Archive of Our Own

Fic art by me — a teaser for later in the photoshoot! 📸💥💚 Story begins below.

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The studio lights stabbed at Katsuki's corneas. Another Tuesday, another damn PR circus. But this time, the air thrummed with something unfamiliar. It wasn't danger (he'd recognize that), but the prickling sense of being seen, stripped bare before the camera's relentless gaze.

Katsuki wrenched his gauntlets tighter, the click-clack of buckles only emphasizing his irritation. Around them, black-clad assistants darted like startled ants, their shadows stretching grotesquely under the overhead lights. The smell of the studio was nauseatingly sweet as if flowers were literally blooming within the air vents. 

"Dynamight, Deku! Perfect timing!"  

The photographer materialized from behind an enormous camera, his silver hair glinting like a blade. Honda Ryo was 38 years old and a former war photographer turned hero chronicler. The man had literally dodged gunfire to get shots of Hawks during an early Kyushu uprising. His ‘No Heroes Harmed’ clause was legendary in the industry, though Katsuki noted the contract conspicuously said nothing about dignity.

Up close, Honda was all edges with sharp cheekbones and a sharper smile. He wasn't the pretentious scarf-wearing type Katsuki had expected, but a wolf in a designer shirt.  

"I've been following your work since the start of the final war." Honda's gaze flicked between them, intrigued. "The way you two move together... it's like watching a dance of destruction and creation."  

The nerd’s knee hadn’t stopped bouncing since they arrived—not scared nervous, but that particular wired energy he got when analyzing a fight from six different angles at once. Katsuki could practically see the equations scrolling behind those green eyes: aperture settings versus explosive radius, lighting angles versus strategic advantages. Hell, he was probably calculating the damn Fibonacci sequence of their poses.

Izuku’s hero costume clung to every muscle. It was sleeker and far more tactical than any previous costume he'd owned due to its countless number of upgrades to mimic One For All's capabilities. The reinforced panels were catching the light like a second skin. Tactical, his ass. The latest edition looked like it had been designed by someone who’d studied ancient Greek armor and decided but make it distracting.  

Katsuki’s jaw tightened. Focus, dumbass. Not the time.  

"Listen up, Picasso," Katsuki snarled, jabbing a finger at Honda. "Action shots. Five poses, max. No ‘artsy’ bullshit, no ‘staring off into the distance.’ We’re heroes, not goddamn influencers."  

Honda's laugh was flint against steel—grating, shrill, and insanely infuriating. "Oh, Dynamight. By the end of this, you’ll be begging for my ‘artsy bullshit.’"  

Izuku dug his fingers into Katsuki’s forearm—a silent stand down. "We agreed to this, Kacchan," he murmured. "It’s just a few shots. How bad could it be?"  

Bad, Katsuki thought, staring at the disaster-zone set behind them: twisted rebar, fake rubble, smoke machines coiled like sleeping dragons. Honda wasn’t just selling heroics. He was selling them. The sweat, the scars, and the stupid way Deku’s breath stuttered when they stood too close.   

Honda's smile turned knife-sharp, his gaze glancing between them like he was dissecting their every twitch. "I don’t want just explosions and backflips. I want this." He gestured at the charged air between them. "The way you breathe for each other. The way Deku flinches half a second before you swear."  

Izuku’s elbow jabbed Katsuki’s ribs to get him to stop scowling and pay attention. "Kacchan," he muttered, eyes darting to Honda’s expectant stare.  

Katsuki’s gaze dragged to Izuku, which was clearly the wrong move. The nerd’s cheeks were pink as a fucking cherry blossom, his teeth sunk into his lower lip. Twenty plus years of shared history enveloped the silence—muddy riverbanks, locker-room brawls, that one time Deku had patched him up after a mission with fingers trembling on his bare skin. 

Tch. Like Katsuki needed reminding. He knew what this was—another damn fiasco where they’d peel off layers until everyone saw the ugly, tender shit underneath.  

"Fine," he growled. "But keep your ‘artistic vision’ the hell away from my pants. You got that?"  

Honda's grin was all teeth, like a shark who'd smelled blood in the water. "I wouldn't have it any other way."

The first shots were deceptively simple. Katsuki carved arcs through the air on explosions while Izuku's cables sliced through the artificial smoke like severed power lines, the current whipping through them. Honda moved around them with the precision of a sniper, capturing moments most never got to see:

The microscopic twitch of Katsuki's fingers one millisecond before detonation.

*Click*

The way Izuku's pupils dilated mid-air when their eyes met.

*Click*

The electric crackle between them that had nothing to do with their quirks.

*Click*

"Beautiful!" Honda's camera clicked like a metronome of doom. "For our next shot, Deku, I want you to catch Dynamight mid-explosion. Trust fall style."

"Trust fall?" Katsuki's voice hit defcon-levels of murderous. "I don't fucking do trust falls."

Izuku stepped closer, his shadow merging with Katsuki's under the harsh lights. "You trust me though," he said, softly, and that was the problem.

Because he did.

The realization detonated in Katsuki's chest as Izuku's cables snaked around his waist, the reinforced fibers humming with tension. 

Then—

Freefall.

Katsuki launched backward, letting his explosions die mid-air in a move that went against every instinct honed since childhood. For one terrifying, exhilarating second, there was nothing but the rush of wind and the certainty of impact.

The world snapped into hyperfocus:

Their bodies colliding hard enough to bruise, the force of it sending Katsuki’s head snapping back over Izuku's shoulder.

*Click*

The shuddering gasp that knocked out of Izuku's lungs against Katsuki's throat.

*Click*

Izuku’s cables tightening as he pulled Katsuki into a curve, his spine a crescent and his body taut.

*Click*

"HOLD THAT!" Honda's voice sounded miles away.

They hung suspended, Katsuki's back arched over empty air, Izuku's cables groaning under their combined weight. Every point of contact burned. Izuku's callused palms slid under the top of Katsuki's hero costume, their hips pressed flush as Izuku lowered him and the seam of Izuku's ridiculous support gear rubbed against Katsuki's thigh.

"Perfect," Honda breathed, *click, click, click* going straight to Katsuki's last nerve. "The chemistry is palpable. You can taste twenty years of history in this shot."

Katsuki jerked away like he'd been shocked. His heart hammered against his ribs. It's just adrenaline, he told himself, just the fucking stunt—

Bullshit.

Izuku's hands had lingered, and now his lips were parted just enough that Katsuki could see the blush-pink flash of his tongue as he panted.

Honda clapped like a demon summoning chaos. "That's a wrap on explosions! Next up—" His smile turned vicious. "Let's try something more intimate."

Honda was already directing his assistants to rip apart their carefully constructed reality. The harsh studio lights dimmed to a honey-gold, transforming the disaster zone into something dangerously close to a bedroom set. The rubble was replaced with a luxurious couch that had no damn business looking that expensive, its surface brightly gleaming under the lights.

"I want to capture the heart behind the heroics," Honda purred, adjusting his lens with surgical technicality. "The quiet moments between battles. The way you two orbit each other even at rest." He gestured to a clothing rack that had materialized like a nightmare. There were tank tops with scandalous rips and holes, jeans that would surely show off every muscle and curve, and one shredded and entirely debauched piece of cloth that was a crime against humanity. How the hell do you even wear that thing?

"You want us to what now?" Katsuki's voice could have flash-frozen the sun.

"Strip, essentially," Honda said with the calm of a man who enjoyed stepping on landmines. "Your costumes are brilliant, but they're literal emotional barriers. I want skin. I want vulnerability."

Izuku was already caressing a fabric sleeve between his fingers—that traitorous nerd. "It's about authenticity, Kacchan," he said, voice oddly breathless. "Heroes are people first, right?"

Die.

The changing area was a curtain thinner than Katsuki's patience, and every rustle of fabric from Izuku's side seared itself into Katsuki's brain. The hiss of a zipper dropping. The soft thud of boots kicked aside. A stifled gasp when cold air hit bare skin.

