Some very short and sweet smut scenes inserted here. Just a couple of paragraphs you can gloss over. But still, I updated the rating just in case.
Oh, and happy pride! Let's not let anyone dictate who we can love and fuck, yeah?
Chapter 5: i thought we(you) were okay
The doctor gave the all-clear on a chilly Sunday evening, the winter air entering its tranquil phase.
Before Izuku could go on a muttering storm about post-care medications, exercises, and precautions in the pamphlet the doctor gave, Katsuki dragged the idiot to the one place he'd been itching to go back to for months.
Of course, the worrywart nerd, once he realized where they were going, tried to dissuade him.
It's in moments like this, with Izuku's hands on his hips and cheeks puffed out as he muttered up a storm of reasons that went over Katsuki's head, that he found another plus point in their new relationship.
"–and what about your quirk? The doctor said you can use it sparingly but not to the extent of leveling a building or even taking down any villai–"
In the months since Katsuki moved and barreled past the shackles that seemed so insignificant now with death a feeling he'd been acquainted with, there were facts he'd established.
Cold-nipped fingers tugged at green locks, Katsuki's mouth moving to swallow moans and gasp erupting from the action. His tongue lapped and tasted, with teeth nipping at random intervals that brought out full-body trembles Katsuki felt against him.
The first, was that kissing the nerd was one of the sure ways to shut him up.
He pulled away, a trail of saliva snapping back onto swollen lips highlighted by flushed skin littered with freckled constellations. Izuku's hands clenched and unclenched on the collars of Katsuki's jacket, body trembling and torn between going nearer or farther.
Katsuki grinned, at which the greennette answered with a scowl-turned-pout.
The second, was that kissing Izuku always, without fail, enveloped his whole body with a sense of euphoria– from the tingling sensation on his lips to every patch of skin Izuku's breath would dare tickle on.
It was an addiction he didn't know the consequences of but didn't care either way.
Katsuki tried to lean in for another kiss, the muttering long stopped but the crackling energy still wrapped around them as a growing bonfire. Gloves met his mouth, the owner scowling at him with emerald eyes and freckles peeking from the cold-induced sheet of invisibility.
"Kacchan," Izuku pouted with lips red from both the cold and warm sensations it was subjected to. "Don't think I don't know what you're doing."
"Yeah? What am I doing, nerd?"
The hand sneaking under many layers was slapped away, Katsuki clutching at his hand with a swear.
At once, scarred hands took the injured limb– though it was really just a blooming handprint against pale skin. And Katsuki watched, stared dumbfounded, as Izuku brushed warm lips against the inflamed skin.
One kiss, two kisses, three kisses.
A third fact, was, that every brush of the nerd's lips against any part of him– the spot between furrowed brows, the tip of his nose, the high of his cheeks– made him fucking melt.
He wasn't exaggerating, but maybe he was a bit sappy. It didn't change how his eyes would flutter close, his whole body trembling and legs threatening to buckle under him, and all he could say was–
"Fuck."
Izuku chuckled; the warm puffs of air on Katsuki's hand made it seem like it was mid-July rather than early February.
He didn't know if it was a mercy or prolonged torture when Izuku moved away to slot his own hand into his– scars against scars. Maybe it was a mix of both; Katsuki didn't give a fuck.
"Kacchan," Izuku squeezed his hand, sending another jolt through them. "How about we just order takeout for tonight? We can start going around tomorrow!"
Rejection mixed with pride rested on his tongue but stayed, unable to fall and ruin the soft look in emerald eyes illuminated by moderately-lighted streets.
Katsuki grunted but squeezed back the hand in his– scars with scars. "Whatever, fucking nerd. I want tantanmen."
Going to the agency could wait.
It's weird how the transition from rivals and long-term hero partners to lovers was easy.
It was easy in how mornings now greeted Katsuki with slips of the dawn's light, the cold nipping at his feet, and the scent of dust after rain. Crimson fluttered open and started the day with expanses of green tresses that tickled his nose with no fail.
