Chapter Text
"-reports are going out, stating that Pro Hero Deku was seen giving a few members of the press the middle finger while fleeing the scene of the arrest. Additional reports from witnesses gathered over the last few months, include Hero Deku's attitude as being brash and cold. His usual smile, that so many fans have come to love, diminished to a permanent glare."
Katsuki slaps a stack of reports onto his desk, then drops down into his office chair with a groan. The television at the corner of the office plays obnoxiously loud. He scans the room for spectators, then stands again to unplug the damn thing. A handful of desks jammed into one wide floor of a rented out building, serves as their temporary office space while their agency's new building gets built across town.
"A victim he rescued from a burning overturned vehicle last week stated in an interview that although Deku saved their life, he was quite rude about it. Making demands to the sidekicks nearby, shouting profanities at gathering spectators, and scolding the victim on their driving habits. Many fans have wondered where their Symbol of Hope has gone? More details on this tonight at seven, on the Hero Chronicles Network channel. This has been-"
The television cuts off with an electric snap. The chord falls from his hands to the floor with a thud.
"Thanks." Deku deadpans, walking into the room. He breezes past him without much else to offer for conversation.
Katsuki wordlessly stomps over to his desk again. The stack of files get shifted through to determine what takes priority in the moment, and what can wait.
Deku sits at his own desk, adjacent to his. He gulps down a hot coffee with a dull blankness in his eyes. Katsuki glances at him every now and then. His stiff posture, the way he cracks his knuckles every twenty-fucking-seconds, the bouncing of his right knee, the twitch in his lips as he reads through a red flagged report.
Deku tosses a folder aside, and Katsuki hisses.
"The Gairo case trial is in two days, Deku. That needs to be a priority."
Sighing, Deku turns to him with a pitifully fake smile. "Yeah, but the kidnapping reports of the west district are happening as we speak." He flips noisily through the next file. "That, is my priority."
"The west district disappearances are being handled by the west district." Katsuki slides a blue folder into the bin that needs to be shredded. "We aren't a part of the west conglomerate."
"There are kidnappings in this city. The city we are in, currently. Therefore, my priority." Deku hisses back.
"There are fifty other heros working on that case, Deku. The Gairo case is our case. It needs your signature and debriefing now, to make it to the courthouse meeting by tomorrow morning." Katsuki grits, standing with said files in his hands.
"I'll handle that today before I leave." Deku answers through tight lips. His smile faint, and uncharacteristic.
"I don't want to look like an idiot at the meeting tomorrow, by presenting all of the evidence myself with your dopey looking ass behind me. Make sure you read my notes, the police notes, the witness statements-"
"I know, Kacchan." Deku growls. It's ugly and raw. "I know how to read a goddamn case file."
"Do you? Because the corrections I had to make to your horrid incident reports last week, say otherwise." Katsuki growls back, slapping his already signed and sealed documents onto Izuku's desk.
"Don't-" Deku begins with a commanding voice. He sighs through his nose, and ruffles his own hair. He takes a deep breath, then looks up with another one of those god awful fake smiles.
"Okay, Kacchan."
"No." Katsuki commands back.
Deku's head tilts.
"No. Don't you okay Kacchan me." Katsuki stands close enough to his desk, that his hanging utility belt bangs against it. "Stop forcing this fake shit. What's got your goddamn panties in a twist?"
"Nothing."
Katsuki crosses his arms. "Bullshit."
Deku sighs again. He looks up through his thick green lashes with a clenched jaw and pursed lips. Though Katsuki technically has the high ground, a chilling sense of intimidation rides up his spine.
"It's nothing. Leave it alone, Kacchan." He grits the words out between his teeth.
"No. I don't think I will." Katsuki grits back, leaning over the desk between them. "You've been acting shady as fuck, and I'm starting to think you're hiding something. Something big. Something fucked up."
"Dynamight." Deku exhales in warning.
"Deku." Katsuki ignores it.
Izuku sits there, staring him down. Katsuki stares back. His resolve trickles away with each passing second.
