Chapter Text
First class of the semester: Humanities 110
Izuku Midoriya sits down in the front row of the auditorium, convinced that for his first college class ever , it would be grand to prove that he’s thrilled to be present and prepared to learn. He pulls out his notebook from the back flap of his yellow backpack and sits it on the desk, then organizes his pencils, pens, and erasers around it.
He lays his back against the chair, clasps his hands together, resting them on the desk, and stares straight at the podium in quiet excitement as classmates file into the surrounding seats. Whenever they get close, Izuku turns towards them and offers a smile and a wave, hoping to make a new friend.
Since starting college, he’s realized his surroundings. He wants to meet new people, make new friends, but struggles with approaching them. Coming from such a small town—where you interact with the same people from birth until death—he’s never had to work hard on making new friends. He’s known the same people since kindergarten. Here, in Musutafu, he finds it harder to make friends when everyone is a stranger, an unknown in his mind. It doesn’t stop him from trying, though.
Chair legs squeak across the tile beside him, and Izuku turns to see someone choose the seat to his left. On instinct, he offers them a ‘hello’ and a smile, only for the smile to drop into an awestruck expression when he registers the individual.
Izuku has never seen a man so captivating, shocks of light, ash blond hair sticking every which way. His jaw is smooth and defined, framing a face completed with an objectively attractive scowl and eyes the shade of strawberry wine. He looks at Izuku upon his greeting, and his brow furrow a fraction before he plops down into the seat and reaches for his backpack. The thick muscles of his arms flex and tense with every movement, and Izuku wants to know what his workout routine is to sculpt the muscles beneath his pale, seemingly soft skin, so expertly. “Whaddya staring at, nerd?”
Izuku’s shoulders jerk, and he shakes himself to come out of his musings. He smiles again and extends his hand for the stranger to take. “I’m Midoriya! Midoriya Izuku.”
He snorts. “You’re kidding, right?”
“No?”
“Your name’s got the same kanji as Deku,” the stranger says. “Your name is literally useless.”
Izuku presses his lips thin and knits his brows together in a challenging expression “Don’t call me that. It sounds stupid.”
The stranger shrugs, like his insult was anything but bothersome, and turns forward in his seat. He has an air of nonchalance about him, slouching like he doesn’t have to bother with a good impression. It mesmerizes Izuku, who always focuses making people like him. “The name is Bakugou. Bakugou Katsuki.”
“Kacchan.”
“Hahhh?” Katsuki asks, whipping back around to stare at Izuku both dumbfounded and surprised.
Izuku simply shrugs at him. The professor walks into the room and crosses the class to get to his podium, and Izuku turns to face him with a satisfied smirk on his face. He leans to the side, a gesture to show Katsuki he is still very much involved in the conversation. “You give me a stupid nickname; I give you a stupid nickname.”
Then he grabs his notebook and flips it open to the first page. Picking up his pencil, he starts to scribble the Professor’s expectations down near the ledger, and only briefly flicks his eyes to the side to see what Katsuki is doing.
He’s smirking at Izuku, and Izuku returns his attention to his notebook with a wide smile on his face. Izuku has made a friend.
“Good morning, Kacchan,” Izuku hums, slinging his workout bag across the back of his chair before sitting down and pulling his things out of his backpack. Katsuki looks up from his textbook just long enough to register him with a grunt and drops his gaze back to the passage he was reading. Then, he does a double take, his eyes landing on the duffle bag. They fix on it.
“What’s that? You got a body in there?”
Izuku hums again in curiosity, then follows his gaze to the bag. He snorts, flipping open his textbook. “You wish. It’s my workout bag.”
Katsuki quirks a brow and turns his body in his chair so that he faces Izuku. He props his elbow on his desk and rests his cheek against it. Izuku thinks he looks good when he contemplates. He bets the girls go crazy over Katsuki. “You work out?”
“Mhm.”
“Legs, abs, or arms? Which do you prefer?”
Izuku lets go of his book and eyes him intently, falling into intrigue with the conversation. “Legs,” he smiles. “I’m great at squats, if I say so myself.”