It was so fucking easy that he began to doubt the quality of the tear-jerker movies that Katsuki got dragged by the shitty extras to watch on impromptu movie nights.
Best friends turned lovers would be skirting around each other awkwardly, no longer sure what could be counted as platonic or romantic. The easy air that friendship had offered was riddled with insecurities and unsureties.
If someone pointed out to him how movies were creative expressions of reality and not meant to accurately depict life, Katsuki would shut them up with an explosion to the face.
It wasn't his fucking fault that there had always only been emerald eyes and freckled constellations that could worm their way past his burning desire to be the best.
So if the years of hesitations– of unheld hands and missed kisses were because of that thing called fear in wrecking this bubble of domesticity that Katsuki could return to every day, then no one could fault him, right?
Arms wrapped around him, strong yet lax in their hold. Izuku placed a soft kiss at the side of Katsuki's head, murmuring a quiet 'good morning Kacchan.'
And Katsuki couldn't fucking believe how that simple act wasn't not normal for them. He wanted to beat the shit out of his past self because it took him almost croaking for him to realize they've already been past the point of friends and hero partners long ago.
How long ago, he wasn't sure.
But the fact that his body reacted involuntarily– a reflex to lean back to the warmth behind him and let the scent of thunder, rain, and Deku reassure him it really was the start of another day– was indication enough of fucking long enough.
Unlike before, however, Katsuki could do this now.
He whirled around, catching Izuku's lips that barely left before coming back to Katsuki again. The arms around him tightened their hold, scarred hands gripping at spots that produced sounds he never knew he could make.
When Izuku pulled away, a whine from Katsuki's lips left hanging in the air; he thinks he should've done this fucking sooner.
Yeah, past Katsuki was stupid as fuck.
"Kacchan," Izuku giggled, pulling away from the lips that chased after him. The blonde scowled, but the greennette just giggled again, and no one could ever prove that it was Izuku who made him chuckle in turn.
"Kacchan," Izuku smiled. "The yakizakana's burning."
"Fuck!"
Of course, they still had their fights. It was something defined in their relationship, after all. They may be the Wonder Duo who rose up in the charts together, but they were rivals first and foremost. Fights were a daily occurrence.
But it turned out that fights as couples were on an entirely different level.
Instead of the bouts of anger and irritation that sizzled out at the day's end when one or the other would brew some tea or cook up a simple meal, fights as lovers were prolonged. It was new territory for both of them, neither having the chance to experience it with other people.
Not that either could– not with Katsuki's incessant glares at potential dates or Izuku's icy smile at reporters who leaned in far too much.
Katsuki stomped out of their room and threw something at Izuku, the latter dropping his bag of chips to the floor in surprise.
"Kac–"
"How many fucking times do I have to say it, dipshit?"
Izuku groaned and dumped the shirt on the couch. "Say what, Kacchan? You never say anything. I'm not a mind reader, you know."
"Don't be sassy, you little shit."
"I don't have to be sassy if you didn't just throw your dirty laundry at me."
"My dirty laundry?" Katsuki scoffed and nabbed the discarded shirt, shaking it at Izuku's face. "I'm pretty fucking sure I've never worn this in the past weeks, nerd. And I'm pretty damn sure I saw you grab this to wipe your ass."
"It's still your shirt!"
"Your ass!"
Izuku puffed out his cheeks before grinning. "I was wiping off your cum, though."
The reason these fights were prolonged– ranging from something as petty as Katsuki's laundry pile getting larger without his knowledge to something as jarring as a wrong call during a mission– wasn't that they didn't talk about it.
It was because, for some unknown reason that neither of them would admit to, their confrontations always ended up being cut short.
Izuku's laugh turned to moans as Katsuki tackled him back to the couch, scarred hands gripping at blonde locks. Crimson eyes looked up at emerald, smirking at how they darkened every time Katsuki moved up and down, hands holding down hastily undressed thighs.