"I'm fucking serious. Tell me what the fuck is happening, or I'll-"
"You'll what, Kacchan?" Deku stands this time. His chair rolls back, bouncing against the wall heavily from the force. "You'll kick my ass? Threaten to call the higher-ups? Try to intimidate me with your quirk?"
"Fuck you! I haven't used my quirk on you outside of sparring or training sessions in years!" Katsuki shouts back.
"Maybe that's what you need then? To let off some steam and sweat? Corner me and use me as your stress relief dummy?" Deku leans over the desk with electricity thrumming around him.
"If that's what's gonna get the stick out of your ass, then I fucking guess so. You need to either get laid, smoke some weed, get your ass kicked, or do the ass kicking, because I'm sick of your fake charismatic bullshit!" Katsuki seethes. "Tell me what in the hell is wrong with you, so I can fucking fix it!"
"I don't need you to fix anything! I'm fine, I've been fine, and I will continue to be just fine." Deku begins to gather his scattered files and paperwork. He walks around the desk to head for the elevator.
Katsuki whips around and gets a bruising grip on Izuku's arm. "You have been acting different. People have noticed. The commission is going to start asking questions. Anything could go wrong in the field, and the Hero commission is going to point their finger at your fucking attitude problem."
Izuku turns around fully. "My attitude problem? Mine? What do you say when the press questions you about your work ethic? What do you do when fans want autographs? You tell them to fuck off, and that's it." He stalks towards him. Katsuki's feet move on their own. He stumbles backwards until his lower back hits the front ridge of Izuku's desk.
"I refuse to listen to you, of all people, tell me that I have an attitude problem." Deku crowds around him. Caging him, even in the open floored office space. "You really wanna know why I'm on edge, Kacchan? You really want to know what's wrong with me?" He growls.
Katsuki swallows the lump in his throat.
"I'm tired." Izuku whispers between them. His breath almost gliding into Katsuki's lungs. "I'm so fucking tired of people telling me to smile, how to act, how to stand, how to fight. I'm sick, of the commission up my ass about their strict standards of what kind of person I am supposed to be on patrol, in the feild, even off-duty. I'm tired of showing up to tragic accidents, villian fights, god knows what else, and expected to keep a chipper approach as I carry victims across battle fields and drag survivors out of collapsing rubble. I am fed up with trying to be sympathetic to serial killing villians. I am done with trying to be kind to abusive dicks in the feild. I am beyond over the same repeated questions from the same soul-less reporters."
Deku takes a breath. "I'm. Fucking. Tired."
Katsuki lets out a breath he hadn't realized he was even holding. "That's it?"
Deku nods once. "Pitiful, isn't it?"
"Then take a shower and a nap." Katsuki growls, pushing against Deku's shoulder to bodily move him out of way. "Eat a fucking cookie, for all I care."
Katsuki goes back to his desk. He feels those electric green eyes burn into his back as he opens another sealed folder.
Eventually, the elevator door dings, then closes. Taking that charged energy with it.
Leaning over his his desk, Katsuki pants and shakes through one of the hardest adrenaline drops he has had in months.
The street signs light up the pavement. The sidewalk remains damp from the week's consistent rain spell. Car horns honk in the distance, and pedestrians walk without much care of their surroundings.
Katsuki keeps his head down, his ear buds in, and his hands in his hoodie pocket. His work duffel bag swings against his hip.
The ramen shop sits at the corner. The same place he took Deku to for his birthday last year. It had a decent row of booths in the back, that are private enough for heros and celebrities to have quick meals out of immediate sight. The food is okay, but the atmosphere is what sells it.
Dark, quiet, and secluded.
The restaurant door swings open with a chime. Katsuki doesn't bother waiting to be seated. The waitstaff know his order and where he sits. The same rotation of servers have learned to just leave him be, for the most part.
Katsuki pulls his ball cap down over his eyes as he weaves through the maze of tables and chairs. He walks to the back row, and finds round watery green eyes snapping up at him. Katsuki stares back long enough to see the subtle rise of fear in those irises.
"Kacchan?"
