qui es in caelis ,
sanctificetur nomen tuum .
Adveniat regnum tuum
As children, Katsuki pulled Izuku’s hair, shoved him in the dirt, rubbed his nose in an unknown turd once just because he could, because Izuku was skinnier, weaker, and let big tears flow down his cheeks at any sign of provocation. Called him Deku because he was useless at defending himself, was blatantly open to Katsuki’s taunts and shoves and cruel pranks. Let Katsuki use him like an empty doll for amusement and kick him aside when he sated his little bully heart. As a child Izuku never raised his fists against Katsuki and his posse unless they turned their torment upon others.
In summation, Izuku Midoriya belonged to Katsuki Bakugo in all but name. His flesh was molded for Katsuki’s entertainment to paint bruises and scrapes, his tears were for Katsuki’s mirth and delegation. It did not matter that bullying was wrong, Izuku still followed him, a desperate moth singeing its wings against a flame its nature pulled it toward.
Then, Marasu died in a fire Katsuki can’t properly remember and his mother Mitsuki went a little off the deep end. Katsuki thinks he was about ten then and learning about salt, silver, and shotguns, he had no time to torture stupid, sputtering, tearful Deku. It didn’t matter anyway. At ten, Izuku was shuttled back to Japan to live with his mother and Uncle Hisashi left the duplex empty except for photographs and spiders.
It’s present day and Katsuki feels the oxygen in his tissue paper lungs stutter and bubble, his teeth clench against the iron tang of coagulated blood. He watches through a gauzy curtain of hurt as Izuku slides his upper set of teeth against his plump lower lip, chewing with anxious energy as he stretches out Katsuki’s right leg to survey the damage. His boot has already been unlaced and removed, the remains of his jeans have been pushed up to the knee, sodden with blood and crusty with clots.
“Does-does it hurt?” And Katsuki snarls once, blood dribbling down his chin, staining his teeth in a lurid warning. Deku shrinks down, muttering soft apologies as he reaches into a back pocket and retrieves a roll of gauze.
“You can see my damn tibia , shitty Deku,” Katsuki’s breathing is too loud, soggy copper infused breaths that paint the small, dark basement of the abandoned church, “What do you think? Do you ever use that empty space you fuckin call your head – FUCK !”
His tirade chokes off as Deku raises his mangled leg, settles it on his shoulder, wrapping the flesh up with quick flicks of his wrists. Katsuki feels bile churn in his stomach, prodding at his esophagus as white hot fire blares at his nerve endings, darkening the edges of his vision. He gags as Deku whispers, “Sorry, Kacchan,” over, and over, and over, almost as potent as the Hail Mary’s he uses to placate the masses.
“It’s done,” Izuku lowers his hands, dark liquid stains splashed up to his wrists. He tilts his head against the ankle of Katsuki’s trembling leg, settles the plush of his boyhood cheeks against the fevered, dirty flesh. “Kacchan. Speak to me.”
“E-Eat demon ass,” is the gargled reply and how Katsuki hates the splutter of his words against the roil of pain. For whatever bizarre fucking reason, Izuku smiles at the response. There is blood on his hands, rips in his clothes, spread around his kneeled self is a partner who cannot walk, and the little fucker has the gall to smile.
“There you are,” he croons and against all odds Katsuki feels heat rise flush into his cheeks.
“Fuck – “ he begins but Izuku’s expression freezes and he holds up his right hand, the bent little and ring finger crooked, flaking bits of Katsuki’s blood coming off his palms.
“Do you hear that?” His whisper is hushed, he gently removes Katsuki’s foot from his shoulder and sets it on the ground. Despite his care, the reverberation from the movement makes Katsuki roll his eyes up to the whites. Damn demons and their Satan fucked claws.
“Hear what, Deku,” Katsuki struggles to articulate through the foggy thump of torment from shredded ligaments as Deku stands, his eyes darting back and forth, too luminous and on edge in the gloom. Deku snaps out, “Quiet!”
Katsuki shuts up.
For a moment there is nothing except his harsh breaths and the soft wet drip of his blood leaking through the gauze. Deku is ramrod straight, his head leaned slightly back, arms vibrating as he feels out the energy of the church. Slowly, he turns toward the set of stairs.
It’s killing Katsuki to not know what Deku is sensing. He knows he fucking shot the demon dead, he got the fucker right between the eyes with a silver bullet blessed by Deku himself on the night of the full moon. But he doesn’t have Deku’s Divine sense, he only has his shot out hearing, his mundane eyes. Deku is the one who can taste the miasmic sulfur demons exude from their pores, can feel the beat of Hellfire they try to hide in the sack of slain humans. He smells the…
The scent of petrichor after a heady drought, the oozing ozone of lightning about to strike. Katsuki chokes on the next bubble of blood in his esophagus, nostrils flaring, his eyes widening as the Divine essence of Izuku Midoriya , Holder of One for All, bestowed by former Archangel Toshinori Yagi Himself, the AlMighty, cascades through the scant space.
A shiver crackles its way up the discs of Katsuki’s spine, rattling the bones. No matter how many times he’s heard it, the way Deku talks to monsters always makes him flinch despite himself. He doesn’t know if he’ll ever get used to the goldenrod tone doused in arsenic and lye. The consonants scrape the flesh from his bones, boil his already heated blood to volcanic temperatures. Katsuki never knows if he wants to cry or rip his own eyes out at that seismic voice.
Bacteria spores convulse once and roll over, the geosim rising from Izuku heady and cloaking as he takes a step toward the stairs. “Do you hear me,” he calls in a clear, knell toned voice, “ Stay away creature. I don’t wish to kill you.”
Merciful idiot .
There is a beat of silence and then comes a lilting cackle even Katsuki cannot miss, the fine hairs on the nape of his neck standing on end heaped as he is on the floor, prey wounded and hunted. Something eerie and moldering filters down through his flesh, dousing him in cold dread. He spits a globule of blood out of his mouth and clutches at his leg. Maybe if he kept his weight on his left leg…
‘ah I inhale the scent of meat and bone~’
The sing song voice is what pushes Katsuki to press his hands against the stone ground, fighting gravity despite the warble in his spine. Deku turns to hiss at him as he struggles onto his good knee, grabs at the stone wall to haul himself up. The world tilts on inverse lullabies and Katsuki bites back a scream as he balances his weight on his bad leg too. Fuck whatever Devil strung entity strutting its way down here, nostrils gutted with the scent of Deku’s holy flesh and Katsuki’s spilled blood.