Katsuki wrenched his shirt off like it had personally offended him, muscles flexing in the mirror he was absolutely not using to sneak glances at Deku's silhouette through the curtain gaps. Without One for All, Izuku had rebuilt himself from the ground up—lean, muscular arms, a waist that tapered into heart-stopping hips, thighs that could crush a man's—

FOCUS! SHITTY HAIR AND PINKY WOULD BE LAUGHING THEIR ASSES OFF RIGHT NOW! AND DON'T EVEN GET ME STARTED ON DUNCE FACE OR—

"Kacchan, are you okay in there?" Izuku's voice skated up Katsuki's spine like an electric bolt. "You've been growling at your shirt for two minutes."

"Fucking peachy." He slammed into a plain black tee like it was body armor, then audibly choked when he emerged to find Izuku had chosen a white tank top that should be illegal.

The fabric molded itself to every dip and curve, the neckline dipping low enough to reveal the shadow of his collarbone. His arms were bare and battle-scarred, the muscles shifting like an actual demonstration of gravity's cruel whims. And the jeans... oh damn it, the jeans—

"Fuck." The word vaporized between Katsuki's teeth.

"Language," Izuku murmured without conviction, his eyes dragging down Katsuki's body intensely. His throat bobbed. "You look... good."

GOOD? GOOD?! WHAT KIND OF BULLSHIT ADJECTIVE WAS—

"Exquisite," Honda corrected, materializing between them like one of the seven sins that was inherently drawn by lust. His camera clicked, capturing the way Katsuki's fingers inched toward Izuku's hip, the parted lips, the electric inch of space between them.

"Now." Honda's grin split his face in two. "Let's start with back-to-back. And Dynamight? Try not to combust. We're flammable here."

Katsuki scowled and rolled his eyes rather than following through with the explosion that was already sparking in his palm from Honda's mind-numbing annoyance. They positioned themselves as directed, spines pressed together in a way that made every one of Katsuki's nerve endings scream. The heat of Izuku's body bled through their thin shirts like blazing flames, intense and impossible to ignore. 

"Bring your heads closer," Honda directed, circling them like a vulture. "Deku, tilt back slightly. That's it, right against his shoulder."

Izuku's curls brushed Katsuki's neck as he complied, sending jolts down his spine. "I can feel your pulse Kacchan... how fast your heart is beating," Izuku whispered, breath ghosting over Katsuki's ear.

"It's your fucking imagination," Katsuki gritted out, hands flexing at his sides. 

"Dynamight, why are you sweating?" Honda's voice dripped with faux innocence as his camera shutter went wild.

"IT'S THE GODDAMN LIGHTS—" Katsuki snarled, voice cracking embarrassingly. 

Izuku's quiet "Liar" resounded against Katsuki's shoulder blade, smug as hell and warm enough to make his knees weak.

"Perfection," Honda sighed, snapping another dozen shots of Katsuki's furious blush. "I want you to face each other but stay close. As close as you can without touching." 

They turned, and suddenly Katsuki was drowning in green. Izuku stood close enough that Katsuki could count the freckles cascading his cheeks, see the studio lights flitting about in his eyes, and watch his tongue dart out to wet parted lips. The world honed in on the space between them, rumbling like the moment before thunder boomed.

"This is..." Izuku began, voice thick.

"Yeah," Katsuki agreed tersely because anything more would betray the wildfire in his chest.

Honda's camera clicked repeatedly as he captured every microexpression. It took in the way Katsuki's eyes flicked to Izuku's mouth and how Izuku's fingers shook like he wanted to reach out. 

"Next," Honda interrupted their silent conversation, "we'll move on to something more..." His pause was deliberate. "Interactive. Deku, sit between Dynamight's legs against the wall."

Katsuki's brain short-circuited. "Not fucking happening!" 

Izuku placed a firm hand against Katsuki's chest without saying a word and fixed him with a deep set gaze. He watched Katsuki's face cycle through about five different expressions before landing on fury.

"Hey, you damn nerd! What the hell do you think you're—"

Izuku was already pushing Katsuki back toward the wall and sliding them both down as Katsuki protested. He settled between his spread thighs with a quiet sigh. His back pressed firm against Katsuki's chest, warmth radiating through both layers of clothing. 

"Damn it," Katsuki breathed before he could stop himself, hands hovering awkwardly near Izuku's shoulders.

Honda smirked. "Look at each other. Don't think about the camera."

Izuku tilted his head back, eyes liquid and dark in the low light. "Kacchan," he murmured, soft as a secret.

The sound punched through Katsuki's ribs like a well-aimed hit, leaving him breathless. He couldn't look away from Izuku's mouth, couldn't stop the gravitational pull dragging him closer. Inches became centimeters became—

"And that's a wrap on this setup!" Honda announced cheerfully, and they sprang apart like two magnets with identical poles.

Honda scrolled through the images on his camera with a Cheshire cat grin. "These are going to break the internet."

Katsuki's hands trembled with residual energy as he shoved away from the wall, while Izuku stumbled to his feet like a newborn deer. They stood there, chests heaving, staring at each other with the wide-eyed realization of people who'd just discovered gravity was optional.

"That was..." Izuku began, his voice sounding rugged. 

"Don't start." Katsuki warned, but it came out hoarse and wrecked, like he'd been screaming for hours.

Honda, the bastard, was already adjusting lights like he hadn't just witnessed a near-homicidal sexual tension incident. "Now, for the pièce de résistance," he chimed, flourishing two garment bags like a magician revealing doves.

Inside was a pair of black low-slung jeans that defied decency regulations, and athletic green shorts so short they might as well be damn underwear.

Nothing else.

Katsuki's soul left his body. "ABSOLUTELY FUCKING NOT—"

Honda tutted, dangling the clothes like bait. "It's artistic. A celebration of the physical form you've sculpted through battle over the years." His smirk turned antagonizing. "Unless you're ashamed of your hard work, Dynamight?"

Izuku, the conspiring little shit, was already fingering the hem of the shorts with far too much interest. "He's right, Kacchan," he said, and there was definitely mischief in his tone now. "We have put in the training. I mean, unless..." His eyes dragged down Katsuki's body, lingering. "You're afraid you can't keep up?"

Challenge. Fucking. Issued.

Katsuki's eye twitched. Over twenty years of rivalry, of never backing down, of proving himself against this infuriating nerd, and it all came roaring to the surface in one glorious, stupid impulse.

"FINE," he snarled, snatching the jeans so hard the hanger snapped. "But if one camera zooms in on my goddamn waistband, I'm blowing this studio to hell."

Izuku's giggle was downright sinful.

The changing area had transformed into a warzone of exposed skin and fraying patience. Katsuki focused on the damn jeans—the way they hung too loose at the waist yet somehow too tight everywhere else—anything to avoid processing the quiet rustles from behind the curtain. Clothes were hitting the floor left and right, and Katsuki could decipher the low hum Izuku always made when he was lost in thought.  

The curtain shifted aside, and Katsuki's entire nervous system flatlined as his eyes landed on the man in front of him. 

Izuku stood haloed by backlights, the dark green shorts cutting high across his thighs—way too damn high—while his broad back and arms displayed a constellation of scars Katsuki could map from memory. But it wasn't the scars that wrecked him. It was the casual way Izuku leaned against the set wall, all tightly wound up strength and infuriating comfort in his own skin, like he wasn't single-handedly dismantling Katsuki's entire composure.  

"Something wrong, Kacchan?" Izuku asked, nodding at Katsuki's death grip on his own waistband.  

Katsuki's mouth went desert-dry. The jeans Katsuki now had on sagged just enough to reveal the sharp V-line of his hips, the old burn scar stretching over his oblique. Izuku's gaze tracked downward, pupils swallowing green, throat working around what might have been a gulp.  

"Wow," Honda muttered, appearing with his camera already firing. "The lighting loves you two." His lens focused on the space between them—that charged, crackling distance. "Okay. Back-to-back like before. Skin contact only. I want the push-pull of your energies."  

They moved into position. Bare back meeting bare back, and Katsuki's world narrowed to three devastating points of contact:  

The press of Izuku's shoulder blades against his spine.

*Click*

The molten heat where their lower backs aligned.

* Click *

The way Izuku's hair tickled his nape with every breath.  

* Click *

"Your pulse is—"  

"I know," Katsuki bit out.  

