly, settling his weight onto Izuku’s hips, the grip on his shoulders tightening.
“Kacchan,” Izuku says, panic squeezing his lungs. That’s not what he wants Katsuki to take from this. “That’s not at all how I feel—“
“Deku,” Katsuki interrupts, sounding almost exasperated as he runs his nose up the side of Izuku’s neck to nip at his ear. “Play with me.”
Izuku’s breath hitches when the puff of hot air as Katsuki speaks hits his ear. The words like an electric current that crackles down his spine.
Katsuki leans in, so close, lips barely touching Izuku’s skin as he says, “If you wanna see me cry so fuckin’ badly, then why don’t you make me?”
There are a few things Izuku expected out of Katsuki finding out about all of this crying business: making fun of him, thinking he was gross for it, getting angry— however, challenging Izuku into making him cry never really occurred to him.
Izuku knows Katsuki can’t turn down a challenge to save his life, but this—
“So, you don’t...mind?” Izuku asks, hands coming to Katsuki’s face, directing him to face Izuku.
“The fuck? No, it’s weird — but like I said, you’ve always been a geeky little weirdo. And if I’m gonna do it, then you’ve gotta actually earn it this time—“
“Stop calling me that.”
“Fuck, Deku, it’s fine. You said it yourself— everyone’s a weirdo about something.”
“That’s not—“ Izuku starts, frustrated to have his words twisted, but he stops. The last thing Katsuki says catches Izuku’s interest. “What are you a weirdo about, then?”
“Figure it out yourself, numbnuts,” Katsuki snaps before scooting down, spreading Izuku’s legs before settling between them. Katsuki’s hands trail up Izuku’s inner thighs, his shorts bunching up around the juncture of hips and thighs, exposing skin, his fingers causing Izuku to shiver.
“You like being a nosy bastard,” Katsuki murmurs, leaning down to run his nose up Izuku’s inner thigh. “So work for it.”
Katsuki sinks his teeth into the tender skin of Izuku’s thigh, eliciting a hiss from Izuku, his dick twitching in response.
“W—what are you doing?”
Katsuki throws him an annoyed look, pulling back the waistband of Izuku’s shorts before snapping them hard against his skin. “Are you stupid or somethin’? What do you think I’m doing?”
Katsuki makes quick work of his shorts, tearing them off and tossing them aside along with his underwear. Izuku stares up at the ceiling, too nervous to look down. Despite the few times this has happened already, it’s still mind boggling that it’s something Katsuki will willingly do to Izuku.
“You don’t have to— I mean, if this is an apology or something—“
“Shut up, Deku,” Katsuki says irritably, holding Izuku firmly at the base of his cock, stroking upward to get him to full hardness. “I’m giving you an opportunity here. Take it or leave it.”
“Opportunity? I— ah ,” Izuku chokes out, interrupted by a warm, wet tongue tracing the underside of his dick. Katsuki holds the base, his lips stretching around his cock before sinking his mouth down on it, his cheeks hollowing out.
It’s almost admirable how Katsuki throws caution to the wind in any situation— he approaches everything with confidence, even if it’s something like a blowjob, which he learns that Katsuki has never done anything of the sort before. Not that Izuku has any experience to go by, but he’s pretty sure fear of getting his dick bitten off isn’t really part of the whole oral sex thing, and since that little piece of criticism was given to Katsuki, he’s instilled some caution, though begrudgingly.
He wants to be the best, after all.
Izuku threads his fingers through Katsuki’s hair, taking a grip onto his head and holding it down. If making him cry is what Katsuki wants, then Izuku will try his best to do something about that, and maybe taking some control will do it.
Katsuki’s face scrunches up, fingers digging into Izuku’s hips as he tries to come up, but Izuku holds him there, just for a little bit. Working for it, as Katsuki said.
Izuku lets go, and Katsuki comes up with a gasp and coughs, tears springing to his eyes and glares at Izuku, wiping drool from his mouth.