‘the blood of prime meat and the sully of a wayward priest~ ’
Unearthly blue light embraces the top stair, breaking the gloom he and Izuku are so ensconced in. The slope of Izuku’s shoulders remain steady as he pulls something from his right pocket and presses it up against his chest, flush against his beating heart. Katsuki weaves a little on his feet, reality swaying to his blood loss, trying to cancel out all the mounting alarm and icy dread inside of his slatted ribs, pushing his heart rate, speeding his blood loss.
“Begone, foul beast,” the vowels of Izuku’s voice bound up to the low ceiling expanding. Izuku’s words have always had power and ever since he received One for All, they fuckin’ glow .
“Leave us be.”
‘ ah, priest ’, a moan divides the tension, makes revolted shudders of Katsuki’s collarbones, ‘ blessed by god you do smell so sweet~ ’
The oily words slide languorously down the steps as a foul shape tumbles after. They heave in Katsuki’s stomach ripples as he takes in the horror.
It’s a woman, twisted and knotted as no woman should be. She walks on all fours almost like a reverse crab crawl, her head dripping at an unnatural angle, nose skimming the stairs as her hands descend, her feet pointed outwards with each calculated step. Katsuki’s hand flies to his waist, fingers closing uselessly around an empty holster. Fuck . That’s right. He lost his guns in his last fight.
‘ priest ’, the creature moans, ‘ save me from gluttony~’
“Save yourself,” Katsuki can’t see Izuku’s face but he can imagine that expression. That crescent smile, so benevolent to others but cusping on the edge of insanity, “ Leave us be .”
Another three steps and the creature is on the ground, crawling jerkily toward Izuku who, like the useless idiot he was born to be, takes a fucking step closer, blocking out Katsuki’s barely propped upright stature. Katsuki snarls, maimed and grounded, he still doesn’t need anyone’s coddling.
‘ i can’t ’, it moans wantonly, ‘ fill me priest. Let me open your stomach and lick your intestines~ they say one bite of the Divine and you will be saved from Hellfire~’
“Shut up,” Katsuki breaks out, “You shut the hell up you useless wadded up ballsack bitch!” He dips down despite the churning floor, yanking a silver athame out of his left boot, curling tight around the hilt to ground himself. A laugh shakes dust from the corners of the ceiling and horrible cracking noises break out as the demon tilts her head to face him.
‘ ah ,’ the exhale is wanton, ‘ I think I shall feast upon you first. ’ The jaw of the demon drops, exposes long incisors and the deep dark of Hell.
Katsuki’s heart pounds but he was made for this.
“Come at me, bitch.”
The swell of ozone is Katsuki’s only warning.
“ Ddefende nos in proelio !”
Green light crackles at the first words and an unearthly screech shatters the mechanisms in Katsuki’s finely tuned hearing aids, shorting out whatever else Deku is saying. He lurches backwards as a punch of demonic energy segues, wiping through the basement and blowing out the old stones. The creature is encased in a tunnel of lightning, writhing, mouth open in a scream as Izuku raises his rosary and continues to shout, his hair whipping in the wind, mouth taut, eyes focused.
This plane of existence is nothing but white noise and static cling in his ears but the visage of Izuku stands before him, arms raised against a monster, lips pulled back in a grimacing smile as he shouts a chant in Old Latin lost to Katsuki. The craggy hollows of his face are haloed by his Divine light and the creature burns, limbs shorting out and bones rendering to nothing but ash. Katsuki feels his heartbeat catch and stutter, so lost he is staring up at Izuku’s glorious image.
It’s over in an instant, the basement plunged back into near darkness as the light is whisked away, the barest hints of lightning ghosting over Izuku’s shuddering frame. His expression is glassy, triumphant overlays as he gazes at the former pile of smarting demon matter. A final gust of wind blows back the tatters of his sleeves, exposing purpling skin. The rosary almost slips from twitching fingers.
Izuku sways, tilts, falls . Katsuki lurches forward, unheeding of his ruined leg, just in time to catch him in his arms, his breath fanning over that slack face.
“Deku, fuckin’ fuck, DEKU LOOK AT ME.” His mouth forms the words but the sound doesn’t carry, nullified with his fried hearing aids.
The half lidded eyes focus on nothing, they roll as sightless marbles up toward his temple. Cursing in a steady stream, Katsuki gathers the slighter man into his arms and balances on his good leg, alarm shunting out the pain in his mauled one as he slaps at Deku’s freckled cheeks.
“Deku, c’mon, Deku,” the catch in his vocal chords is definitely not a plea. It isn’t a desperation to be responded to.
A trickle of blood brightens the corner of Deku’s nose, meanders its way down his open jawed, dumb priestly face. Katsuki swallows hard against the lumps of blood in his mouth, trying so hard not to be sick.
Humans are not built for the Divinity of Angels. Mortal tendons could not be expected to leash the Power of God. It might have turned his brain into mush, his heart into seasoned meat. That brave heart Yagi used to go on and on about, it might be stopped forever.
Katsuki splays his hand over Izuku’s chest, a gasp of relief puffed on his lips as a weak thump answers the questioning pulse of his palm. It’s painful . This fuckin’ caring. The loathing claws inside of him, leaves brutal marks that linger even when his bones heal and his tendons are knitted back together. This is a wound that beats open and raw so long as Deku stands there with his big limpid eyes and holy sacred beating, bleeding heart.
Deku could maybe heal it. If Katsuki lets him. If he fuckin’ lives.
“You’re mine, Deku! Got that? God can’t have you, you belong to me !”
He starts to curse. Threaten. He can’t hear but he knows his voice must be shaking the pile of ashes that used to be some ghoulish demon intent on eating them alive. He can’t bring himself to care as he yells down at Deku’s shattered form cradled between his legs. He shakes the other male, watching that flopping, useless head bounce. Watches blood run in an errant trickle out of Izuku’s nose into his lax lips, bisect down his cheek.
His throat is as raw as the nerves in his leg by the time Kirishima and Todoroki find them.
… Fiat voluntas tua ,
sicut in caelo,
et in terra .