Izuku huffed a laugh that pulsated through both of them. "I was going to say racing. Like you're mid-battle."  

The shutter continued clicking. Honda's voice floated from somewhere near the lighting rig: "Deku, angle your head toward him. Dynamight, stop holding your breath."  

He hadn't realized. Air rushed from his lungs in a whoosh as Izuku tilted backward, his temple coming to rest against Katsuki's shoulder.  

"Better." Izuku's approval curled warm in Katsuki's ear. "Now stop... vibrating."  

"I'm not—"  

"You are." A callused palm slid behind him, pressing flat between Katsuki's shoulder blades. "Relax."  

Impossible, Katsuki's brain screamed, even as his muscles unlocked beneath that touch. His head dropped backward, forehead nearly brushing Izuku's. The studio lights painted their skin gold, their shadows merging into one silhouette on the backdrop.  

Honda exhaled sharply. "Yes. This is what I meant by creation and destruction." The camera whirred. "The way you fit together like you're each other's counterweight."  

Izuku's fingers flexed against Katsuki's back. "We are," he murmured, so quiet the mics wouldn't catch it. Just for them.  

Katsuki's hands found the back of Izuku's hips of their own volition, thumbs brushing the scars there. The contact burned. The camera kept clicking. Neither of them moved away.  

Honda’s voice cut through the intense atmosphere. "Turn. Face each other. And this time... explore."

They turned in slow motion. Katsuki’s pulse pounded against his ribs as Izuku’s gaze dropped to his mouth, then dragged back up, lingering. The studio lights painted every scar and every freckle in brutal clarity, stripping them both raw. Inches apart, skin bare, and breaths mingling.

"Where?" Izuku’s whisper was uneven, fingers twitching like he was holding himself back. "Where do you want—"

"Anywhere," Katsuki rasped, and damn it, it sounded too fucking needy...

Izuku didn’t hesitate. His palm settled over the scar on Katsuki’s sternum. It was warm and perfectly aligned with the thunder of his heartbeat. Katsuki's breath stuttered as Izuku’s thumb brushed the hollow of his throat.

"You’re shaking," Izuku murmured, eyes dark.

"Shut up," Katsuki snapped, but his own hand was already rising, He mirrored the touch, pressing against Izuku’s chest. And fuck, his heart was just as wild, just as desperate.

Honda’s camera clicked obscenely close. "Yes. God, yes—"

Katsuki barely heard him. Izuku’s skin burned under his palm, his breathing shallow, his collarbones flushed under the lights. The air between them thickened, the universe centered on the space where their bodies almost met.

"We shouldn’t," Izuku breathed, even as his fingers pressed firmly against Katsuki’s skin, clinging to every vein his fingertips grazed over.

"Yeah," Katsuki agreed hoarsely.

"Someone could see—"

"Yeah."

"Honda’s right there—"

"Yeah."

Izuku’s hand slid higher, fingertips tracing the line of Katsuki’s jaw. His thumb hovered over Katsuki’s lower lip, and Katsuki felt the way Izuku’s breath hitched. "Kacchan," he whispered—a desire, a surrender, a promise.

Katsuki leaned in—

"Aaaand CUT!" Honda’s voice shattered the moment. They wrenched apart, Izuku stumbling into a light stand while Katsuki kicked over a drink container.

Silence. Heavy breathing. Avoidant eye contact.

Honda scrolled through the shots, grinning like a man who’d won the lottery. "Perfection. The hunger in your eyes, and the way you can’t look away—" He paused, glancing between their flushed faces and their white-knuckled grips on the nearest surfaces. "Actually... one last setup."

Izuku made a sound like a dying fax machine. Katsuki’s spirit ascended to the fucking afterlife.

"No," they said in unison.

Honda’s smile turned ravenous. "Just sit on the couch. Breathe. No touching. Easy, right?"

Katsuki’s fists trembled, his breathing still fighting to calm down. "LIKE HELL—"

Izuku grabbed his wrist. "We’ll do it."

The couch was too soft. Too inviting. Too much like the kind of place where people confessed things they'd regret later. Katsuki hovered at the edge of it, acutely aware of every place where his bare skin touched the extravagant material. 

Across from him, Izuku curled into himself like he was trying to disappear into the cushions, knees drawn up to his chest. The pose should've looked defensive, but the way his shorts stretched across his thighs just made everything worse.

"The final shot," Honda called from somewhere behind the lights. "No direction. Just... exist together."

The silence was a chasm. Katsuki counted the freckles on Izuku's shoulder, clustered like a galaxy of stars he'd traced a hundred times in his head. 

Izuku took in a shaky breath, indicating his typical tell before saying something stupid. "Do you remember," he started, then stopped. His fingers picked at a loose thread on the couch. "That time in third year when we got stuck in an office during that storm?"

Katsuki's stomach flipped. Four hours pressed shoulder-to-shoulder in the dark, Deku's nervous laughter warm against his neck. "Yeah."

"I thought about kissing you that day."

The admission floated between them, fragile as a bubble. Katsuki could see the pulse jumping in Izuku's throat and could count each rapid rise and fall of his chest. The studio illumination caught the shimmering flecks of light in his viridescent eyes when he finally looked up.

"You should've," Katsuki said before he could stop himself.

"I...," the couch creaked as he shifted, one foot brushing against Katsuki's ankle. "There were so many times I should've," he murmured. "On the roof after graduation. That night we got drunk after celebrating your debut in the top ten ranking. Last month, when you bandaged my hand after..."

"Why didn't you?" The question came out rougher than Katsuki meant it to.

Izuku's laugh was barely more than a huff of air. "Same reason you didn't, I guess." His fingers inched across the cushion between them, pinky nudging against Katsuki's. "But I'm tired of being careful with this. With us."

Katsuki turned his hand palm-up in silent invitation. Izuku slotted their fingers together like they'd done this a thousand times instead of never. The pads of his fingertips softly brushed Katsuki's hand, tentative at first, then firmer when Katsuki didn't pull away.

"Camera's still rolling," Katsuki muttered, still focused on Honda's presence.

"I know." Izuku's grip tightened. "Let them all see."

The conviction in his voice sent heat crawling up Katsuki's neck. This wasn't the script. This wasn't for the magazine. This was Izuku looking at him like he'd already made up his mind about something both terrifying and wonderful.

Honda's voice was a bucket of ice cold water pouring over their confessions. "Got it. That's... that's everything."

Neither of them moved. Izuku's thumb kept tracing absent circles against Katsuki's wrist, his expression caught somewhere between defiance and hope. The studio lights flickered above them and somewhere, a shutter clicked.

"Incredible," Honda murmured, voice shaking with the kind of reverence usually reserved for sacred artifacts. "Absolutely incendiary. The way you two look at each other like you’d set the world on fire just to keep each other warm." He flicked through the shots on his camera, eyes bright and wide like he’d just uncovered the secrets of the universe. "This isn’t just a cover shot. This is a cultural reset."

Katsuki stood so fast his knees popped, putting a full three feet between himself and Izuku before he did something unforgivable—like grab him by the back of his neck and finish what they’d started on that godforsaken couch. "We’re done here," he said sternly, barely recognizing his own voice.

Honda waved a hand, still annoyingly serene.  

"Of course, of course. Go decompress. Hydrate. Possibly scream into a pillow. I’ll send proofs tomorrow." He paused, glancing between their flushed faces, and added under his breath, "Though I doubt you’ll need photographs to remember today."

Katsuki briefly considered murder.

They bolted for the changing area like the building was collapsing. Katsuki’s pulse was roaring in his ears loud enough to drown out common sense. He yanked his hero costume back on with the finesse of a man disarming a bomb, straps pulled too tight, buckles misaligned. It was fine. Everything was fucking fine.

When he emerged, looking marginally less like an exploding grenade, Izuku was already waiting—face pink, fingers drumming an erratic rhythm against his thigh, pretending to be engrossed in a poster about fire safety.

"So," Izuku started, voice pitched high with fake cheer, "Honda seemed... enthusiastic?"

"Yeah," Katsuki gritted out. "Real fuckin' enthusiastic."