With one harsh suck, he let go with a pop. Katsuki chuckled when Izuku whined and tried to push him back down, hips failingly bucking up.
"Then let's make it your cum this time, 'Zuku."
When the question of going public came up, Izuku released a breath of relief when Katsuki just shrugged.
"No one can fucking tell me when and where I can kiss you, idiot."
It was fascinating, Izuku thinks. How simple words strung into a simple sentence could snap and break the bone-cold fingers wrapped around his heart, nails dragging along with each beat. It was fascinating how words and sentences seemingly so simple– just a symphony of sounds shaped by lips and tongues– could be so complex when it came from Bakugou Katsuki.
"Ha," Blistered fingers swept away tears that haven't entirely fallen just yet, still building at the corner of emerald eyes. "You really are a goddamn crybaby, Deku."
Izuku's laugh came out garbled with sobs barreling their way along with tears. The soft 'c'mere' had him in Katsuki's arms, hating how he couldn't seem to control the gates and loving the fact that he was crying not out of sadness but out of pure, unrelenting relief and happiness.
"'m sorry, Kacchan."
Katsuki sighed, Izuku's eyes fluttering close at the soft press of lips on his forehead. "Don't be sorry for being happy, nerd."
Don't be sorry for being happy with me. Don't be sorry for allowing yourself to let us be together.
There's that nagging feeling again. Secrets bathed in fire and death nipping at his heels, roaring to get out and free. Apologies surround them, waves of 'i'm sorry' and 'please understand' circling the fires that threaten to spread.
The tapes kept playing in his head when Katsuki sleeps, Izuku falling into the embrace of slumber only when he knows that the heart under his hand was beating and the breaths fanning his face were warm.
"Okay," Izuku smiled into the crook of Katsuki's neck. "I'll keep being happy, Kacchan. Thank you."
They spend the afternoon sprawled over the couch, plans of going to the arcade and the park pushed to another day. It wasn't every day that they got to agree on a day-off, with Izuku more often than not having to be slapped and wrangled out of working overtime.
While more lives could be saved if he stayed a little longer, more lives would be lost if he collapsed after hours that stretched to days and weeks spent with no breaks.
Even heroes needed to stop and pass on the mantle for a day or two, after all.
"Kacchan?"
A grunt. Crimson eyes and a scowl were trained on the screen that changed every few seconds.
"Will we tell our friends?"
Katsuki grunted again, nabbing a few spicy chips from the plate Izuku brought in from the kitchen. "Leave those shitty extras to find out."
.
Izuku thought they were very wise last words when the dubbed squads decided to use their spare keys and barge in later that day.
"Yo, Ka–cchan, we're here!"
"Kaminari-kun, not so loud! The neighbors might shout at us again!"
"Chill, Iida. 'S fine, the old lady likes me! Anyway, where are those tw– AHHHH!"
Katsuki's growls turned into moans, the pillow he threw at his back towards them flopping to the floor midway in reaching its targets. "You– ha, you shitty, e–extras! Fuck!"
Izuku knew he should probably stop at this point, but the rational part of his mind had gone on vacation when Katsuki breathed out a 'yes' at the greennette's request.
"D–Deku, fuck, s–stop you a– Ah!"
He'll apologize later, he thinks.
For now, scarred hands groped and pushed Katsuki forward against the back of the couch, freckled face deep in the crevice. Shivers went down his body at every mewl and moan that came as his tongue lapped and moved in and out, nips and sucks aiming to taste.
He'll apologize, but he doesn't think it'll be sincere when Izuku can never be sorry for eating out Katsuki.
There was this old-fashioned analog clock in their agency. Well, Izuku liked to call it old-fashioned because it sometimes stopped, the hands needing to be oiled and a few taps on the back to get it working again.
They dubbed it Toki-kun, the name slipping from anyone who reached up to pluck it off from the wall and hit it a few times. Uraraka even tried to caress and coo at it, a strategy that strangely worked.