The wizened windbag’s mouth is moving but none of it reaches Katsuki’s ears. He glares at her, snapping his left fingers as his right hand adjusts the feedback on his new hearing aids. The world comes a little back into texture at a quiet frequency and it’s always so off putting it makes Katsuki shudder in relief.
“ – overdid it.”
What else is new? Katsuki thinks bitterly, internally grateful that the world isn’t lost in that endless loop of white noise even if the first thing he has to hear is the whinging pain hunched over his bed.
Shuusenji Chiyo’s house is cheerful. The Miracle Recovery healer is someone they visit too often even though she lives in a tiny New England town by the sea. It suits her, the diminutive town mirrors her stooped stature, the gray washed clouds blown in by the sea are echoed in her pulled back hair.
Katsuki hates the place. He feels too exposed beneath the endless swathe of sky and dwarfed by the cresting waves.
“If he pulls out all that Divine energy again he could pulverize his entire body. This time, he’s lucky the blowback only twisted up the pathways of his arms. He’ll have to be more careful in the future, only drawing out bits and pieces.” Chiyo tilts a look over the edge of her glasses. A frown pulls her wrinkles into deeper trenches of worry on her face, etched slowly over a lifetime of watching mortals destroy themselves in the name of Angels.
Katsuki shifts on the bed and keeps his hands fisted in the sheets. Fuckin’ busybody, does she think he’s stupid ? That he doesn’t know ?
What in the asscrack of Satan does she expect him to reply to that? It’s the very reason he shoves useless, spineless Deku out of the way when they go hunting? It’s why he always tries to leave Deku behind at some hick town salivating for word of God? That the hopeless idealistic idiot always manages to find him and Half Breed and Shitty Hair just to blow himself up with Divine energy?
His hands fist in the bedsheets, the palms slippery with sweat, scratching in the soft cotton.
A new figure, lanky and well groomed, wanders into the room, sunglasses shuttering the shocking ache that are his too vivid eyes. Katsuki’s skin prickles in response, human flesh recognizing the danger even as his mouth sneers. “Get out.”
“Ah, you’re awake.” The idiot states dryly, always Captain fuckin’ Obvious with his hands on his dick.
“Piss off,” his own voice is shredded and mangled as his leg must have been.
“Midoriya is awake,” a tint of something colors Shouto Todoroki’s usually bland tone, as he swipes red and white bangs out from behind the lenses of his sunglasses, “you want to see him?”
“No,” Katsuki snaps, but he’s already throwing his blanket off and swinging his legs over the side of the bed, ignoring the twinge in his tendons.
“Keep off that leg!” Chiyo hollers, but Katsuki is already up despite the jumble of his bones and the dull warning his newly sewn flesh gives him. He flips her off and follows Todoroki.
“What happened?” Is Todoroki’s first question out of earshot of the Miracle Recovery worker. “You were supposed to be right behind us.”
Something clenches in his just mended guts. “Piss off, Half n’ Half.”
What he can see of the expression on his companion remains the same but something dark colors the next words out of his mouth, prickling the prey response in the fine hairs on the back of Katsuki’s neck. “You do what you want. Don’t pull Midoriya into the turmoil you call your head.”
“Deku’s his own person,” Katsuki rumbles back, teeth gritted so tightly he nearly feels the enamel shatter, “Why don’t you go snack on some baby’s soul?”
The suggestion is distasteful enough Shouto doesn’t speak again. They pass a kitchen drifting with the aromatic smell of stew and Katsuki just barely catches a glimpse of a broad muscled back and a shock of red hair before he’s whisked in front of an open door.
Deku is sitting up in bed, facing the unshuttered window. A sea breeze blows in, ruffling his already tousled curls, rinsed of blood and dirt. It’s sunset and so the tea rose colors bleed into the room, paint his bare skin golden, glisten on the ridges of his scars. The rosary is clutched in bandaged fingers, thumb and middle struggling to run over the old wood. Serenity sits on the high points of his cheekbones, his countenance tranquil only as only the blessed can be.
Katsuki wants to puke .
“Nerd,” he grates out.
Izuku turns. Blinks his over large stained glass green eyes. There are chapel eave shadows beneath the slant of his eyebrows, altar dust pressed into the dark circles sooted beneath his occipital bones. He looks tired, no one’s savior.
“Kacchan. Are you okay? Should you be walking?” He sets his ruined hands on either side of his body, mimes a push, “do you need – “
Todoroki crosses the room in three loping steps and shoves his shoulders, almost too forcefully. Deku yelps and falls backwards, his arms pinwheeling. “ Ow ! Todoroki – “
“Stay in bed,” the half demon’s tone is dangerous and not to be trifled with. Fitting, the only emotion he ever gets from half and half is when he’s speaking to the incarnation of Divinity trying to barrel out of bed on fresh broken limbs.
“But,” Izuku pouts and glances around his arms, “Kacchan – “
“Shut up.” Katsuki won’t come into the room, leans against the frame of the door, glares down at a timid Deku.
Those fucking eyes peek up at him between the divides of long lashes, “I’m glad to see you’re alright, Kacchan,” the sincerity wrapped in that voice is a spear, is a mallet, is a weapon lodging between his ribs. Diagnosis: inoperable. He’s sentenced to death.
“Don’t you fucking start,” he bares his teeth, cornered like he was down in the basement, no one but Deku to tend to his bled out limbs. Todoroki shoots him a reproachful look but Katsuki is too torn from otherworldly entanglements and the idea that Deku might be ( is ) worth more than an iron tanged end by demon jaws.
In response, Deku only sinks further into himself, shoulders hunched, bandaged arms across his unclothed chest. The line of his collarbone pushes against thin skin, unfurls on either side of his sternum, the hollows pooled there good enough to lick holy water from. That damned rosary swings petulantly from a limp hand, a taunt if Katsuki has ever seen one.
How did this happen? How did they go from ordinary children in an unremarkable midwestern town, to a hunter of lost souls and a blessed vessel? In the scant clay between God and Satan, they ride a harsh divide, small insects caught in the ire of deities they’ll never hope to comprehend.
“You ever pull some stunt like that again I’ll snap your neck myself, got it, you shitty useless fuck?” He spits out, only capable of barbs that line his tongue slimy.