Izuku wheezed a laugh. "Yeah. Yeah, he was."

The walk to the train was agony. Katsuki swore he could feel the space between them, every accidental brush of their arms sending sparks throughout his body. Izuku’s hands wouldn’t stay still. He fidgeted with his hair, his pockets, once even hovering near Katsuki’s wrist before aborting the motion like he’d been burned.

Izuku cleared his throat. 

"Do you maybe want to—?"

"Spit it out, nerd."

"Um... nevermind! I should—home. I should go home." He pivoted toward the opposite platform like a man fleeing a crime scene.

Katsuki gritted his teeth. He wasn’t letting this cowardice stand.

"Deku." He caught Izuku’s elbow, ignoring how his heart jumped at the contact.

Izuku went still. "Y-yeah?"

"Come over." The words dropped like a guillotine. No take-backs.

Izuku’s eyes widened. "Wh—?"

"You heard me." Katsuki tightened his grip, half to steady himself. "We're talking. Like damn adults. No cameras. No Honda. No more of this cryptic bullshit. Just—" He swallowed. "Just us." 

For a heartbeat, Izuku just stared. Then slowly, like he was contemplating every life decision, his fingers curled into Katsuki’s sleeve. "Okay," he breathed, jaw set. "Yeah. Your place it is, Kacchan."

The train car rattled between stations, but the silence between them was deafening. Katsuki sat stiff-backed in his seat, foot tapping impatiently against the floor, as if keeping time with his racing heart rate. Across the aisle, Izuku kept adjusting his sleeves, biting his lip, and darting his eyes to Katsuki every few seconds like he couldn't help himself.

When their knees accidentally brushed during a sharp turn, he swore he saw the exact moment Izuku stopped breathing.

The elevator ride to Katsuki's floor was worse. The tiny metal box seemed to shrink with every passing second, the air thick with everything they weren't saying. Katsuki stared determinedly at the ascending numbers while Izuku studied his own reflection in the polished doors. Both of them were stubbornly avoiding what was simmering just beneath the surface.

Katsuki's apartment greeted them in typical fashion. It was spotless and utilitarian, with subtle touches like high-end appliances and custom hero gear displays that screamed, "I made it." It was a far cry from the cluttered dorms of their UA days."

"Nice place," Izuku mumbled, though his voice sounded far away. His fingers trailed absently along the entryway wall like he was grounding himself.

Katsuki swallowed hard. "Stop that."

"Stop what?"

"Acting like you haven't been here a hundred times before." He tossed his keys onto the counter, the metallic clatter ripping through the tension. "Or like we haven't felt this way..." The words died in his throat.

Izuku finally met his eyes, and damn if that look didn't blow the air right out of Katsuki's lungs. The studio lights had long since faded, but his face still carried that same vulnerable glow, his lips slightly swollen from where he'd been worrying them between his teeth.

"Um," Izuku said at last, rocking back on his heels, "so what did you—"

"Deku." Katsuki narrowed the gap between them in two strides. "I need to know." His hand came up almost of its own will, thumb brushing lightly over the fading imprints left on Izuku's neck during some of the more strenuous poses of the photoshoot.

Izuku shuddered at the contact. "Know... what?"

"Did you mean it?" Katsuki's voice dropped low, rough around the edges. "What you said today. All of it."

Izuku's gaze flickered between Katsuki's eyes and lips in rapid succession. "Every word."

Something hot and fierce unfurled in Katsuki's chest. He leaned in until their noses nearly touched, and Izuku's shaky exhales ghosted across his lips. "Good," he growled. "Because I've spent every damn day since graduation thinking about this."

Izuku's pupils blew wide, his hands coming up to fist in Katsuki's shirt. 

"Kacchan." The name spilled from Izuku’s lips like a lit match—a soft spark lighting the dry tinder between them.

Katsuki closed the final distance, the heat of Izuku’s body searing through the thin barrier of their clothes. "Months," he ground out, voice rough enough to scrape skin. "Every goddamn mission with your reckless ass, every training session where you’d—" His thumb brushed Izuku’s lip where he'd been lightly nibbling it between his teeth, smudging the words into a low groan. "You still do this when you’re focused. Still killing me."

Izuku’s breath hitched, and Katsuki could taste it. Mint. Coffee. The faintest hint of blood from where Izuku had bitten the inside of his cheek.

"I don’t know what you're talking about—"

"Who's the liar, now?" Katsuki’s thumb stroked again, dragging Izuku’s lower lip down, revealing a white flash of teeth.

For a heartbeat, the world had shrunken to pinpricks—the light fracturing green in Izuku’s eyes, the faint scar cutting through one eyebrow, the frantic flitting of his pulse where Katsuki’s other hand had somehow found his throat.

"This is crazy," Izuku whispered.

Katsuki’s grip tightened. "Geniuses don’t do dumb shit, huh?"

"We work togeth—"

"We do."

"But I—"

"Yeah." And just like that, the last fraying thread of Katsuki's restraint snapped. "Fucking same—"

Then Izuku moved, surged forward like a collapsing nebula, hands fisting in Katsuki’s grenade harness as their mouths crashed together. The first touch was fire. Not just teeth, but the sharp gasp Izuku made when Katsuki’s tongue swept against his, the way his body curved into Katsuki's like he’d been waiting years for this exact pressure. 

Katsuki crowded him toward the wall, his knee sliding between Izuku’s thighs as the taste of him, his scent, the fucking sweet sounds he was making, flooded Katsuki’s senses.

"Fuck," Katsuki growled into the slick heat between them, hands tracing the curve of Izuku’s back through his costume. "Deku—"

Izuku gasped, arching as Katsuki bit his jaw. "I know." His palms burned through the warm fabric of Katsuki’s top, dragging down his ribs, his abdomen, fingers catching on straps they both wished weren’t there. "Me too, Kacchan—"

When they broke apart, the sound of ragged breaths filled the air. Izuku was a vision. His lips were swollen and glistening, eyes expanded, and freckles stood stark against his flushed skin. 

Katsuki’s breath caught in his throat. He’d imagined this and dreamt about it, but reality was so much better. It was the way Izuku’s chest heaved and the dazed, hungry look in his eyes like Katsuki was something worth worshipping.

And because Katsuki was still Katsuki, even now... "Took you long enough, dumbass," he muttered, dragging a thumb over Izuku’s kiss-bruised mouth.

Izuku’s laugh was breathless and wild as he dragged Katsuki back in by the waistband. Izuku grinded against him with every slide of the tongue and every tug of the waistband, letting Katsuki feel his achingly hard arousal between them. Katsuki groaned into his mouth as his hands slid down to grip Izuku's ass, grinding him back against the wall. 

"Bedroom." The word tore from Katsuki's throat like a stone, rough-edged and desperate. His fingers fumbled to Izuku’s waist, betraying the control he’d clung to for years—the same control that had kept them orbiting each other like stars, close but never colliding.  

Izuku’s hands were already moving, fingers dancing over the clasps of Katsuki’s costume. Are you sure?" he teased, and the damn nerd was smirking, but his touch spoke louder. Every brush of fingertips against heated skin and every faltered breath was screaming "I need you, now."

Katsuki answered by crushing their mouths together, letting the heat between them say what words couldn’t. When they broke apart, he pressed their foreheads together, breathing the truth into the scant space between them: "Never been more sure of anything in my damn life."

They stumbled down the hallway in a tangle of limbs, peeling away layers of armor—both literal and emotional—with each step. Katsuki’s gauntlets hit the hardwood with a harsh clang, followed by the whisper of Izuku’s support gear sliding free, as if even the fabric was reluctant to let go. The muffled thud of knee pads that were discarded without care marked their path to the bed, where years of restraint finally fell away with most of their clothing. 

Katsuki’s palms burned trails across newly exposed skin from the familiar terrain of Izuku’s shoulders, to the dangerous slope of his waist, and down to the uncharted territory below. "You’re—" Izuku’s voice ruptured as his fingers traced the landscape of Katsuki’s scars. Each ridge was a story they both knew by heart. "Damn, you’re beautiful, Kacchan." 

Katsuki caught his wrist, pressing that treacherous hand against his pounding heart. "Quit saying shit like that."