Katsuki snorts, a mischievous grin plastered across his sharp face. Izuku’s eyes dart down when Katsuki’s tongue flicks across his upper lip. “Yeah, I can tell.”
Izuku chokes, grateful for the compliment, but surprised Katsuki pays that much attention to him. He parts his lips to say thank you, but gets cut off by another one of Katsuki’s question. “So, when do you wanna work out together?”
“Huh? You wanna work out with me?”
“Obviously.”
He sputters, surprised. He has gotten to know Katsuki in the past two weeks of school, but he hasn’t made the jump to asking him to hang out outside of class. Izuku’s been afraid that his attempt at friendship would go unwanted, or he’d make a fool of himself.
Because he wants to be Katsuki’s friend. Katsuki is an overall captivating man, both physically and mentally. His personality is peculiar, aggressive, but he still contains a deep moral code and a thirst for knowledge and understanding. He is exceptionally bright—Izuku discovered that during the class’ first assignments—and surprisingly enjoys the same, nerdy superhero movies and comics that Izuku loses himself in. He wants to hang out with Katsuki. “U- um, do you wanna go tomorrow? I get out of classes at two.”
Katsuki watches him for a second, his eyes raking Izuku’s face and contemplating his offer. Under his gaze, Izuku feels somewhat self-conscious. A phantom force guides his hand up to his hair to pat down his curls, his subconscious hoping that he looks semi-presentable. After all, most people want to look good when making friends.
“Sounds good, nerd.” Katsuki twists in his seat, grabbing a pin and scratching something into the corner of his notebook. He rips it out and slides it across the plastic tabletop. “Why don’t you call me, and we can make some plans, yeah? I’ll take you out for coffee after.”
Izuku’s fingers reach for it, and glide across the torn paper in quiet excitement. The numbers are written in a light, neat penmanship and something tickles the base of Izuku’s throat. They were going to hang out. Izuku doesn’t remember ever being this excited—or nervous—about making a friend, but the subtle smile on Katsuki’s face as he turns back to his textbook is enough for Izuku to realize he really, really wants this to work out.
He thinks that anxiety over being worthy of Katsuki’s friendship is what sends a flutter through his chest and makes his heart skip a beat.
Izuku arrives at the campus gym just after two. It's relatively quiet, most people still in class, and Izuku prefers it that way. Too early or too late, you got stuck in the middle of a sports team’s gym session. Not to mention, where there were college athletes, there were gym bunnies hoping to pounce on them. Izuku thought it best to work out when the gym bunnies were in their holes and the athletes were trying to catch a nap in between class and practice.
He pushes through the glass door and mills about the entrance, gripping his duffel strap as he searches for Katsuki. Some unknown anxiety curls at the base of his stomach, and he wonders whether his classmate is even showing up. Maybe Izuku got the time wrong? Maybe Katsuki doesn’t actually want to be his friend? Maybe Izuku simply got his hopes up.
He mumbles to himself about it, stopping by the information desk to think heavily on the possibility that this blooming friendship is simply a figment of his imagination. In fact, he is so absorbed into his own subconscious, that he doesn’t hear someone snort, or feel their exhale graze the back of his head and displace his light curls. “Deku.” The stranger whispers against his ear, their moist breath dampening the lobe. Izuku shivers, jumps forward at the realization someone is behind him, and whips around faster than his body can handle.
His vision spins a fraction, and when the world settles, Bakugou Katsuki stands before him with a devilish smirk on his face. His hands are on his hips, and Izuku can see hints of the muscle and sinew moving beneath the cutouts in his old, black t-shirt. The fabric catches around his pectorals, and Izuku wants to know what sort of upper body workouts he does to get them so defined. Friends should share their killer workouts; the exercises that gift them such godly sculpted bodies.
Or, at least, Izuku thinks so.
“You ain’t been waiting long, right? Nerd?” Katsuki waves his hand in front of Izuku’s eyes and he flinches, jumping back.