A low crackle of radiant light flickers across Deku’s shoulder, prisms offsetting the hazy sunset colors leaching in. “You can’t ask me to do that, Kacchan.”
“Don’t tell me what I can and can’t ask of you!” Katsuki drives the side of his fist into the door, feeling it warp and tremble beneath the blow. His breath comes in spurts, straining the linings of his lungs. “You do what I say, you got that? Don’t you ever forget your place!”
Those last words ring too loud in the small room, blow out through the open window. Deku’s expression is something hazardous and collapsed, his stupid mouth agape. The rosary ticks through the stiff fingers, pooling on his lap, catch onto his middle finger. It looks like Todoroki’s got whiplash with how fast he snaps back to glare at Katsuki. Sulphur and brimstone bleed into the room, melding with the gutted sunset colors.
“Shut up, Katsuki.”
“Hah?! You wanna go, you two bit demon? I’ll shoot you so full of bullets I can use your bones as a cheesegrater!”
“And how would you accomplish this without your guns?”
Katsuki’s hands fly instinctively to his waist, feeling nothing but the elastic waistband of cotton joggers. Damn .
“You didn’t get them back?”
“I was a little more concerned about Kirishima’s arm. At least one of us cares more about our companions than personal glory.”
“ You – “
The half demon’s mouth clicks shut audibly and he stares down at the seated figure with surprise visible even behind mirrored lenses. Deku’s sitting straight again, eyes blazing. The muddled colors of the sunset have greyed, smearing shadows deeper into his frame.
“I’m…I’m of no help.” He holds up his wrapped right hand to stop the protest spilling from Todoroki’s mouth, “I don’t have the power of the elements or the ability to shapeshift like Kirishima. I’m not even agile nor a sharpshooter like Kacchan.” A longing look is slid over to him, so full of devoted admiration it makes the loathing fizz in the loam of his bones.
“All I know is the Word of God. And it’s not for me, it tears me to pieces, stops me from protecting all of you. I know this. I know I need to be stronger. But Kacchan,” those holy eyes freeze him, their gaze manacle his wrists, encase his feet.
“You can’t stop me from trying to save you. I don’t care if you don’t need my help. I don’t care if you leave me by the side of the road with no direction. I’m going to find you. I’m going to follow you. Because…” and here that strong voice falters, threaded through with anxious, messy emotions and candor mined from his aortic trench.
“My place is by your side Kacchan. Until the day the War ends. Until God Themself takes me away. I-I’ll be there.”
Katsuki doesn’t know when he crosses the room, doesn’t remember shunting Todorki off to the side, or grabbing a fistful of Izuku’s light, damp hair. All he is aware of is open lips, blown apart eyes, the smell of petrichor strong and earthy in his nose.
“Deku,” he gravels, “you useless, stupid bitch of Heaven.”
There is a completely unwarranted gentle smile spreading across that boyish face. “Your bitch, too.”
His hands tighten at the base of Deku’s skull. His . That these burned and damned and slated hands could own something as holy as Izuku Midoriya’s flesh. What a cosmic joke.
But here they are. In a room miles removed from civilization, the blessed vessel and a hunter. Night falling fast and painting them both in the velvet tongues of bruises and quicksilver of the moon. In front of another one of useless Deku’s saved ones, a half demon on the verge of turning the world to cinders before he got redeemed .
Said half demon sighs and stands up, fluidly, gazing over the edge of his glasses with gray and blue eyes. “I guess I’ll need earplugs,” he says wryly, slipping from the room. Katsuki registers enough of the words to flick him the middle finger as the door clicks closed.
He pulls Deku closer, presses their foreheads together. He can hear the intake of Deku’s breath through the machinations of his new hearing aids. The heat from Deku’s blush warms his hand and his forehead.
“You. Idiot. Nerd.”
“Sure,” Deku agrees with him in a soft whisper, hands reaching up to cup his cheeks in gauze, drawing him closer, “And yours. Always yours first, Kacchan.”
Their lips meet.
What is salvation? Katsuki wonders this a lot. Growing up in the Midwest, even in a Japanese American community, church was inescapable. He spent a lot of his younger childhood shouting as his mother wrestled him into button ups and slacks, pouting through the service, and sleeping through Sunday school. Deku was there too, red shoes and earnest expression, happily coloring in those stupid lambs and cutting Jesus out of construction paper.
He never learned what salvation was then, no matter how many Bible verses the priest recited. It wasn’t found, later, in the containers of salt his mother poured out, nor in the gunpowder of his weapons. It wasn’t even in the splattered gore of murdered demons.
A moan from Deku resounds against their pressed lips. It’s sweet, this sound, and for a moment Katsuki is grateful he can hear their hitching breaths and the milk honey content filling the sighs Deku releases.
Katsuki found salvation the day he ran into Deku again, a priest at some forgettable Nebraska town. There was no air conditioning and the pews leaked sap in the humidity. But deep forest eyes met his own carmine across bowed heads and suddenly he knew .
A tongue prods questioningly at his lower lip and he parts his mouth, letting that inquisitive organ lick into him and curl against his upper palate. He barely recognizes his own voice as he respires into Deku’s humid breath. That holy exhalation everyone is always going on and on about, and he’s the one that gets to distill it in his lungs.
He stands suddenly, shoving Deku backwards again, shunting his knee between the divide of Deku’s legs. Holy boy moans, all low and eager, flicks his hips to run his pelvis against Katsuki for friction.
For a moment Katsuki wishes he could film this, play it on an overhead screen for Izuku Midoriya’s masses. What would those God fearing, cousin diddling pig fuckers Deku believes so much in say if he showed them the image of their savior rutting against his leg like this? That devotional face upturned to Katsuki like he is greater than God Themself. Ha .
“Dek- u ,” he growls, grabbing the smaller man by the shoulders and digging his fingers into the pretty canvas skin, all splattered with freckles that might as well be the fingerprints of God. Fuck , that sight always gets him, heat and lightning zipping through his veins as he glares down at his prize.
“Kacchan,” the nickname is returned, high and breathy as a pink flush spreads across that seemingly chaste façade.
Katsuki runs his left hand down Dek’s bare chest, noting the shiver running through his body and the clench of his stomach muscles. His fingertips flicker along the upper line of Deku’s pants, nails just barely scraping along the heating skin.