"Why?" Izuku challenged, thumb brushing over a nipple, deliberately slow. Katsuki's whole body shivered beneath his touch. "Scared of the truth?"

"Scared of what I’ll do when I stop giving a damn about holding back," Katsuki growled, letting the threat flash as a caution sign between them. He watched, satisfied, as Izuku’s pupils enveloped the green of his eyes, black with want.  

"Then don’t." Izuku approached closer, pressing their bodies flush. "I’m not fragile."  

Katsuki’s control snapped.

He pushed Izuku onto the mattress, drinking in the sight of him—the flutter of his pulse in his throat, rapid as a hummingbird’s wings; the sheen of sweat already forming in the hollows of his collarbones; the way each breath shuddered as a ragged plea. 

Katsuki’s hands started at Izuku’s wrists, tracing the delicate bones and the pulse that throbbed there. He moved his palms over the sensitive skin of Izuku’s inner arms, feeling the goosebumps rise beneath his touch. His fingers skated over the curves of Izuku's shoulders, lingering at the dip of his collarbone before sliding down his chest, charting the planes and valleys of his torso with deliberate slowness.

"Damn," Katsuki breathed, roaming every inch first with his hands before his mouth. "Look at you." His lips brushed against the firm, soft skin of Izuku’s bicep, tasting the salt of his sweat. He nibbled at the crook of his elbow, loving how Izuku's body twitched beneath his teeth. His mouth continued traveling lower, tracing the lines of Izuku's abs and dipping into the hollow of his belly button, eliciting a shiver and a soft moan.

Katsuki’s teeth grazed the ridge of Izuku’s hip, savoring the jerk of muscle beneath his lips and the gasp it ripped from his throat—a sound he’d hoard like grenade pins, each one a tiny explosion of his own making. 

"Perfect fucking storm of everything I shouldn’t want." His tongue flicked out, tasting the sweat and skin as his hands gripped tighter. He moved back up, his mouth trailing kisses and nips along the path he had just taken down.

Izuku whimpered, back arching off the sheets as Katsuki took his sweet, slow time. "Kacchan—"

Katsuki smirked against his skin, enjoying the way that Izuku was losing every ounce of composure in his desperation. The way his body writhed impatiently. The shaky breaths and needy sounds he was making. The way his hands were clenching and unclenching repeatedly against the sheets. 

Katsuki’s lips captured the pulse at his throat, sucking gently before moving to the dip where neck met shoulder. He laved his tongue over the sensitive spot, marking dark promises into skin.

"Tell me." His voice was a rough whisper against Izuku’s ear, "What do you want, Izuku?"

"You." Izuku’s hands clasped in Katsuki’s hair. "I want you."

The admittance only amplified Katsuki's need. He caught Izuku’s mouth in a kiss that tasted like midnight confessions and dawn-bright promises, pouring years of repressed longing into every slide of lips and tongue.  

When they broke apart, their breaths tangled in the air between them. Katsuki stared deeply into Izuku's bright, viridian eyes, conveying every word he'd never said, every word he'd wanted to say through his his gaze and his uneven breathing:  

"You’ve had me since the first time you looked at me like I was worth something."

As Katsuki's breaths played against Izuku's lips, his hands wandered lower, fingertips teasing along the waistband of Izuku's boxer briefs. The moment he traced the elastic edge, Izuku's hips flinched upward with a desperate urgency, his entire body throbbing with desperate need.  

"Please," Izuku whispered against his lips—a broken syllable that tasted like surrender.  

Katsuki nipped at his lower lip. "Please, what?" His thumb dipped beneath the fabric, grazing the scorching skin just below Izuku's navel.  

"Touch me." Izuku's voice cracked, hands grasping for purchase on Katsuki's shoulders. "I need—fuck—I need you to touch me."  

Katsuki's hand slid beneath the fabric, and Izuku came apart instantly—an anguished sound erupted from his mouth as his back lifted off the mattress. He was already so stiff and leaking against Katsuki's palm, precome smearing hot between them.  

"So damn responsive," Katsuki purred, twisting his wrist in an upstroke just to watch Izuku's thighs tremble. "Like you were made for this. Made for me."

He continued stroking slowly, just enough to tease, as Izuku leaned up to kiss him. Katsuki groaned when one of Izuku's hands slipped down from his shoulder to beneath his boxers. Izuku's hand wrapped around Katsuki's hard length in a firm grip as he started stroking him just as slowly. 

Katsuki growled into Izuku's mouth, kissing him even rougher, as he stilled his grip around him completely. He gently pulsed his hand, soaking in every whining sound Izuku released around his tongue. Even when Izuku picked up his pace, Katsuki didn't give in.

Izuku's nails dug into Katsuki's shoulder, leaving crescent moons in their wake. "Kacchan, please, I need—"  

"Use your words." Katsuki swiped his thumb over the slick head of Izuku's cock, savoring the full-body shudder it earned him.  

"More." Izuku's breath hitched, spine bowing. "Need more. Need you—"  

Katsuki pulled back, ignoring Izuku's wounded noise as he stripped off his own boxers. The cool air against his overheated skin was nothing compared to the blistering intensity of Izuku's gaze as it swept over him, lingering on the long thick line of his erection, the way his abdomen was squeezing with restraint.  

"Yours now. Off." Katsuki hooked his fingers in Izuku's waistband, letting his knuckles drag against feverish skin.  

Izuku lifted his hips with no hesitation, his trust absolute. The fabric slid down his legs, leaving him bare. Katsuki drank in the sight: Izuku's heart pounding, the bloom of pink that spread from his cheeks down to his collarbones; his cock, swollen against his stomach and twitching under Katsuki's gaze. 

"You're staring," Izuku breathed, squirming under the attention.  

Katsuki dragged a claiming hand up Izuku's inner thigh. "Can't fucking help it." His thumb pressed into the crease of Izuku's hip, feeling the rabbit-quick thump beneath the skin. "You're unreal."  

He settled between Izuku's legs, his own arousal a fireball against the sheets, and ran his palms up those trembling thighs. Izuku's knees fell open wider, a silent plea.  

"Kacchan—"  

"I know." Katsuki bent forward, pressing open-mouthed kisses along Izuku's inner thigh. His stubble scraped against the delicate skin, drawing another gasp. Izuku's hands fisted in his hair—not pulling, just holding on, as if Katsuki were the only solid thing in this spinning world.  

When Katsuki finally took him into his mouth, hollowing his cheeks on the first downward glide, Izuku's back bowed with a broken cry. His hips roared upward, chasing the heat, and Katsuki pinned him down with one broad hand splayed across his abdomen.  

"Fuck—! K-Kacchan—" Izuku's voice splintered, his thighs tensing like he was fighting not to thrust.  

Katsuki hummed, the vibration wringing a sob from Izuku's throat, and began to move in earnest—slow, filthy drags of his tongue that left Izuku unraveling beneath him.  

"Your mouth feels so incredible... so perfect..." Izuku’s voice shattered into a moan as Katsuki adjusted his mouth more effectively to the sounds escaping Izuku's throat, dragging his tongue along the underside of his cock in a long, agonizing lick that had Izuku’s thighs quaking. 

Izuku's fingers twisted tighter in Katsuki’s hair—not guiding, just clinging, as if he might float away if he didn’t hold on. The stretch of his knuckles turned white-blonde strands between them, a stark contrast to the flush creeping into his chest.  

Katsuki answered with a low hum, vibrations rippling through Izuku, and the sound Izuku made—a whimper that was half-plea, half-exaltation—forged itself into Katsuki’s bones. He curled his tongue around Izuku, relishing the way Izuku’s hips stuttered, his body caught between thrusting up and melting into the mattress.  

Every reaction was a revelation—the sharp gasp when Katsuki swirled his tongue around the head, the broken whimper when he dipped lower to suck at the sensitive skin of Izuku’s inner thigh, the way Izuku’s stomach muscles clenched visibly, his hands trembling like a plucked string.  

"You taste—" Katsuki murmured against his skin, his voice rough as gravel, lips brushing Izuku’s length with each word. "Fuck, Izuku, you taste like mine."