Everyone in their agency had some sort of fondness for Toki-kun, but not Izuku. Because the only time he saw the clock for more than a passing glance of a second was when he waited outside Tougata's office, news waiting to be delivered.
Whether it was news of a high-profile person missing or of casualties Izuku could have stopped if he turned right instead of left, he came to associate that skin-crawling anxiety with Toki-kun. Which wasn't unfair since the clock was just doing its job, counting the time.
Tick tick tick
Izuku had no grudges against the old clock that came with the building, but the constant ticks grated on already frayed nerves from muffled voices at the other side of the door.
Tick tick tick
He wanted to punch it and feel satisfaction course through his fist at the broken pieces of metal and glass cutting into skin and muscle.
Tick tick ti–
The door opened, and OFA died down, green lightning and black whips slipping back into scarred skin. White gloved hands wrung together, Izuku's throat dry at the click of the door shut behind Katsuki.
"Kacchan?"
The blonde's face was impassive, crimson betraying nothing to emerald that grew wide with panic and a tinge of anger. His hands clenched into fists as a spark of indignation made the embers of rage turn into a roaring fire.
Izuku wouldn't let them do this– not to Katsuki. Not after the weeks and months that the other was forced to be behind a desk, gritting his teeth as others handed in their reports of villains who avoided capture.
Then a snort broke through the red haze, Katsuki grinning. "Don't go murdering our boss, Deku. He'd think you were jealous of my new big case or somethin'."
It was embarrassing how it took a solid minute for the words to sink in, but he wasted no time jumping into Katsuki's open arms when they did. The blonde was already prepared for it, with decades of catching the greennette instilling an instinct he didn't question.
Izuku smiled, and even without looking, he knew Katsuki was smiling too. He pulled away, but neither let go of the other, emerald shining for crimson.
"I'm happy for you, Kacchan."
A tear slipped, and Katsuki huffed, the beginnings of a scowl failing to replace the rare smile on his face. "It was fuckin' 'bout time, anyway. Would've blown TinTin up if he called me in to give me more vacation days."
Izuku chuckled and pulled away, a white-gloved hand holding on to bare blistered ones. It was awkward, but Katsuki's hands were big enough to not let Izuku's dwarf his.
When he pulled and Katsuki followed, steps following a beat later than his, he wondered when was it that the blonde allowed anyone to walk before him or drag him around?
He tried remembering a time before snow and cold fell upon Shizuoka, bodies warmed by each other's lips– before Katsuki had called him beautiful, a scenic parallelism to the dreams that pulled him in during lonely nights filled with monotonous beeps and whirring.
Izuku drew in a blank.
"–ation and, fucking hell, you're not listening to a goddamn word, are you?"
"Eh?" The greennette's steps faltered, but Katsuki continued on, this time him being the one pulling Izuku along.
"Fine. Be that fucking way, nerd. I won't tell you a single thing about the asshole's quirk," Katsuki spared him a glance, smirking. "And it's good too."
Izuku couldn't remember a time before Katsuki had barreled through the whispers that kept him up day and night. All he could remember was the soft, hesitant press of lips against his and thoughts of everything being a fever dream melting away.
Until there was only him and Katsuki. Deku and Kacchan. Emerald and crimson.
Izuku and his world.
As he followed after Katsuki, whines and cackles filling the corridor, Izuku found he didn't mind at all.
.
Katsuki hoped Izuku didn't feel the small box in his pocket when the nerd jumped him for a hug.
.
"Dynamight-san, good work tod–"
"Fuck off and get out of my way, Jigglypuff."
"Um, it's actually, 'Joker.'"
"Yeah?" Katsuki growled, big sparks dancing across his palm and snapping at the intern. "Good thing you know you're a fucking joke."
He didn't look back, dirtied boots booming a warning beat against the pristine white floors. Just for good measure, Katsuki made sure to shake off the worst of the mud right under the sign 'no hero costumes beyond this point.'