“Where is your place?” he asks lowly, tightening his right hand’s grip on Deku’s shoulder, dipping his left under the waistband on his jeans, “C’mon, Priest. Tell me.”
“Nnhh,” gasps out Deku, arching into him and this, this is power .
“Deku,” he releases the other man’s shoulder, drifts his right hand against the column of his throat. Deku glances down, gasps shallowly, looks back up at him, worshipful.
He closes his fingers around Deku’s throat, feels the flutter of muscle, the swallow of his Adam’s apple bumping against the space between his thumb and index. Forbidden fruit, isn’t it? His own breath hitches as blood swirls down to his pelvis, igniting his own arousal.
Katsuki feels greater than the Divine that stole Deku’s life in this moment.
“C’mon child of God,” Katsuki dares to sneer down, “go ahead and call for Them. See if They’ll help you as I do this .” He contracts his hand, watching as Deku’s jaw drops and his eyes roll back, a wheezy breath escaping the spaces of his teeth.
“Yeah,” Katsuki breathes, unbuttoning Deku’s jeans and cupping him through his briefs. He’s sizzling but only half hard. It’s fine, Katsuki can correct that soon enough.
His hand on Deku’s throat squeezes harder and green eyes roll back, his lids drifting. The moan he eeks out is strangled ( heh ) and one of his hands comes up to rest against Katsuki’s chest for leverage, as if to ground himself. Katsuki watches the blood rush to Deku’s face, that flush pooling dark as Deku tries to gasp at him through constricting fingers.
He bucks his hand against Deku’s perking erection, grinning viciously as Deku manages a twisted yelp and tries to rut against him. He spits in Deku’s face, enjoying the flinch as Deku reels back from the sticky globule dripping down his cheek.
“You’re so fuckin’ gross, you know that, such a goddamn hypocrite.” Katsuki takes to gripping Deku’s dick, too hard to be pleasurable, enjoying the way Deku’s eyes fly open in alarm and his mouth attempting to squeak out protest despite the lack of oxygen in his lungs.
“Fuckin’ heathen who wants to sit on my dick, an animal thinkin’ with his libido, you think God wants you ? Cherishes you? You think you’re worthy to spread the Word of the Lord? Well, Dek- u ? Do you?”
He punctures each sentence with a vicious clench of his hand around Deku’s dick and a firmer press against his esophagus. Deku’s face is vaguely purple, his eyes hazy as he gazes up at Katsuki. Drool dribbles out of his lips (so much better than the blood) and he emits a weak little gurgle.
Katuski releases him, backs off, lets Deku tumble forward, curled in on himself as he hacks and coughs. The press of his own dick against his underwear sends tingles through his body, he wants to blow his load all over Deku’s doltish face, defile him in male excretion. With that thought he only gives Deku a second to recuperate before he’s surging forward again, gripping Deku by the back of the head and forcing his red face up.
“So yeah, lamb of God, deserter of vows,” he whispers in the dark, in the faltering inhale Deku chokes on, “tell me who you really belong to.”
Deku coughs once more, wetly, scraped and flayed.
Katsuki allows himself one sharp grin.
“Say it again,” he tightens his grip, feels fine hairs snap between his fingers, “ Again , Deku.”
“Yours!” Deku wiggles, trying to find purchase against Katsuki, “I’ll always be yours Kacchan!”
“Fuck yeah,” with that Katsuki throws Deku way from him, grips the waistband of his loosened jeans and briefs, and yanks, none too gently. Deku squeaks, his knees getting a bit tangled in the jumble but Katsuki just places a hand on his hip and tugs again, ignoring the snap of elastic from the briefs being pulled out of shape. The clothes flap against the door and slide down in a sad pile onto the floor.
“Ka – “ Deku starts to complain, but Katsuki is already rolling him over onto his stomach, pinning him down with a firm hand between his scapula bones. The flesh is warm and writhing beneath his palm. If Deku had wings, they’d sprout from here.
“Give me your rosary.”
This is the only command that ever makes Deku hesitate, even as he turns his head to the side so he can breathe. As punishment for the hesitation Katsuki digs his fingernails into the muscles of Deku’s back, relishing the squeal he elicits. “Deku. Don’t argue. Give. Me. The rosary .”
Deku squirms a little, “Ka-Kacchan. This used to belong to the Almighty.”
“And now it’s yours,” Katsuki presses harder against Deku’s spine, nearly smothering him against the mattress, “And you’re mine . So what belongs to you, belongs to me, you got it, Priest?”
Deku lets out a truly conflicted whimper, shifting a little as he tries to decide. To help him make his decision, Katsuki hooks his free arm under Deku’s hips and hauls them up so he can close his hand around his dick again. It’s hard now, to Katsuki’s satisfaction, fully erect and leaking precum that dribbles into his hand and onto the bedspread. He strokes, once, relishing the tremble that shakes through Deku.
“Dek- u ,” he drawls out and grins his victory when his playmate sags in his grip, groaning as Deku’s ass backs into his tented sweats, rubbing against his own arousal. Shakingly, Deku raises his left wrist and offers it to Katsuki, who takes great pleasure in yanking the wound beads off the appendage.
For a moment, he pauses, letting the rosewood clack through his fingers. It’s a fine rosary, large rough beads, sterling silver links, and a heavy golden cross. It’s old, he knows, at least eight vessels had it before it ended up in his scrawny nerd’s broken palms. A sacred item Deku uses to help draw the Divine energy out of his body.
The precum on his fingers, Deku’s precum, besmirches this precious, beautiful relic passed down from generations of devout sheep. It’s shiny and sleek against those old, old beads giving them a beautiful sullied varnish. Katsuki brings the tainted beads up to his lips in a parody of a kiss.
Thank you for my plaything, God . Mitsuki did always tell him to be a grateful little shit.
He lowers the hand with the rosary again, gives Deku’s dick a slow, almost absent-minded stroke, enjoying the droplets of precum further desecrating the relic. Deku lets out a whine loud enough he nearly chokes as the beads run over his sensitive skin. Katsuki lets go after that one stroke and leans forward to shove the rosary in Deku’s face.
“Get it wet.”