Izuku groaned, his body arching off the sheets. "Yours, Kacchan. All yours," he agreed with a tattered exhale.  

Katsuki's hands gripped Izuku’s hips, thumbs digging into the soft skin as he watched his body writhing under his gaze. Katsuki swallowed him down again, deeper this time, his nose pressing into the skin at the base. 

The choked-off moan Izuku unleashed went straight to Katsuki’s cock, his own hips grinding helplessly into the sheets for friction. He could feel Izuku’s thighs tense and tremble and hear the muffled curses spilling from his lips—a litany of Kacchan, Kacchan, Kacchan—

The drawer slammed open, lube clattering as Katsuki fumbled with the cap. His fingers that were usually so precise, were now clumsy with need. He squirted just enough to soak two of his fingers until they were nearly dripping. Then, Katsuki’s fingers found him, slick with lube, tracing teasing circles around his rim.

Izuku jolted. "Ka—!"  

"Shhh," Katsuki soothed, though his voice was anything but gentle. He pressed a single finger against Izuku’s entrance, just enough pressure to make him shiver, while his mouth continued moving around Izuku.  

Every flick of his tongue matched the slow, deliberate push of his finger, working Izuku open in tandem. Katsuki reveled in the way Izuku’s body fought to adjust with the clench around his knuckles and the way Izuku's breath faltered when Katsuki crooked his finger against Izuku's walls. 

"M-more," Izuku whined, his hips rocking down against the intrusion. "Kacchan, please—"

Katsuki added a second finger, scissoring him open with ruthless patience, his lips still wrapped tight around Izuku’s cock. The dual sensations had Izuku falling apart so beautifully. His thighs were shaking, his fingers were clawing at the sheets, and his voice was fragmenting around syllables that weren’t even words anymore.

"I’m close—so close—" Izuku’s voice frayed at the edges, his body wound tight, teetering on the edge.  

Katsuki pulled off with a slick pop, his lips glistening. "Not yet," he teased, slowly removing his fingers. His thumb swiped over the leaking head just to watch Izuku jolt and whine. "You're gonna come with me buried inside you. I wanna feel you tighten around me when you finish."

The raw hunger in Izuku’s eyes nearly undid him.  

"Yes—" Izuku gasped, his hands scrabbling to drag Katsuki closer. "Yes, please, I need—"

Katsuki kissed him then, deep and filthy, letting Izuku taste himself on his tongue as he reached for a condom. The dull snick of the condom packet tore through the air, too loud in the space between their ragged breaths.  

With a sudden, confident move, Izuku pushed Katsuki onto his back, straddling him with a fierce determination in his eyes. He leaned down, his lips brushing against Katsuki’s ear. "Let me take care of you first, Kacchan," he murmured. "I want to make you feel good." Izuku's voice was low and persuasive, filled with a newfound assertiveness that sent a shiver down Katsuki's spine.

Katsuki's eyes widened in surprise, but he didn't resist as Izuku shifted down, his hands gripping Katsuki's thighs firmly. Izuku positioned himself between Katsuki's legs, his gaze locked on Katsuki's face as he took him into his mouth.

Katsuki groaned, a deep, guttural sound that resonated through his chest. His head fell back against the pillow, and his eyes fluttered closed as he surrendered to the sensation. 

"Izuku," he breathed, his hips lifting slightly to meet Izuku's eager mouth. The sight of Izuku, his lips wrapped around him, his eyes filled with desire and focus, was almost too much to bear. Izuku worked him with a relentless rhythm, his hands and mouth in perfect harmony. 

Izuku's tongue swirled around the sensitive head, his lips creating a tight, wet seal as he took him deeper. He could feel Katsuki's body tensing, the muscles in his thighs flexing under Izuku's touch, a clear sign of the pleasure building within him. 

Katsuki's breath shuddered, his fingers tangling in Izuku's hair. He gripped tightly as he lost himself in the sensation, his body quivering with anticipation.

Izuku's pace was unrelenting, and each downward stroke of his mouth was calculated to drive Katsuki to the brink. He could feel Katsuki's body responding. The tension was coiling tighter with each passing moment, until Katsuki was a trembling mess beneath him. Katsuki's breaths kept coming in short, sharp gasps as he was getting closer to release.

Katsuki forcibly lifted Izuku's head by his curls before he could finish, watching as Izuku's satisfied smile curled across his face. Katsuki pulled him back up, his lips finding Izuku's in a fierce, hungry kiss as he rolled them over. "Izuku," he murmured against his lips, his voice hoarse with desire, "I need to be inside you."

Izuku nodded, an uneven breath escaping his lips. Katsuki reached for the condom again, his hands shaking slightly as he rolled it down his length, already beginning to work lube around the latex. Izuku watched him through heavy-lidded eyes, his chest heaving, lips kiss-swollen and parted. 

When Katsuki finally settled between Izuku’s thighs, the thick head of his cock pressing against him, he paused—just for a heartbeat. Their eyes locked, years of tension solidifying between them.  

"Ready?" Katsuki’s voice was scraped raw, barely recognizable.  

Izuku’s answer was to hook his legs around Katsuki’s waist, pulling him closer until their bodies aligned. "Always," he breathed, forehead pressed to Katsuki’s. "Always for you."

Katsuki pushed forward with excruciating slowness, every millimeter of advance sending pleasure coursing through them both. Izuku’s breath stammered shakily as his fingers dug into Katsuki’s biceps, anchoring himself against the stretch. Their gazes never wavered, emerald locked onto ruby, the air between them sizzling with something far beyond physical need.  

"Breathe," Katsuki murmured, though his own lungs burned with restraint. He leaned down to kiss Izuku's neck, trailing a path up to his ear as he slid in little by little. "Just relax for me, Izuku," he whispered against the shell of his ear.

He felt the moment Izuku’s body yielded, the tight heat around him giving way inch by torturous inch.

"Fuck—" Katsuki groaned as he finally, finally sheathed himself fully, hips flush against Izuku’s thighs as his face dropped into the crook of Izuku's neck. The feeling of being inside Izuku completely was ruinous. Izuku’s body clenched around him like a vice, pulsing with every heartbeat. "You feel… so damn good, Izuku."  

Izuku’s answering gasp melted into a moan, his hips lifting instinctively. "Kacchan—" His nails raked down Katsuki’s arms, leaving fiery trails in their wake. "I want to feel you move." 

Katsuki obeyed, dragging out almost completely before sinking back in, an obscenely slow glide that had Izuku lifting fully off the mattress. He set a deliberate pace—deep, rolling thrusts designed to wring out every possible sound, every shudder, and every fractured plea.  

The room dissolved into a symphony of them with the wet slap of skin meeting skin, each impact rougher as sweat-slicked bodies lost friction. Izuku’s moans pitched higher when Katsuki angled his hips just perfectly. Katsuki’s guttural curses muffled against Izuku’s throat as the sheets rustled and tangled beneath them. The bedframe creaked repeatedly with every thrust. 

Izuku’s legs locked tighter around Katsuki’s waist, heels digging into the small of his back, urging him deeper. "Harder," he begged, voice raw. "Please—I can take it—"

Whatever semblance of will that was holding Katsuki back vanished entirely with Izuku's pleas. 

He pistoned into Izuku with a brutal pace, each thrust knocking a gasp from Izuku’s lips. The headboard slammed against the wall in time with their rhythm, a reckless staccato that matched their racing hearts. 

"Touch yourself," Katsuki demanded, his voice ragged with barely leashed need. 

Izuku hesitated—just for a moment. His hands flexed at Katsuki’s shoulders, his breath shaky as if torn between obedience and the overwhelming pleasure already wrecking him. His hips stuttered, overstimulated but hungry for more, and Katsuki felt the way Izuku’s body trembled on the edge of relinquishing control.

"C’mon, Izuku," Katsuki growled, adjusting his thrusts to an agonizingly slow pace to make the order a torment. "Wanna see you wreck yourself on my cock."

That broke him.

Izuku’s hand flew to his own length, stroking in desperate tandem with Katsuki’s movements as he picked up speed again. Precome clung to his abdomen, glistening under the dim light, a lewd distinction to the tremors wracking his body.