“What the fuck is your deal?“ Katsuki asks angrily, voice raspy, coughing still and finally— a tear rolls down his cheek. Izuku swallows.
Something seems to click in Katsuki’s head.
“And you said you weren’t sadistic? Holy shit.” Katsuki’s anger seems to have dissipated, instead morphing into something that seems like amusement. He settles back down, lips nearly level with the tip of his dick.
“Sorry if that was too rough—“
“Too rough?” Katsuki mocks, pinching the inside of his thigh. “Fuck off. Try harder.”
Precisely the answer Izuku was hoping to hear.
Katsuki swallows him back down, sputtering a little less than last time, trying to ease his throat to get as much as Izuku down as he possibly can. Izuku’s hand comes back to hold onto Katsuki’s hair, following as Katsuki comes up, and forces him back down.
Izuku’s toes curl at the sensation, a whimper escaping as he forces Katsuki down again and again. Katsuki doesn’t protest when Izuku assists him, pushing him further and further down his cock.
Katsuki’s face is screwed up in concentration, eyes squeezed shut and hands holding onto Izuku’s hips so hard that there will be bruises left behind. He exhales harshly, taking in air through his nose in an attempt to maintain his breathing, spit collecting at the corner of his mouth, tears at the corner of his eyes that Izuku so desperately wants to see stream down his face.
Izuku tightens his grip around Katsuki’s hair, pulling him upward and off his dick, letting him gasp for air. His face is a mess— flushed red, shiny with tears and drool, his hair mussed. Izuku’s hand comes around to cup his face, running his thumb to wipe the tears off his cheek before he brings it to his mouth, tasting, finally .
“What the fuck,” Katsuki grumbles, his voice wrecked and raspy, and it sounds so good with the messed up face Katsuki has.
“You’re really beautiful, Kacchan— you know that?”
Izuku yelps when his thigh gets slapped in retaliation, leaving a red mark behind. Katsuki sputters in anger, his face becoming so red that even the tip of his ears are flushed.
“You’re so fucking weird,” Katsuki says before forcing Izuku’s hand to the back of his head again. “Just shut up and fuck my mouth like you mean it.”
It’s takes a considerable amount of effort for Izuku not to lose it right then and there.
Katsuki winces when Izuku shoves his head back down, but acclimates quickly, opening up and taking him much easier than earlier. He vaguely wonders if he can get Katsuki’s nose to hit his pelvis, and Izuku moves his hip upwards tentatively, testing his limits before he brings that thought into fruition.
Tears flow freely down Katsuki’s face as he gurgles around his dick, fingers digging into the skin of Izuku’s thighs, and it’s the hot splash of tears on his stomach that finally relinquishes Izuku’s control. His hands grasp slips, letting Katsuki fall into sync with the rhythm of Izuku’s hips, finding a pace that suits both of their needs.
“Kacchan,” Izuku keens, digging his heels into the couch for better leverage. “Kacchan, you’re so good—“
And Katsuki— is an absolute wreck as the onslaught of his throat grows more frenzied and hurried in pace. Something about the praise seems to set him off, moaning in response that vibrates around Izuku’s cock, tears pouring onto Izuku’s skin, Katsuki’s face is flushed the perfect shade of pink, face screwed up and so concentrated on the task at hand—
He’s so perfect like this.
Izuku doesn’t realize the babbling he hears is pouring out of his own mouth, a mix of praises and embarrassing noises, his heart hammering hard and fast, his breath coming out in quick pants before he manages out a warning to Katsuki about how close he is.
Katsuki’s grip on Izuku’s thighs tightens, burying his face further down until he presses himself against Izuku’s pelvis one last time before Izuku tenses up, letting out a loud moan as he empties himself into Katsuki’s mouth.
A literal wet dream come true— Izuku for a moment, only hears white noise and melts into the couch, gasping for breath just as Katsuki is, before Katsuki’s coughing becomes loud and clear.