“Ka-Kacch an – “
Katsuki shoves down with the hand still on Deku’s spine, making him whine in earnest, “It’s not a suggestion, Deku,” he hisses out, pressing the rosary into Deku’s exposed cheek, slapping him with the wet beads, “What did I just say? This belongs to you, and you belong to me, and so - “ he digs his nails into Deku’s back, letting him yelp.
“C’mon Deku. Use that big fuckin’ nerd of brain of yours and answer the damn question. This rosary belongs to you, you belong to me – “
A broken moan and Deku drools onto the mattress before tentatively tilting his neck forward and lipping at the rosary in Katsuki’s palm. Katsuki growls, shoving the whole thing in Deku’s mouth, ignoring his choke as the overly large crucifix clinks against his teeth.
“Good boy.” Breathed out, praised. Deku keens, warbling through the wetted beads and defiled symbols.
He stops pressing Deku into the mattress, moves that hand to stroke up Deku’s erection, slipping his thumb over the head and running over the swelled slit, the precum making lewd sounds in the small room. With his other hand, he shoves the rosary deeper into Deku’s mouth, pressing it in with two fingers, twirling the beads.
“What would the Almighty say,” Katsuki whispers in the dark, ugly and contorted, relishing Deku’s straining dick in his hand, his shimmying hips rubbing against Katsuki’s own arousal still clothed in sweats, “if he saw you like this, hah? Gyrating like a whore into me, hard as fuck ‘cuz I’m making you suck this rosary like a cock. You think he’d still be proud ?”
A litany of muffled words spill out of Deku’s mouth but Katuski couldn’t give two shits. He pulls his hand off Deku’s dick, ignoring the plaintive sound Deku makes, and brings his hand to his mouth, tasting Deku. Katsuki has never been one for ingesting bodily fluids but ever since Deku became Divine something sweet permeates his cum. It’s light and golden and reminds Katsuki of harvest apples. Figures even Deku’s cum would be sweetened by the grace of God.
Body of Christ, indeed .
“Fu- u -ck, Deku,” he groans around the words, “you piece of filth. You sinner, you goddamn Jezebel whore.”
He shoves the rosary deeper into Deku’s mouth, feeling that hot wet tongue slapping against his fingers and the beads. Deku gags around the beads, probably starting to make their way down the esophagus but he’s got a good gag reflex. Katsuki’s trained him so.
Figuring it was about time, he pulls the rosary out of Deku’s mouth in a long sticky mess, strings of viscous saliva clinging to the beads and dewing the crucifix. Deku retches a little, eyes watering, tears gathering at the corners of his eyes, falling down his soft cheeks. Katsuki prefers it to the blood.
He sets a slow rhythm, pumping Deku’s dick, humming a half forgotten hymnal on his tongue. Deku turns his face shamefully into the pillows, shoulders shaking a little as he cries into them, trying to muffle his moans at the touch of Katuki’s hand. Katsuki pays him no mind, scooting back a little bit so he’s not grinding against Deku’s plump ass anymore (such a damn shame).
He likes this ass a lot, pert and lifted, waving in his face. Deku’s not much of a fighter so he has to spend a lot of his time honing his evasive maneuvers, upping his cardio stamina. It pays off in glorious glutes and long, lean quads that seem even longer on his short stature. Katsuki takes an appreciative smack at it, relishing the way Deku yelps and goes tense beneath him.
“Count your blessings, Deku,” he growls out and Deku moans, so loud he’s certain the dust is rattling from Chiyo’s corners. Good. Let that old windbag know they fucked in here. He’s gonna mess Deku up and stain her virgin sheets.
“O-one,” Deku stammers out, determined to please, and Katsuki grunts in approval, smacking him again.
A splintered keening noise. Desperate. Wanton. “ Three ! Kacchan, please, THREE!””
Katsuki spits again, letting his saliva dribble over Deku’s twitching hole. “Father, Son, and Holy Ghost,” he rasps out, before shoving one of the rosary beads directly into Deku’s ass.
Deku goes taut beneath his hold, a strung out, teased piece of wiry muscle, once again something for Katsuki to mold to fit his own base desires. Katsuki grinds out a laugh, shoves another bead into Deku, noting the way his prick twitches and dribbles with each smooth push of the rosewood. Some holy man. Some blessed vessel.
God could take Deku all They want. Deku is a vessel for no one’s greed except Katsuki’s. and he’s gonna show God exactly how it’s done.
“Ka- ahhhh -chan!” Deku warbles, arching up and sobbing fully now, tears and snot dripping down his face. His mouth is open and panting, sucking in air with sodden filthy gasps, his chest heaving. The bandages are unraveling from his arms. “N- uh , need you!”
“Nah,” Katsuki laughs, low and dark like he knows Lucifer does at the crossroads, his grip on Deku gentle, barely enough to allow him friction, “I don’t think that’s true. You swallowed Yagi’s feather just ‘cuz he told you to, huh? I think you just need fuckin’ anything to go down that gullet of yours and stick into your ass, right? You don’t need me.” The rosary is a quarter in and Katsuki gathers another handful of beads, pushes them all at once. Pretty much just the crucifix left.
“Noooooo,” Deku moans out, high and reedy, his ass wiggling, desperate for relief, “Need you, Kacchan. No one is like Kacchan, no can own me like Kacchan can - ahhhh !”
Katsuki shoves the bottom part of the three inch crucifix into his hole, twists it viciously, angling it up to just barely brush against the edge of Deku’s prostate. Deku flops back into the pillows, his entire body quivering, not caring about any of the mewling sounds he is making. It’s good to watch him like this. Shameless, desperate, unraveled.
Katsuki is ravenous for it.
He keeps fucking Deku with that sacred relic, pulling back to jostle the beads, letting a few inches of the beads pop out of Deku’s ass, only to shove them back in with a vicious thrust of the crucifix. He keeps his stroking on Deku’s cock softly through all this, a barely there stimulation, just enough to keep him on the edge. The crucifix does most of the work, the obscene and blasphemous way the carved figure on the cross sinks into Deku’s hole, up to the detailed torso, making something in Katsuki clench and bite his own lips in want.
“Ka-Ka- Kahhh – “ Deku can’t finish his entire nickname, pushing back to fuck himself on the crucifix, crying as he does so. So humiliating. He presses back against the back of Deku’s leg, gyrates against it, hissing as some of the pressure in his tented dick is relieved.