Katsuki's fingers clutched tightly into Izuku's curls, tugging gently with each thrust. He could feel the pressure building inside of him with every moan reverberating against his ear from Izuku's mouth.  

"K-Kacchan—" Izuku’s thighs trembled violently. "I’m—damn it—I’m gonna—"

"Do it." Katsuki sealed the command with a bite to Izuku’s shoulder, his hips never faltering. "Come for me, Izuku. Now."

Izuku fell apart completely as a ragged cry tore from his throat. His orgasm ripped through him, his body clamping down on Katsuki in rhythmic pulses. His nails burrowed deeply into Katsuki's back, scraping down with every wave that rushed through his body.

The pain made Katsuki grit his teeth, but the sensation was cataclysmic. Katsuki chased his own release with three more punishing thrusts before burying himself to the hilt, his groan muffled against Izuku’s sweat-damp skin as he came.

For a suspended moment, neither moved. There was only the shared tremors of aftershocks, the mingling of their breaths, and the silent acknowledgment of something irrevocable shifting between them.

Katsuki rolled them sideways, refusing to sever the connection even as he pulled Izuku flush against his chest. Their hearts hammered in unison, a frantic echo of pleasure beneath their skin. 

Izuku’s fingers traced idle patterns over Katsuki’s ribcage, his voice drowsy, yet playful. "Mmm, so that’s why you’re always so competitive."

Katsuki’s laugh was a rumble against him. "Shut the hell up, nerd."

"You were... amazing," Izuku murmured, his voice thick with satisfaction, lips brushing Katsuki’s neck as he spoke. His body was pliant against Katsuki’s, every muscle loose and warm. "God, Kacchan. You were so amazing."  

Katsuki huffed out a laugh, the sound resonating through Izuku where their chests pressed together. His fingers brushed through sweat-damp curls at the nape of Izuku’s neck. "You’re not so bad yourself," he conceded roughly, before his tone transformed into something much softer. "That was perfect, Izuku. Every second of it," Katsuki whispered, placing a soft kiss against Izuku's forehead.

"So were you, Kacchan," Izuku replied, nuzzling his nose into Katsuki's neck. 

For a long while, they simply lay cuddled up to one another. Their limbs were tangled together, while Katsuki’s palm traced patterns over the dip of Izuku’s spine. Izuku’s fingertips mapped the ridges of Katsuki’s ribs as if memorizing him. The afterglow settled over them like a second skin, heavy and sweet.  

"Kacchan?" Izuku’s voice was soft, tentative in the quiet.  

"Hmm?" Katsuki hummed in response, thumb brushing the knobs of Izuku’s vertebrae.  

"Can we…" Izuku bit his lip, then let out a laugh at his own hesitation. "Can we do that again?" 

Katsuki’s laughter burst forth, loud and unguarded, his arms tightening around Izuku. "Anytime you want, Izuku," he promised, nipping at Izuku’s earlobe. "Any fucking time."

***

The sun had long since dipped below the horizon when they finally untangled themselves, painting the apartment in streaks of amber and indigo. Katsuki tugged on a pair of sweatpants, the waistband hanging low on his hips, and tossed another pair at Izuku.  

"Hungry?" he asked, watching as Izuku caught the fabric with a grin.  

"Starving," Izuku admitted, stepping into the pants and nearly tripping when Katsuki yanked him close by the waistband to kiss his lips.  

They raided the kitchen in comfortable silence, shoulders bumping as they moved around each other with ease. Katsuki rummaged through the fridge while Izuku piled leftovers onto plates. No words were needed, just the quiet certainty of two people who knew each other’s rhythms by heart.  

As they ate, the conversation meandered between the chaos of the photoshoot, the way Honda had needled them into position, and everything that had simmered between them for years.  

"You know," Izuku mused, poking at his food with a chopstick, "I never thought I’d say this, but I’m glad Honda pushed us so hard today."

Katsuki snorted, kicking Izuku’s ankle under the table. "Yeah, me too. Still might kill him if he publishes those damn shots, though."

"Maybe just the candid ones," Izuku teased, eyes crinkling. "The ones where we’re actually… us."  

Katsuki held his gaze for a beat, then lifted his water bottle. "To us, nerd." he said, simple and sure.  

Izuku clinked his bottle against Katsuki’s, his smile brighter than the sunset still clinging to the windows. "To us."  

As they finished their meal, Katsuki’s phone buzzed against the table. It was a sharp interruption to their quiet. He glanced at the screen, his fingers pausing around his water bottle.  

"What is it?" Izuku asked, tilting his head. The way Katsuki’s eyebrows lifted, just slightly, had him leaning forward.  

"Honda," Katsuki said, sliding the phone across the table. "Sent the proofs already. Bastard works fast."

Izuku’s fingers brushed Katsuki’s as he took the phone, the touch lingering a beat too long. Then—  

Oh. 

The phone screen illuminated with Honda's proofs, each image capturing something raw and electric between them. Katsuki rose from his chair to stand behind Izuku as they looked at the photos together. Izuku's breath stopped as he swiped through:

First, the action shots where their bodies were frozen mid-movement. Their muscles were glinting, and every tendon was flexed with power. Katsuki's explosive punch met Izuku's flying kick in perfect synchronization, their poses so aligned they could've been mirror images.

Then came the quieter moments between takes—Katsuki's callused hand firm on Izuku's shoulder as he adjusted his stance, their eyes locked in that familiar wordless communication they'd perfected over years of partnership. The way Izuku had unconsciously leaned into the touch, his body remembering Katsuki's guidance even before his mind registered it.

Izuku's thumb stilled on the screen. The last shot. It was completely candid and utter perfection. Their foreheads pressed together in the brief quiet between poses, Katsuki's usually sharp smirk softened into something dangerously close to tender, while Izuku laughed with his whole body. That bright, unguarded sound was captured forever in the slight crinkle of his eyes and the curve of his lips.

"These are…"  Izuku’s thumb hovered over the screen. His voice was barely a whisper. "Kacchan, he truly captured us." 

Katsuki didn't grab the phone. Just looked over Izuku's shoulder, his chin brushing damp curls as his breath warmed Izuku's neck. 

"Yeah," he admitted, voice rough with something unspoken and vulnerable. "That's us."

They spent the next hour dissecting every shot, sprawled across Katsuki’s couch. Izuku grinned as he zoomed in on one particularly dramatic action pose.  

"Look at your face here," Izuku teased, tapping the screen. "You look like you’re trying to murder the camera."

Katsuki scoffed. "That’s my normal face, you damn idiot."

"Really?" Izuku flipped to another photo where Katsuki was mid-kick, his expression fierce. 

"Because this one says ‘I will end you,’ but this one," He swiped to the candid one where Katsuki’s lips were curled in an unguarded grin, "says ‘I secretly like cuddling.’"

Katsuki dived toward Izuku, pinning him against the couch cushions. "I'm actually going to murder you," he snarled, but there was not even a smidgen of anger—not when Izuku was laughing breathlessly beneath him, his cheeks pink with his hands already winding into Katsuki’s hair. 

"Prove it," Izuku challenged, grinning.  

Katsuki’s retaliation was swift—a merciless tickle attack that had Izuku shrieking and thrashing, their limbs tangling in a mess of laughter and half-hearted protests.  

"K-Kacchan—stop! I surrender! I surrender!" Izuku gasped between giggles.  

"Damn right, you do," Katsuki muttered, but he relented, collapsing half on top of him. They lay there, breathless and grinning like idiots, the phone forgotten on the floor.  
  
When Izuku finally stood to leave hours later— his hair a mess and his shirt crooked—Katsuki followed him to the door, their frames bumping in the dim hallway.  

Izuku turned, his smile fading into something quieter. "Thank you," he said, fingers curling into Katsuki’s shirt. It wasn't just for today. It was for the years. For the unsaid always between them.  

Katsuki didn’t answer with words. He tugged Izuku forward, their bodies slotting together as naturally as breathing, and kissed him. The kiss between them was slow, deep, and final, like a promise.  

"Anytime, Izuku," he murmured against Izuku’s lips, and Izuku knew he meant it.  
  