The sight of those white floors was too much for him today.
His steps faltered at the sudden tugging feeling in his chest, a warmth he hadn't felt for weeks unfurling and creeping past the bricks of the wall he'd erected. If it was two weeks ago, Katsuki would've thought nothing of it.
But it wasn't two weeks ago, so he grabbed hold of it, shoving it back as he turned and took a different route. It was already past the time he was supposed to clock out, but Katsuki didn't mind going a little overtime.
People gave him a wide berth, his boots leaving footprints of mud mixed with blood and dust in his wake. It was better than pristine white, he thinks.
The sight of those white floors was too much for him nowadays.
The color mocked him whenever his eyes would linger too long– shining tendrils would snake and grab at his ankles, tugging and pulling him to where he should be but wasn't.
Every muddied step made the memories of whispers of awe and pity just fucking stop, so he didn't mind the onslaught of emails from HR about it.
Katsuki's walk to the locker room that usually took five minutes ended up being a half-hour spent roaming around every floor until he went full circle with his own footprints greeting him when he turned the corner.
If his steps faltered slightly when he neared the room, head tilting slightly to peek through the doors, no one was around to point it out. Even TinTin, the agency's number one workaholic, had already been dragged home by Chicken Feet.
The first to go was his gauntlets, the sleek black clunking carelessly on the floor. Katsuki was usually careful with them since the slightest nudge could trigger an explosion powerful enough to level a whole block.
Usually.
Don't you think it's romantic?
His teeth grind, and the locker bangs open with more force than necessary, the sound sending his ears and head ringing just as he wanted.
I'm so envious.
Every clang of his equipment– gauntlets, knee guards, combat boots, shoulder pads, and headpiece– against metal rang and rang in the empty room.
Ah, that must be what people call true love.
The door swung open just as Katsuki slammed his locker close, a bag of clothes slung over his shoulder. The sweat and grime of the day stuck irritably as another layer on his skin, and he probably should change while he was still here.
He should.
I wish I was in that position, too.
The weight of the bag on his shoulder was a distraction that pushed down everything else. At least he changed his shoes, so that was a fucking plus.
"Hey, Katsuki! Been looking for you everywhere, man! Come on, don't tell me you forgot our spar toda–"
Katsuki didn't hesitate, no falter in the long strides he took out the swinging door. No one bothered– dared to question the smell of smoke rising from his slightly glowing palms, nor did they ask anything when Kirishima stumbled out with some burns on his arms.
The redhead did have one of the fastest reaction times, but Katsuki was still the fastest– back in UA and until now with his numbers running higher than anyone in the Top 10 bracket.
It was ironic then that even with such speed, Katsuki still couldn't outrun the tugging in his chest that kept up since two weeks ago. There were still tendrils in white that nipped at his heels no matter how fast his explosions took him– no matter how many pills he downed every night.
The doors slid open, and Katsuki's assaulted by the sight of one of Musutafu's famous sunsets. Colors thought to be limited to the ground spread and exploded into hues no paint could replicate. Magentas, lilacs, and tangerines mixed into the canvas of the sky, coaxed into existence by the sun.
It was fucking beautiful, and Katsuki hated how he couldn't enjoy it.
.
The light by the entryway of their apartment always flickered when someone would pass under it– whether they were crossing over the genkan and slipping on slippers or whether they were scrawling something on the whiteboard hanging above their landline.
He didn't even know why the ancient thing was still part of the bill sent to them when Katsuki hadn't even touched it since they moved in more than half a decade ago.
Now, though, the receiver hung uselessly just above the floor, no call able to come through. It was the sight of its cracked mainframe and jutting wires that reminded Katsuki to hold his tongue when he locked the door behind him.
For a moment, he contemplated on whether he even needed to take off his shoes at the genkan when the inside was downright messier than the outside.