“You ‘kay?” Izuku asks, words almost slurred together, peering down at Katsuki who’s slumped against the couch.
“‘M fine,” Katsuki responds, voice rough like gravel, rubbing his throat. It takes longer than Izuku cares to admit, but he finally sits up, burying his face into the crook of Katsuki’s neck, only receiving a grunt in response.
Izuku’s fingers skim across the waistband of Katsuki’s joggers. Katsuki grabs his wrist, halting his actions. “It’s fine.”
“Are you sure?” Izuku asks, leaning back to look at Katsuki. “You haven’t—“
“ I said , it’s fine.”
Katsuki looks oddly embarrassment, a little uncomfortable, before Izuku finally sees it: his joggers are black, so it takes a moment before the shininess of a wet spot is apparent.
He already— wow. Not much happened to him except Izuku taking control.
Then it hits him. Everyone’s a weirdo about something, and maybe Izuku has finally figured out Katsuki’s something. Or at least the beginnings of what that something is is becoming more clear to Izuku. It’s something to ponder later, when an angry Katsuki isn’t glaring daggers his way.
“Fuck off. Shut up. You got something I can change into or what?”
“Yeah. You want some tea, too? Your voice sounds terrible. I mean, I like it, it’s kinda rugged in a way but it must not feel goo—“
“Do you ever shut up?”
The one thing that Izuku knows best about Katsuki is that you can get him to do nearly anything, so long as it’s presented the right way.
Sometimes asking him point-blank works, but it has to be something he’s already down to do. If nothing else, he at least has some respect for the person who’s asking for being bold.
The idea Izuku has would definitely be shot down, so he needs to try another tactic.
If asking fails, then it means that Katsuki needs to feel that it’s his idea, that he’s the one that suggested something. Thought it’s not an easy task— Katsuki’s not stupid, and he knows when he’s getting his leg pulled or worse, being manipulated.
The other thing to get Katsuki to do something he doesn’t care to do is to propose it as a challenge. This route is way easier, pretty damn effective, but something as delicate at this— it’s not as satisfying. He doesn’t want Katsuki to resist him, or at least wants Katsuki to feel comfortable to say no when he needs it rather than clinging onto things because of his pride.
Izuku, though, may need to use all three methods to see if he figured out what Katsuki’s thing is. Also, maybe, to get him to cry more honestly than just choking off his air supply.
Things start off as the usual— little touches here and there leading to kissing, which turns into making out, then follows the heavy petting before clothes start coming off. It’s a good routine, one Izuku likes, and decides breaking it is the better option than springing the suggestion on Katsuki out of nowhere.
“I wanna try something,” Izuku murmurs into Katsuki’s neck,
Katsuki freezes. He puts his hands on Izuku’s shoulders, pushing him back a bit to look at him. He narrows his eyes suspiciously.
“I already cry and shit, what more could you possibly—“
“You don’t trust me?” Izuku asks, tilting his head.
Katsuki opens his mouth to respond before shutting it. Confused looks kinda cute on him, even if he still looks pissed. “Wh—“
“Kacchan, I just thought...after all this time that, maybe, you’ve learned to trust me.”
Katsuki stills, then. Maybe Izuku is laying it on too thick— or too convincingly, from the way Katsuki’s searching his face for any clue to how sincere that statement is. Maybe it’s playing dirty to use Katsuki’s regrets against him—
“Or maybe you’re nervous,” Izuku says, switching tactics. “Don’t worry about it—“
“What the fuck. No. What— no. What kinda weird bullshit are you playing at?”
“Nothing! I just— can I tie you up? Just your wrists.”
Katsuki snorts. “What? That’s it? Your big, freaky thing is tying me up?”
“Well,” Izuku starts, scratching his cheek. “That’s the first part.”
Katsuki says nothing, staring, waiting for Izuku to elaborate.
“Just trust me, yeah?”
Katsuki clicks his tongue, irritated. “Tch. Fine.”