“Yeah,” he gasps out, too turned on to keep teasing, “yeah tell me what you want, heaven’s bitch. Fuckin ” he shoves the crucifix in, too hard, catching the vertical line of it outside of Deku’s asshole, “tell me what you want.”
“Fuck me,” Deku answers right away, voice dismantled and laying on the bed, pliant, “fu-fuck me please, Kacchan. You own me. Only-only you.”
Katsuki growls out, rumbling his pleasure at the answer. “Damn, right.”
He rips the crucifix out of Deku’s ass in spite of Deku’s whine. He crunches the beads all in one hand and lets go of Deku’s cock to grab him by the hair, forcing Deku to arch up and rest his head against Katsuki’s chest. His face is a smattered wreck of tears, snot, and slobbered saliva, Katsuki leans in and runs his tongue across his cheek, tasting the salt and the sugar.
“Open your mouth.”
Deku opens his mouth so fast and so wide Katuski’s surprised he doesn’t hear a pop from Deku’s jaw. He pools the rosary in there and clicks Deku’s jaw shut, patting his head and leaving his hand on Deku’s forehead. “Good boy,” he murmurs.
Deku noses up at the praise, a few strands of bead still dangling from his mouth. He looks up at Katsuki with wide, shining eyes and Katsuki –
Katsuki knows salvation in those green irises, in the rippling warmth exuding from Deku’s stimulated skin. He feels his words lodge in his throat, presses his lips against Deku’s forehead. Those holy eyes slide shut and Deku lets himself go against Katsuki, boneless and submissive to his whims.
He slides one final kiss against Deku’s sweaty forehead. “Get on your hands, nerd.”
Deku drops forward quickly, chest low, ass up, just like he knows how Katsuki likes it. He chuckles, decibels soft in the sedate darkness, trying to catch his breath. His leg aches, reminding him just a few hours ago he had demon teeth and claws tearing out the calf muscles, the joints creaking a bit in protest. Demon hunting tended to do that, aging one before their time. Whatever, they could last through a fuck.
He leans over and sets his grip on either side of Deku’s hips and spits again on his hole, ignoring the quiet whine from Deku, before lowering his head and running his tongue around the puckered rim. Deku jerks beneath him, half muted words making their way through the jingle of the rosary but Katsuki has other things to worry about.
He licks again with more pressure, letting the tip of his tongue tease that tight rim, opening it up, loosening it more. His tongue prods through the ring and his right hand goes back against Deku’s ignored erection, stroking it in earnest now. Deku contorts beautifully, snotting and crying into the pillows, struggling to stay up on his bandaged hands.
Satisfied Deku was going to stay in place, Katsuki takes the hand not jerking Deku off and shoves his thumb into his hole. It goes in easily enough, thanks to the beads of the rosary and the slick of his spit. It’s not proper fucking etiquette and honestly, Deku deserves more, some dark portion of Katsuki’s brain whispers, but he doesn’t care. He hooks his thumb into Deku’s ass and eats him out, enjoying the way his partner whines and cries around his mouth.
Soon enough Katsuki replaces his thumb with a finger and then two, scissoring them and dribbling more drool. It’s gross, wet and moist, spit getting all over Katsuki’s face and Deku’s ass, but the stifled moaning and garbled words keep him going, loosening Deku enough for a third finger he curls hard against the bundle of pleasurable nerves.
Deku shrieks out and bites against the rosary so hard Katsuki thinks he can hear a molar crack against the crucifix. He pauses for a moment, listening to both of their pants fill the air. Then, Deku is shimmying his ass in Katsuki’s face, a silent plea.
Who is Katsuki to deny him? He spits again into Deku’s open, twitching hole, liking the way Deku shivers at the licentous feeling, and then jerks down the waistband of his sweats, finally, finally , releasing his cock.
He groans as the open air envelopes the overheated skin, the window still blowing in some semblance of a breeze, keeping the steamy smell of sex to a minimum and chilling the precum leaking down the shaft. One stroke, two, and he’s pressing the swollen head against Deku’s waiting hole, listening to the other man whimper and rub his ass against his prick.
“Ready?” it comes out ridged in want and Deku just snivels softy through the mouthful of beads and raises his ass even higher.
A sharp inhale and Katsuki presses in, feeling Deku’s warbling cry and the sweet tight heat of his ass around his cock. It’s slow going without lube, even with prep and spit, and his dick catches for a moment against Deku’s walls. Frowning, Katsuki pulls out, spits into his hand, tries again, gritting his teeth at the sensation of almost being too tight . This time he makes it all the way until he bottoms out, Deku’s plush ass pressing into the sharp line of his hipbones.
“ De -ku,” he moans out, feeling that sultry fever around his pulsing dick. Deku answers him back in kind.
He puts a hand against Deku’s ass and pulls out halfway before slamming back in. Deku arches back, mouth falling open, saliva-soaked beads falling out from between his teeth, before he remembers to close his lips.
Katsuki breathes heavy, his heart double time in his chest. This is different from bleeding out on the filthy floor of a forgotten church. This sort of heart pounding exhilaration is all a reminder that he is alive . Deku’s trembling skin beneath his palms and his wanton, whorish noises all threaded out at Katsuki’s ministrations.
Cursing faintly, he tries to be considerate. He tries to start slow, set an easy pace for the other man to adjust to. But Deku’s already relaxing into their rhythm, opening himself up to Katsuki’s thrusts and the pace soon becomes hurried. The slap of skin, the grunts Katsuki growls out, the reedy plaintive whines Deku cries, rosary leaking out of his mouth. He jabs into Deku like he wants to pierce straight to his heart, pulls out like he can’t bear to be away, only half rubbing his prostate with each roll of his hips.
The room temperature rises even with the sea breeze, their animalistic fucking sweating sex and salt into the air. Katsuki is heaving, mouth agape, Deku an empty doll that jerks forward with each thrust, snapped back with each parting. He leans forward, grasps Deku by the back of the neck and shovels his nails into the fine skin.
“Tell me who you belong to!” he yells out, too loud in this small room. Too loud in the space of the healer that bound them back together. Ruining it, rubbing the echoes of their sexual encounter into her floors and imparting the imprint of their bodies into her sheets.
“Y-Yours!” is the weeping reply, only slightly smothered by beads, “yours, Kacchan!”