His pause brings a curious look to Katsuki’s face, and Izuku tries to suppress it by shaking his head and smiling warmly at the man before him. “Nope! Nope! C’mon, let’s get going!”
He rounds on his heels, turning towards the locker room and marching off with a swing in his arms. He looks like a loser—he knows—but he’s trying too hard to shimmy away from his own awkwardness.
They drop their bags in their lockers, turn out towards the gym’s first floor, and Izuku gestures for Katsuki to lead the way. His gesture meant nothing because Katsuki seemed to already know where he was going, a sure-fire gleam in his eyes. He leads Izuku to the squat rack and stands at its side with his arms crossed. He looks to Izuku, his lips pursed in a smirk. Katsuki was challenging him.
And Izuku likes a challenge. It’s the time when his awkward demeanor and frazzled movements become languid, and he’s more certain in his steps than the fact the sun will set in the west. He knows how to impress and does his best to do just that. He’s good at it.
Izuku humphs , and stomps over to the rack, lifting weight after weight onto the bar. He stacks each with a little over one-hundred and forty pounds each. Katsuki’s smug expression turns more and more curious as the weights go on, and his smile drops. There’s a mirror reflecting them both just in front of the rack, and Izuku can see Katsuki’s questioning expression as he spaces his feet apart and breathes in. On his toes, he pulls the bar off the rack, and steadies himself as falls lower and lower to the ground, just stopping when he is halfway down.
Katsuki comes up behind him, his hands hovering at either side of Izuku—he’s spotting him, and Izuku is thankful—but Izuku doesn’t pay much attention as he focuses on controlling his breathing and pulls himself up. Back into his starting position, he drops low again, and again, and again. He ends up with about fifteen reps by the time he forces the bar onto the rack and drags out his exhale.
He’s forgotten about Katsuki, but his classmate reminds him by clapping his hands in a low, dragging, sarcastic motion. Izuku turns around to face him and is surprised to see that the sarcasm in his body language doesn’t match the expression of genuine interest planted in his features. “Not bad, Deku. Guess those legs and ass really are real.”
Izuku knits his brows and pulls his head back like he’s surprised. Which he is. “You have a weird sense of humor,” he says, and Katsuki responds by opening and closing his mouth like what he will say isn’t worth it. He rolls his eyes and sighs. “Anyway, I wanna see the rest of your workout. Maybe I’ll figure out how a small fry like you gets so fucking ripped.”
“Yeah,” Izuku smirks back, walking closer to pat him on the shoulder. “And maybe you’ll figure out what you can do to get on my level.” Katsuki’s savage grin almost looks like a danger warning, but Izuku feels confident he won’t get killed for a little teasing. He marches off towards the free weights, and he hears Katsuki’s heavy footfalls follow him.
They work out for a solid hour—until there are sweat beads falling down Izuku’s forehead to mat the curls on his hairline against his skin and Katsuki lifts the hem of his shirt to wipe across his lip. When he does, Izuku stutters in his movements and freezes in cognitive function. Katsuki drops his shirt back down and turns to Izuku. “Ready for that coffee?”
“Um, yes…”
“Yes?”
“Yes! Yup! Let’s go!” Izuku beckons, and Katsuki follows him back to the locker room. What comes next is an event that Izuku is not at all prepared for. Peeling off his sweaty gym clothes and replacing them with an All Might Graphic Tee and a pair of dark wash jeans, he glances to his side.
He gulps down the weird skips of his heart when he sees Katsuki bare from the torso and up. Izuku already knows Katsuki is taller than him, but his shoulders are also broader. Stronger. Izuku might have sculpted thighs and calves, but Katsuki’s abs are chiseled, and his pectorals are strong and swollen. Rippling back muscles accentuate his frame, and the curve of his back is sleek and refined. Izuku is salivating, and he doesn’t know why.
But his body does. The blood in his head drains down his body, falling to fill his half hard dick. When he feels it against the fabric of his boxers—and the aching discomfort of his jeans—a weak choke clogs his throat. He throws his shirt on overhead and pulls the hem down as far as it will go, hoping to hide his embarrassment.