Izuku beams, digging through his nightstand to find what he needs: a bottle of lube that he tosses aside for the time being, and reveals a red, silk restraint, holding it out for Katsuki to place his wrists on it.
“So um, let me know if it’s too tight?” Izuku says as he ties Katsuki’s hands together, careful that his wrists are firmly pressed together but doesn’t cut off his circulation. Katsuki says nothing during this, merely just stares intently on Izuku as he works.
“Also, if um. Things get too intense, we should come up with a safe word.”
“The fuck’s your game here?”
“No game,” Izuku says lightly, finishing tying up Katsuki’s wrists. “You told me to figure it out, so. I’m doing that.” He tugs lightly at Katsuki’s bound wrists, testing the knot he tied. “Is that good?”
“Fine,” Katsuki answers. “Now what, genius?”
“Lie back,” Izuku answers, his hand pressing against Katsuki’s chest, encouraging him to lie down on the bed. Katsuki sneers, but complies with little protest.
“Alright. Fuckin’ impress me then,” he says as he flops down on the pillows, head resting against the headboard, legs spread lazily and bound hands resting on his stomach. He looks entirely unamused, making pinpricks of insecurity work their way down to Izuku’s gut.
“So, um, safe word,” Izuku says as his hands go to Katsuki’s small waist, sitting on his heels between Katsuki’s legs, moving his hands down to finger the waistband of his underwear. “Just say ‘red’ if, you know, it becomes too much.”
Katsuki rolls his eyes in response, holding his hands out in a gesture to continue. Tough audience.
Izuku pulls down Katsuki’s underwear, now totally nude in front of Izuku, Katsuki’s legs bracketing around him and resting on Izuku’s own thighs. Having Katsuki bound and totally naked, it’s— it’s a little strange, how they ended up like this.
Not that Izuku’s complaining. It’s a pretty fantastic position to have Katsuki in.
“Quit gawkin’ and get to work already,” Katsuki snaps like he’s annoyed, but the pink tinting his ears gives way to his embarrassment at being stared at.
Izuku makes quick work, grabbing the bottle lube he tossed aside earlier, slicking up his hand. Despite all of his complaining, Katsuki’s dick remains half-hard throughout their exchange, and Izuku hopes this is some kind of evidence of his theory being correct.
He strokes the pad of his finger up the underside of Katsuki’s cock, getting a hiss out of Katsuki as he gently takes hold up the tip, working his fist down to the base before working back up again.
There’s a small thunk from Katsuki’s head bumping into the headboard when Izuku’s grip becomes tighter, his eyes closed and breathing becoming more labored with each stroke. For all of his complaints and pushiness, it’s amazing how quickly he melts in Izuku’s hands.
With a nervous bite of his lip, he takes a slicked finger and presses it up against Katsuki’s entrance. Katsuki tenses up immediately, muscles seizing up, eyes flying open in shock at Izuku.
Izuku swallows, nervously. “Can I…?”
Katsuki eases up, just slightly, though the relaxed state he was in earlier has seemingly disappeared. “I didn’t say the fucking word, did I?”
“Right,” Izuku mumbles, then continues to circle his entrance before inserting a finger, feeling Katsuki constrict around him. It goes in easy enough, but the way Katsuki tenses makes him think otherwise.
“You’re like a vice, are you alright?” Izuku asks, pausing once he gets knuckle deep.
“Fine. Not exactly used to having things in my ass—“
“You’ve never— you’ve never done this to yourself? Like, even out of curiosity?”
“Not all of us are fuckin’ perverts. Get on with it.”
Izuku flushes, taking out his finger to the tip before plunging it back in. After a few repetitions of this, Katsuki seems to relax more, so he inserts a second finger, then a third once Katsuki seems like puddy in his hands.
Katsuki suddenly jerks when Izuku tries curling his fingers, getting a choked noise of him. They lock eyes, surprise and confusion on Katsuki’s face as Izuku stares back, equally surprised by Katsuki’s reaction.