As Izuku stepped into the late evening air, Katsuki lingered in the doorway, the events of the day burning into him like sunlight through glass. The moments shared between them felt so warm and genuine. His lips curled without permission, something soft and private that would’ve pissed him off a month ago. Now? Now it just felt right.  

The next few days passed in a haze of stolen moments, each one a spark in the quiet between their hectic lives.

It started in the gym after evening training. Katsuki cornered Izuku against the mats, their sweat-slick skin sticking together as he kissed the breathless laughter from Izuku's lips. 

"Kacchan—someone could see—" Izuku gasped, fingers twisting in Katsuki's tank top. Katsuki just nipped at his jaw. 

"Then shut up, Deku," before claiming his mouth again, the taste of sports drinks and shared exhaustion pleasant between them.

Then came the cafeteria games. Izuku's socked foot slid up Katsuki's calf under the table during lunch, and his smile was butter-smooth as Katsuki choked on his rice. 

"The hell—?!" Katsuki growled, kicking back, only for Izuku to trap his ankle between both feet like a victorious crab. 

Their hands always found each other afterward, fingers interlacing beneath the table's edge where no one could see. Katsuki would slowly circle Izuku's palm with his thumb, and Izuku would pretend not to notice the way his own chopsticks trembled.

And the meetings... oh, the meetings were their own special kind of torture. Katsuki would slouch in his chair, watching Izuku scribble notes like his life depended on it, eyebrows knit in that ridiculous focused pout. 

"You're writing down obvious shit again," Katsuki would mutter afterward, shoving his own notebook across the table. His pages were a mess of aggressive underlines and tactical diagrams only Izuku could decipher, margins crammed with "DUMB PLAN" and "FIX THIS" in jagged script. Izuku would beam like he'd been given a gift, and Katsuki would pretend not to gloat.

They were careful. Not ashamed—never that—but protective. These moments belonged to them and them alone, like the way Izuku’s freckles looked against Katsuki’s pillow in the morning light. Then there was Izuku's sleepy mumbling into Katsuki's collarbone when alarms went off too early. How Katsuki’s hands lingered at Izuku’s waist even when they were alone, as if afraid he’d vanish. The way Katsuki still gripped Izuku's hip in his sleep, as if even unconscious, he refused to let go.

The magazine hit stands on a Thursday.  

They stood shoulder-to-shoulder in the bookstore’s bright glow, the pages crisp under Katsuki’s fingers. Then, there it was.

The cover.  

Their candid shot dominated the glossy page, but it was the smaller details that stole Katsuki's breath. 

The action spread showed their bodies mid-motion, Katsuki's explosion-propelled kick meeting Izuku's spinning hook, their limbs a study in synchronized power under the headline: "WONDER DUO: The Unbreakable Bond of UA's Finest."

Another page featured a quiet moment between takes—Katsuki adjusting Izuku's stance, his palm firm between Izuku's shoulder blades as Izuku leaned back into the touch, eyes closed like he could feel Katsuki's steady, "I've got you."

But the crown jewel was that shot with their foreheads pressed together. Katsuki's smirk softened into something dangerously close to a smile. Izuku's laughter was caught mid-squint of his eyes. 

"Fuck," Katsuki breathed. His chest ached. "We look…"

"Happy," Izuku finished, voice thick. A tear slipped free before he could catch it.  

Katsuki didn’t wipe it away. He just turned Izuku’s face toward him with a finger under his chin, ignoring the stares as he laced their fingers together and kissed him right there in public. "Yeah," he agreed. "We are."

Outside, the city buzzed around them, but Katsuki barely noticed. Not with Izuku’s palm warm against his, not with the future stretching before them—bright and terrifying and theirs.  

"So," Izuku bumped their shoulders together, grinning as he waved the magazine. "Now that the whole world knows we’re disgustingly in love…"

Katsuki snatched it from him, flipping to the action shots. "Tch. They cropped out my best kick."

"Oh no," Izuku deadpanned. "However will your ego recover?"

Without hesitation, Katsuki put Izuku into a one-armed headlock that dissolved into laughter when Izuku wheezed, "Mercy! I take it back!"  

And as they walked to Katsuki's apartment, the magazine tucked safely in Izuku’s bag and Katsuki’s arm slung over his shoulders, one truth burned brighter than any headline:  

This wasn’t the ending.  

It was the first damn page.  

*** 

Three years later, the studio smelled like cherry blossoms—sweet and nostalgic, exactly like their first shoot, when they'd been all clenched fists and racing hearts. Katsuki inhaled deeply, the scent mixing with the familiar scent of the man he'd proposed to and loved most in this world. Home.

Honda greeted them with a knowing smirk, already adjusting his camera settings. "Took you two long enough,"  he said, nodding at their intertwined hands. "Should I prepare tissues for the crew? I hear emotional explosions are your new brand."

Katsuki narrowed his eyes. "Should I prepare your funeral arrangements?"

"Noted," Honda chuckled, wisely stepping back to gesture at the set.  

The set was a dream. Real branches of vivid pink cherry blossoms arched overhead, their petals drifting down like snowfall and catching in Izuku’s curls as soon as he stepped beneath them. The sunset backdrop blazed in the same gold-and-crimson hues as Katsuki’s eyes, and for once, even he had to admit Honda had outdone himself.  

"Alright, lovebirds," Honda said, lifting his camera. "Let’s make some magic. Or at least something that won’t get me fired."

They started with the safe shots—clasped hands, foreheads touching, the obligatory romantic nonsense that would make their mothers weep, but Honda wasn’t having it.

"Come on. You think I don’t know you two actually communicate via sparring and death threats?" He dropped to one knee like he was proposing and rasped: “Now show me the real shit. The stuff that makes your neighbors file noise complaints.”

And oh, they delivered.

Katsuki bared his teeth, but Izuku smiled—and then, in one fluid motion, he hooked a foot behind Katsuki’s knee and yanked. They crashed into the petals in a tangle of limbs, Katsuki’s mock-outraged growl muffled against Izuku’s shoulder as Honda’s camera clicked wildly.  

Katsuki flipped them until Izuku was pinned, wrists trapped, both of them breathing hard. The camera caught it all: Izuku’s giggling gasp, Katsuki’s predatory grin, the way their legs tangled like they were still sixteen and fighting on a gym mat.

"I knew it was still there," Honda murmured, snapping shot after shot of their wrestling-turned-cuddling, Katsuki’s hands buried in Izuku’s hair, Izuku’s laughter brighter than the camera flashes lighting up the room.  

When they finally broke apart, Honda sighed dramatically. "And to think, I used to have to beg you two to act like you liked each other."

Katsuki flipped him off, but Izuku was gleaming as he brushed petals from Katsuki’s shoulders.  

"The very last shot," Honda said, softer now. "Just look at each other. No posing, no fighting—just you."

Katsuki turned.  

And there he was—his rival, his idiot, his agency partner, his fiancé, his hero, his Deku. The man who’d chased him through childhood, who’d fought alongside him, who quoted hero stats in his sleep, and who somehow, against all odds, had chosen him.  

Izuku’s eyes were wet. Katsuki’s throat burned.

"I love you, Izuku," Katsuki muttered, gruff as ever and sweet as the first time.  

Izuku’s smile could’ve powered cities. “I love you too, Kacchan. Always.”

The camera whirred as their lips met, and their engagement rings shined in the light.

Honda examined the preview screen, shaking his head. "Yeah, that’s going on the cover." 

"Thank you, Honda." Izuku beamed. 

"Yeah, thanks or whatever." Katsuki said, not taking his eyes off Izuku as a large smile spread across his face. 

"Always a pleasure." Honda bowed dramatically. 

As they left, Katsuki laced their fingers together without a second thought, and Izuku swung their hands between them, sending a flurry of petals spiraling to the ground.  

"Think he’ll make us do this again at the wedding?" Izuku mused.  

Katsuki scoffed. "He can try." 

But as they stepped into the golden light, Katsuki knew:  

It was just another chapter—one he’d keep writing with Izuku, petal by petal, laugh by laugh, and frame by frame for the rest of their lives.  

✦ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ✦