Katsuki crossed over, sneakers left and sock-covered feet donning slippers. The bag was dumped by the hanging receiver, zipper haphazardly opened for the blonde to rummage and grab what he needed.
It'd been like that for two weeks, after all.
Two weeks of coming to an empty apartment, the light flickering and reminding him to stop the 'I'm home' that decades' worth of habit had instilled in him.
It's been two weeks, and Katsuki hasn't moved a single goddamn thing.
Broken shards of an All Might mug lay scattered on the kitchen floor, making him forced to eat all his meals during his breaks at work. Signs of a scuffle– of cracks on the floor and singed couches and cushions– lay everywhere, making the TV remote gather dust.
Two weeks and Katsuki's inbox remain untouched, with the numbers in red and white on his phone growing day by day.
Katsuki didn't mean to eavesdrop, not really. But the gods must've picked him as their favorite when he was born because somehow, even against his will, he ended up in these situations.
The white walls were cold against his back, the smell of antiseptic making him scrunch up his nose in disgust. Why the fuck can't they make this goddamn shithole smell bette–
"What? Really? For real?"
Another voice– probably another one of those nurses that loved to gossip like it was their goddamn job– shushed the other. "Hey, keep it down! You don't know who might be listening!"
"Well, I mean– is it that dangerous for someone to overhear?"
A smack resounded, and Katsuki had to stifle down the snort as he imagined Barbie– the chatty one– getting smacked over the head by Judas. He thinks that nickname's self-explanatory by how they went hot and cold– guilty about gossiping about other people but thrilled all the same to be privy to information no one else could get ahold of.
"Idiot! Think of the implications if this gets out!"
Katsuki's phone buzzed in his pocket, and he reached to fish it out it, fingers ready to fire out a text that the nerd could handle buying the shitty meds on his own–
"But it's Deku and Dynamight-san! Don't you think it's romantic?"
…What?
They sighed longingly, and blistered fingers gripped harder around prescription papers in his hand, chicken writing getting more indiscernible.
"I'm so envious, honestly. I mean, who would've thought Deku would choose to give his life– literally– for Dynamight-san?"
Judas tried to shush Barbie up, but they kept talking and talking and pulling the world from under Katsuki's feet. The cold from white walls seeped and snaked from his hand that braced against it to the tiny hairs at the back of his neck.
There was white fucking everywhere.
"I wish I was in that position, too. I mean, not as bad as Dynamight-san was, but close? Maybe then my prince charming would come for me, hm?"
Judas sighed, sounds of papers being ruffled and locked together incredibly loud amidst the thundering of Katsuki's heart. The papers crumpled against his chest, fingers fisting over where his heart crashed in turmoil.
"I guess that's what people call true love."
.
Why was it that it took the words of nobodies– of shitty extras– to make him so increasingly aware of the tug at his heart– at his soul when Izuku wasn't by his side?
Why why why
Why did others call it love when Katsuki could taste nothing but betrayal and deception when Izuku spots him, and their lips brush?
Why why why
He wrenched away, and even then, the lingering taste makes him gag– the murky black drenching the memories of months of easy smiles, soft kisses, and whispers of love.
.
"What the fuck did you do, Deku?"
Katsuki flopped down on the bed, the mattress stripped of everything since shouts delivered by venom tongues and lump-filled throats reverberated against every wall of their apartment.
It was the only piece of white that Katsuki forced himself to tolerate.
Buds in his ears blasted past drums that always toed on the precipice of wreckage but held firm. He didn't even know what song it was or if it was even a song. All he knew was that it drowned everything out and lulled him to sleep.
Crimson fluttered close, and his breathing evened out.
He thinks it's torture to still have the sight of the small box on his nightstand the last thing he sees at night and the first thing he sees when dawn breaks.
Was it torture, or was it a reminder of the loss of something greater?
Timeline is a bit iffy, but that's how i roll
Tantanmen - JP ver of the spicy szechuan dan dan noodles
Yakizakana - grilled fish