He does it again.
“F—fuck,” Katsuki chokes out, jerking again. “What the fuck—“
In a moment of pettiness for being bratty about all of this, Izuku does it again and again, relentlessly hitting that spot that makes Katsuki create embarrassing noises, filling the room with ragged breath and curses. Izuku thinks maybe backing off a bit to give Katsuki some breathing space, but that’s not really the point of this.
Tongue poking out, Izuku furrows his brow in concentration as he works Katsuki’s hole, his other hand stroking his cock in tandem. Katsuki rolls his hips to meet his fingers with every plunge in, effectively cutting him off from any kind of coherent thought, let alone another smartass remark about Izuku being a pervert.
Izuku looks up from his ministrations to see Katsuki’s face, eyes shut tight and mouth hanging open, a choked noise or curse escaping from his throat every so often. A hot rush of heat simmers throughout Izuku’s body, staring in a daze at Katsuki, almost proud of himself in reducing Katsuki to a mess just by his fingers alone.
Already getting this intense of a reaction out of him by just this makes him wonder how much more Katsuki will come apart with what he has planned.
A strangled, broken sound makes its way out of Katsuki’s mouth as he comes, Izuku’s fingers continuing to plunge on before he tapers it to a stop, a now limp and panting Katsuki in his lap.
Izuku bites his lip, grabbing a tissue from his nightstand to wipe his hands clean. He’s not entirely sure how patient he’s going to last himself with how intensely Katsuki responds to his actions.
“That all?” Katsuki pants, finally coming down from his high. “Tying me up and fingering me? Your big, master plan that needed a safeword or whatever,” he says, as if he wasn’t enjoying himself. It miffs Izuku a bit. He did a lot of research on how to do that properly, thank you very much.
“Ah, well—“ Izuku starts, irritable, reaching for his drawers to pull out a vibrator. “No. That’s not all.”
Katsuki’s eye widen, taken by surprise by the object in Izuku’s hand. “The fuck? Is that yours?”
Izuku huffs. “No, I’m just borrowing it,” he says, pulling out then rolling a condom onto the vibrator.
Katsuki shoots a glare at Izuku for the remark before looking at the vibrator, nodding his head up at it. “You fuck yourself with that thing?”
Izuku feels his face warm up, remembering the day he finally willed enough bravery to buy it. Just a click of a button, really— the kicker was willing the nerves to then open the box when it arrived, burying any evidence of what the package contained deep in his trash so no one would ever know.
It’s a decent size, hefty. More difficult to break in than Izuku anticipated, but well worth the trouble once he got his bearings on how to properly shove things up his ass. Katsuki seemed to have a much easier time with fingers than Izuku did, so this should go more smoothly.
“A few times,” he mumbles, smearing lube on the toy before settling between Katsuki’s legs again.
“And now you’re gonna fuck me with it? Instead of, I don’t know, you? ”
“We’ll get there eventually,” Izuku answers.
Katsuki’s eyebrows knit together. “What does that even mean—“
Katsuki suddenly sucks in a breath, Izuku pressing the toy against his entrance, letting it sit there for a moment before he sinks it in, meeting little resistance thanks to the prep from earlier.
“What the fuck that’s cold,” Katsuki bites out, squirming his body at the intrusion. Izuku wastes no time once the toy is in him, and switches it on to its lowest setting.
“ Fuck ,” Katsuki curses emphatically, continuing to squirm, shifting away from Izuku, probably still sensitive from coming not that long ago. If he’s already squirming away from the lowest setting, Izuku wonders how much he could take going higher?
So, he turns it up another notch, sliding it in to hit the spot in Katsuki that took him apart only moments ago.
Katsuki’s legs twitch around him, his breath harsh and ragged, his face pinched together like he’s in pain. It worries Izuku a little, Katsuki’s pride getting in the way of him putting a stop to this, but his dick standing in interest, leaking and flushed red, by the vibrator alone, makes Izuku hold off.