How do you get an erection from staring at your friend? He’s a guy!
Izuku thinks—well, he’s sure—that he’s just able to appreciate a good-looking person, and Katsuki is attractive. He can’t argue that. He’s tall, sculpted, and has a head of beautiful blonde hair and piercing red eyes. So, he thinks this is just a biological reaction to finding someone attractive, male or female. It’s not anything more than that.
“Deku? The fuck you spacing out for?” Katsuki asks, pulling the zipper on his duffel back and throwing it over his shoulder. He analyzes Izuku with a heavy stare, and Izuku shakes off his nerves and attempts to dissolve his erection through sheer willpower alone. He swells his chest and grabs his duffel bag off the bench.
“Ready!” He says, and then follows Katsuki out the locker room and out the gym with a slight waddle, trying his damnedest to keep the discomfort to a minimum. As much as he wanted to continue spending time with his new friend at a coffee shop, a good part of him wanted to go home and take care of his… situation.
Coffee was amazing, and so was Katsuki’s company. They talked about a lot, about their majors and their homes. They talked about their interests and their families. Katsuki was in school to become a Chemist, and he’d gotten into University on a full academic scholarship. According to him, he didn’t need the scholarship to afford school, but he’d do whatever he could to save his money. He was an only child, only having his mom and dad, and he was interested in pyrotechnics, superheroes, and cooking. He even offered to cook for Izuku sometime, but only if he wanted to.
Of course, Izuku said yes.
Shutting the door to his dorm and seeing that Todoroki wasn’t back from his study group, Izuku releases a sigh and stumbles over to his bed. His pillow feels soft against his head, and he’s grateful for his soft, cotton blankets. Something about the day has driven him to exhaustion—and it isn’t the workout.
He’s sure the source of his fatigue was his dick getting hard and then having to suffer through it until he stopped thinking of Katsuki’s rock-hard abs and smug face. He knows it’s weird that he even got hard at the thought of them, and whatever energy didn’t go towards holding down his erection, went towards figuring out why it had happened.
Because Izuku isn’t attracted to Katsuki. He isn’t attracted to men. He can objectively appreciate a good-looking man, but he isn’t attracted to them. He likes girls, women—people with boobs and soft bodies . So, whatever this is, it’s weird, and he needs it to stop. Because the only thing he wants with Katsuki is friendship. He doesn’t have any friends yet, and he’d like to make one, and he’d like it to be Katsuki.
That’s it.
But he’d have to stop this weird fascination later, because now his body is reacting to the thought of Katsuki and his post-workout body glistening with hot sweat. Izuku’s hand falls onto his stomach, feeling the steady rise and fall that coincides with his breath. Then he trails lower, and lower, until his fingers fumble with the button of his jeans—and then the zipper. He pulls out his half-hard dick and lets his fingers graze up the shaft, shivering at the cold digits contacting the sensitive skin.
He sucks in a breath and reaches for the head, arching his back when his thumb slides against the slit and sends beads of pre-cum falling down his length. Breath shallow, he chokes down all reservations and grabs himself firmly, slowly pumping to the rhythm of his breaths and the memory of Katsuki’s pectorals, his strong abs, and thick arms. He bets whoever gets trapped beneath them feels secure. He’s certain it feels hot, and his damp breath on your ear as he peppers kisses against the side of your head feels like ecstasy.
His fingers tighten, and his pace quickens to where he can hardly breath—where the curling and burning of his groin reaches such an intense degree that he can’t stop the whimpering mewls that peel from his throat. He flicks his thumb around the head in quick, circular motions, and reaches his other hand down to squeeze and massage his balls. It’s only a second more before the fire in his groin grows far too intense and his release blows from his tip and dribbles down the length of his shaft to coat his hands in ropes of thick, hot cum.
His breath comes back to him and he looks up from his pillow to see his cock growing flaccid in his hands. He sighs in contentment and falls back down onto his pillow, looking up into the ceiling and coming to terms with what he just did, imagining his friend as he did it.
Fuck!