Katsuki returns his hand to Deku’s aching cock, feeling the silky linings of Deku clench around him.
“Don’t-don’t you forget it,” he huffs, stroking Deku off rhythm as he fucks him mercilessly into the mattress, coils squeaking.
“Gonna – I’m gonna cum Ka-Kacchan, pl-please,” Deku whimpers, high and tremulous, the last of the rosary dropping out of his mouth, “Kacchan – “
“Go ahead,” Katuski drags out, tightens his grip on Deku’s cock.
Deku tenses once beneath him and breaks, screaming, pressing his face into the mattress to try and stopper some of the blatant noise. Katsuki releases his cock and hauls his hips up, fucking him through the aftershocks, ignoring when Deku begins to cry anew from the overstimulation.
His nails are drawing blood and Katsuki leans forward to sink his teeth into Deku’s shoulder, ignoring his pained shriek. His joints are crying like Deku’s broken voice, his leg is sore and tender but he picks up his pace, spitting noisy breaths of air out from between his teeth as tension builds in his stomach and in his groin and testicles, and all of a sudden he’s cumming in a bright flash of golden light that makes him gasp, Deku’s skin falling out of his mouth.
He collapses on top of Deku, feeling his cock leak in the latter’s ass, those soft walls still weakly rubbing against his sensitive cock. Some cum leaks out, further adding to the mess. Deku shifts a little beneath him, whining softly, trying to get comfortable.
Katsuki groans, pushes himself up in the aftermath of seafoam bones and gold lights still flickering in the dark. He takes in Deku’s flattened figure, crescent moons on the back of his neck, a purple bite mark on his right trapezius muscle. It’s surrounded by scattered freckles, a strange cosmic promise.
“Katsuki,” Izuku breathes from beneath his bulk, wincing as Katsuki pulls out of him, oozing his spent seed.
Katsuki leans down and kisses the nape of his neck. He grabs the discarded rosary and tosses it by the door.
He needs to get up. Deku deserves to get wiped down, deserves to eat, to get his bandages rewrapped. He needs clean sheets and a soft embrace.
Katsuki is not the person for such tender hearted work. The only thing he can do is lay beside the other and pull Deku's spine against his stomach in spite of the sticky mire they’re both entrenched in.
He buries his nose in sweaty curls and closes his eyes.
“ Katsuki .”
It’s a prayer in this darkness. It’s Izuku, the Divine, in his arms. Katsuki drifts to sleep and dreams of nothing.
Panem nostrum quotidianum da nobis hodie , et dimitte nobis debita nostra ,
sicut et nos dimittimus debitoribus nostris .
Et ne nos inducas in tentationem , sed libera nos a malo .
Eijirou has breakfast ready when they finally emerge the next morning, a knowing wolfish grin on his lips as he watches Izuku turn red as an apple and flee (limp) for the bathroom. Completely shameless Katsuki saunters into the kitchen and crashes into a chair.
“Good night?” Eijirou isn’t wearing a shirt, his tanned pectorals on display in the sleepy morning light.
Katsuki flips him the bird and Eijirou wolf whistles as he spoons scrambled egg onto a plate.
“I got ‘yer guns, by the way,” he adds conversationally, buttering a piece of toast, “they’re in the car. Though,” he wrinkles his nose, “we might have to get the backseat detailed.”
For a moment, he’s back in the dark, the wheels rushing, the rumble of his dad’s old car beneath him. Deku, small and fragile, unresponsive in his arms.
What he says is, “Whatever, shitty hair. Don’t leave hair dye in the old hag’s sink.”
Eijirou barks a laugh, scratches the side of his face in a canine manner, “Yo, you were bangin’ in her guest room and you wanna lecture me about hair dye? Weak, man.”
“You are lucky she stepped out to visit another client,” a new voice cuts in, Todoroki’s fine figure sliding through the kitchen, so out of place in this domestic setting. Where he managed to find a suit jacket was beyond Katsuki but it made him sneer just the same as Eijirou set a plate in front of him.
“Morin’ Shouto!” Eijirou chirped brightly, “Eggs?”
Todoroki slides a look beneath his Gucci frames. “Yolk of the unborn? I think not.”
Eijirou laughs so hard at this stupid comment the plate slips from his hands and crashes against the floor. Katsuki rolls his eyes and looks down at his approximation of breakfast. Ugh. He doesn’t know why Eijirou cooks, he’s shit at it. The eggs are runny.
“Good morning,” Deku’s voice drifts in, clear as a hymn. He pads across the tile, smiles bright as joy, hair damp. He’s wearing one of Katsuki’s flannel shirts, it drifts around his frame, hangs off to expose a sharp clavicle. The rosary winds heavy on his chest but for once Katsuki doesn’t want to burn the world when he spies it.
“Eyyyy, Midoriya,” Eijirou shoves a laden plate in Deku’s direction, winking lasciviously, “I bet you need some protein, don’t ya.”
Deku’s face bursts poppy red and he squeaks, covering his face with overly large sleeves.
Todoroki’s quick to step in, shielding Deku with his spindly limbs. “Don’t tease him.”
“Awhhhh but lookit him! Ain’t he so cute when he goes all red and flustered like that?” Eijirou laughs, edging around the kitchen table.
“Nooooo!” Deku wails, ducking out from behind Todoroki, “Kacchan, save me!”
“Eh?” Katsuki looks up, just in time to watch Deku slip in a pile of eggs and crash to the floor.
No one moves for a heartbeat. They all stare down at Deku’s surprised expression, his enlarged eyes and open mouth.
Todoroki breaks it first, a smarmy little giggle escaping his lips. Then it’s Eijirou, a loud guffaw joining in Todoroki. Katsuki snorts, the hysteria wheezing out of his nose.
Deku, their chosen one, blinks once, twice, and joins in.
Katsuki gets up, edges around his two idiot followers, and leans down to grasp Deku by the arm, hauling him up. He’ll need to be rebandaged.
“C’mon,” he says, brushing egg off frayed jeans, “you don’t wanna eat Shitty Hair’s cooking anyway ( Hey! I resent that !) let’s go out, yeah?”
Deku looks up at him with the most devotional eyes and slips his hand into Katsuki’s.
“I’ll follow you anywhere, Kacchan.”