Izuku pushes in the vibrator harder, and a beautiful, broken sob escapes from Katsuki. His cheeks are wet with tears, taking every last ounce of restraint from Izuku from forgoing his plan entirely.
Instead, he cranks up to as high as the vibrator will go, causing another sob to erupt from Katsuki, arching his back and pressing the back of his head into the pillow underneath him. It’s probably too much, too high and too intense— but Katsuki seems too fucked out of his mind to care. Izuku pushes back Katsuki’s thigh with his free hand, spreading him wider and plunging in the vibrator deeper.
Izuku rests his cheek on the side of Katsuki’s knee, intently watching the different emotions flicker across Katsuki’s face, too lost to say anything. To be honest, Izuku didn’t think it’d be this fast to have Katsuki like jelly in his hands. He thought maybe he’d have to do this two times at least, but having Katsuki break easier than expected feels nice.
A cry erupts out of Katsuki as he comes untouched, Izuku’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise, but damn— if that’s not a nice little thing to know about Katsuki to put to use another time. He switches off the toy, removing it from Katsuki with a whimper, tossing it on the bed to be taken care of later.
Izuku feels Katsuki’s thighs shaking against him, his chest heaving in attempt to get his breathing regulated, dazedly look up at the ceiling, blinking tears away. He decides this is a good look for Katsuki— completely fucked out and pliant, hair sticking every which way, a sheen of sweat making him almost glow .
“You look so good, Kacchan,” Izuku says as he combs his fingers through Katsuki’s hair, brushing sweaty bangs out of his face. For once, Katsuki takes the compliment without much protest, simply half-heartedly glaring in Izuku’s direction.
He pulls back, kneeling between Katsuki’s legs as he ruts himself against his thigh, finally some friction that is both a little relieving but not nearly enough. The sensations stirs something hot and heavy in Izuku’s gut, feeling his patience wither away into nothing.
“Kacchan,” he murmurs. “We’re almost done.”
“Al— what,” Katsuki slurs, twisting his head to look at Izuku, confused.
He grabs an extra condom he tossed aside on the bed earlier, then taking his own underwear off with lightning speed. His hands shake slightly when rolling the condom on— from anxiety or nerves or anticipation, he’s really not sure. Maybe all of it.
They’ve never really properly fucked before. Even thinking the word in his own head makes him flush. He places his hands on Katsuki’s thighs, pushing them back enough that his knees are nearly at Katsuki’s head. Izuku swallows, making sure there’s enough lube before lining himself up against Katsuki before looking at him.
Katsuki watches him, eyes bleary and breathing leveling out. “Fuck, you’re evil.”
Izuku falters, deflating a little at the remark. “Do you— do you want me to stop?”
“Didn’t say so yet, did I?”
Izuku nods, taking in a shaky breath before he rocks his hips, sinking in, digging his fingers into the flesh of Katsuki’s thighs, squeezing his eyes shut, making a whimper involuntarily work its way out of his throat. Holy shit— Izuku wasn’t sure what to expect from the sensation, but Katsuki’s so hot and tight and—
“You cream yourself already?” Katsuki asks, a little breathless, smirking up at Izuku.
Izuku snaps his eyes open, glaring down at Katsuki. He thought, maybe, to go a little softer on him, ease them both into this so Katsuki got a breather and Izuku could adjust himself to this sensation. Instead, he pulls back to the tip, pausing for a second before he snaps forward with enough force that it rattles the bed frame.
It shuts Katsuki up quick, throwing his head back and gasping like he’s been punched in the gut. Izuku moans, pressing his forehead into Katsuki’s shoulder. No way he’s going to last if he keeps that up, but at least he’s pacified Katsuki for now.
Izuku rocks forward again, more slowly this time, but with enough force to get another broken noise out of Katsuki. He likes it— he likes reducing Katsuki into a mess, making him forget about any inhibition or worry, only solely focusing on Izuku.
It makes him feel more powerful than his gifted quirk ever has.
Izuku kisses him, sloppy and unrestrained, more tongue and teeth than anything else, completely gone. He moves his hands from Katsuki’s thighs to comb through his hair, bracketing his elbows around his head
Katsuki breaks the kiss with a gasp. “Spit in my mouth,” he demands, lips still so close to Izuku’s that he can feel them brush against his own.
Izuku doesn’t question the demand as he grabs Katsuki roughly by the jaw, squeezing to encourage his mouth open, and gives absolute no thought to spitting directly into his mouth.
Katsuki keens, arching his spine, wrapping his legs around Izuku’s waist, pressing himself closer.
“Do it again,” Katsuki asks, desperation tinging his voice.
Izuku tangles his fingers into Katsuki’s hair into a tight grip, yanking backward, getting a better angle of his face, Katsuki’s mouth open to gasp at the pain.
Izuku holds Katsuki’s jaw with his other hand, running his thumb across his lips. He opens his mouth, tongue pressed up against the invading thumb before he takes it in. Izuku grabs his jaw, thumb still inside his mouth, prying his mouth open and spitting again.
Katsuki keens again, rolling his hips to meet Izuku, drool slipping from his mouth, tears gathering in his eyes again.
It’s a little scary to Izuku how easy it is for him to assume this role, taking charge without much guidance. Katsuki seems to trust him explicitly, never once protesting to Izuku’s rough treatment, lying pliant and limp to everything he does.
Something almost animalistic claws its way out of Izuku’s chest, making him slam into Katsuki harder, grabbing his thighs so tightly he knows he’ll leave bruises behind. The idea of somehow leaving a mark, a claim on Katsuki, worms its way into his brain and latches on, and he sinks his teeth into the juncture of Katsuki’s neck and shoulder, making him hiss in response.
Izuku’s overwhelmed by sensation— the friction, being inside Katsuki, the sounds in his ears and the smell of Katsuki’s sweat makes his brain heady and dazed, like a fog over his mind.
“I want you to come again,” Izuku chokes out, one his hands palming over Katsuki’s cock, still wet from his previous releases, making it slicked and easy to stroke in time with his hips. “One last time. Can you do that for me?”
“F—fuck, I dunno,” Katsuki whimpers, head rolling back, mouth hanging open uselessly. Izuku licks into it, kissing him sloppily, Katsuki too incoherent to respond properly.
“I think you can, Kacchan,” Izuku says, running his thumb on the underside of dick, taking extra care when he gets to the slit, massaging the tip.
“You’re so, so good, Kacchan, you’re so good to me, crying for me, letting me do this to you,” he continues to babble, his arm holding Katsuki’s thigh coming around to the back of his neck, pulling him as close to Izuku’s body as possible, as if the proximity will somehow merge them together.
More choked, needy noises pour out of Katsuki’s mouth, and Izuku drinks them up, feeling Katsuki’s body seize and spasm, feeling hot release seep over his hand. It’s the final sob that does it, and the tight, vice-like grip around his own dick as Katsuki comes that finally tips Izuku over, following Katsuki’s orgasm soon after with a cry of his own.
Izuku lies limply on top of Katsuki, his face buried in his neck, feeling the steady pounding of Katsuki’s pulse. He feels the occasional twitch from the body below him, the rise and fall of his chest, regaining his normal breathing rate. Izuku’s skin feels tingly, he feels lighter, he feels so affectionate, nuzzling his face further into the crook of Katsuki’s neck—
“You’re fuckin’ heavy,” Katsuki murmurs, his still bound hands pushing up against Izuku’s chest.
“Sorry,” he responds, pulling out with a wince then sits up, sitting between Katsuki’s legs and rolling the condom off and tossing it. He looks over to Katsuki and god, he’s a mess— thoroughly wrecked, his spiky hair somehow more wild than ever, blooming bruises, his lips swollen to hell and face shiny with tears and spit.
Izuku wishes he could snap a picture, a nice reminder of things when he’s having a bad day, but he knows hell is more likely to freeze over before Katsuki ever agrees to something like that.
Gently, he takes Katsuki’s wrists, untying the knots of the restraints before he holds them. There’s redness and an imprint of the tie in his skin, mostly like from straining against it. He carefully massages Katsuki’s wrists, soothing them from their previous restraint.
“Can you get a rag or something? I feel disgusting,” Katsuki says, taking his hands out of Izuku’s hold, rolling them.
“Ah, right—“ Izuku says, getting up from the bed, reaching for the vibrator—
“Red. Fucking red. Don’t you put that thing anywhere near me—“
Izuku freezes, then laughs tiredly before peeling the used condom off of the toy and tossing it away. “I didn’t plan on it— was just gonna clean it. You sure, though?” He asks, turning it on.
“Die,” Katsuki bites out.
Izuku goes to the bathroom, cleans the toy, cleans himself up, and moistens a rag with warm water before he goes back to wipe Katsuki clean, tossing it in with the rest of his dirty laundry. Katsuki is soon buried underneath the covers, his body lax and loose, the usual furrow between his brows has even disappeared.
“What the hell was that about?” Katsuki asks sleepily as Izuku climbs into bed, noticing how immediately Katsuki’s hands come to cling to him, something that isn’t usual at all. Katsuki can be physically affectionate, but cuddly is not a term Izuku would use.
“I thought, maybe, that sometimes you wanna let go, but you need it. Kinda. Forced out of you? God, that sounds bad. I mean like, having someone make decisions while you just...relax? Or uh, kinda lose some control? Since you, you know, have this need to control everything, but honestly the whole spitting thing I wasn’t expecting—“ Izuku suddenly yelps, Katsuki pinching his side harder than necessary.
Katsuki lets out a loud, exasperated groan. “Fuck, I get it. Yeah, whatever, you figured it out. Quit yappin’.”
Izuku pouts, wanting to point out that Katsuki had asked, but thinks better of it, instead pulling himself closer to Katsuki, foreheads nearly touching, limbs tangled and loose. It’s easily the most relaxed he’s seen Katsuki, the most affectionate he’s been, so malleable in Izuku’s hands. He feels overwhelmed all of a sudden, a knot building in his throat as he realizes the incredible depth of emotion he feels for this person.
“I want to be yours,” Izuku suddenly blurts out, the thought of not being close to Katsuki gripping cold fear into his heart. This lack of discussion of what’s going on between them has officially ran its course for Izuku, and the fear of somehow no longer having this greatly outweighs any discussion of feelings with the emotional wreck that is Bakugou Katsuki.
“What?” Katsuki grunts, rubbing his face.
“When you asked a while ago. What I wanted. I want to be yours,” Izuku says again, his face heating up at the confession, burying his face in the crook of Katsuki’s neck. It’s terribly sentimental, a little out of Katsuki’s element, and he fully expects some kind of smartass remark for it.
Instead, Katsuki snorts, then lazily runs his fingers through Deku’s hair, resting his hand at his nape.
“You’re so damn cheesy,” Katsuki responds, but Izuku can’t help but notice how terribly fond he sounds.
“That means you’ll be mine, in return?” Izuku asks timidly, his hands unconsciously squeezing Katsuki closer.
“Like you had a fuckin’ choice,” Katsuki remarks, eyes still shut, allowing himself to get pulled closer without protest. “Didn’t really peg you as a possessive one, but: quit worrying. Go to sleep.”
Despite how dismissive he sounds, Izuku knows better; Katsuki’s hand continues to lazily comb through his hair, as if to soothe any lingering anxieties, speaking with action rather than words.
Though this experiment-of-sorts has been precarious, filled with a lot of strange and sometimes unsettling things that Izuku learns about himself, some of the research leading to unfavorable results, it was well worth the growing pains to get to the conclusion.