Katsuki huffs, stealing his complaints. "That's my seat."
Deku let's a smile, a real smile, tug at his lips. "Our seat, Kacchan. We both sit here." That fear washes away with a newly filled sparkle of relief.
Dropping his bag on the floor to slide it under the table, Katsuki then sits at the booth across from him.
A tense soundless silence spreads across the table. The streetlamp outside of the shop window flickers dimly. Like clockwork, a server drops by with two bowls of pork ramen. One with extra radishes, chili sauce, red pepper salt, and a soft boiled egg. Another with no green onions, extra pork, and teriyaki soaked carrots. She sets an iced water by Katsuki's dish, and a dark soda by Izuku's.
Deku slides the soy sauce across the table. Katsuki catches it without having to look. Two sets of chopsticks get plucked from the utensil holder at the back of the table. Deku breaks his, sips his cola, then grabs the spoon to start ladleing broth. Katsuki drowns the pork slices at the bottom of his bowl, and pushes bean sprouts aside to pick apart bundles of noodles.
It's mundane.......
A scheduled habit. Practically a ritual, at this point.
They eat in silence, aside from Deku's obnoxious ass way of chewing. Midway through the meal, Katsuki slides him a stack of napkins. Like he always does every goddamn time they eat together.
Once their bowls are near empty, Izuku leans back in his seat. Katsuki knows that he is about to pat his stomach before that large freckled hand even moves.
Deku sighs again. It's long and loaded with unanswered questions and inner turmoil.
"I'm......I'm sorry, for-"
"You don't gotta apologize for a damn thing, Deku. Clearly you got some shit going on, and clearly you don't wanna talk about it." Katsuki sighs as well. His water glass gets tightened between his palms.
Izuku blinks back the frustration that clouds those pretty green eyes. "Yeah......Thanks."
Katsuki finishes his water off, setting the glass at the edge of the table with a clink. People walk passed the window on their phones or listening to music. Groups of businessmen cross the street in search of a bar for an after-work drink. Here and there, Deku will rub at his face, muffling a barrage of whispered rambles behind his palm. Katsuki pulls his ball cap over his eyes and settles against the backrest of the booth bench.
Eventually, Deku leans forward to pillow his chin on his palm. His fingertips twitch to scratch and dig at his nail beds. Katsuki knows he is fighting off the nervous tick, because he will slap his hand away immediately, as he always does.
"Kacchan...." Izuku mumbles above a single breath.
"Hm."
"Do you.....ever...get tired?" He asks, quickly adding further detail. "I mean, like of being..... you?"
Katsuki knocks the front bill of his hat up enough to blearily stare across the table. "No, I'm fucking awesome."
Izuku huffs in exasperation. "That's not...what I meant."
"Then spit it out, Deku. Don't sugar coat your stupid question."
Deku swallows loud enough that Katsuki's fists clench at his sides. "Do you ever get tired of being so.....angry or-or strong? Of being so in control all the time? Are there ever times that you just don't want to be like that for a little while?"
The honest answer crawls up his throat and pours out between his lips. Katsuki tries to bite it back, but it slips between his teeth like cigarette smoke.
"Yeah."
Izuku's head jerks towards him hard enough, that his curls bounce. Clearly not expecting the answer, or for him to even answer at all.
"R-Really?"
"Yeah, and?" Katsuki grunts mirthlessly.
Those scarred tanned hands twist. His fingers tug and wrap around one another. "What do you.....do about it?"
Blonde brows furrow over red eyes. Narrowed, in the form of a wordless question.
Izuku coughs nervously.
"Like, do you-oh, thank you." He bows from his seat as a waitress slips by to collect their dirty dishes and refill Katsuki's water glass. Once she moves far enough out of ear shot, Izuku leans forward again. "Do you have um, coping methods? Like what.....what do you do? To m-make the feeling go away."
He puts on silk pajamas, reads classic romance novels, watches his mom's stupid soap operas, orders comfort food, eats cake, takes bubble baths, reads erotica, imagines letting someone take the reigns of his existence for a while, walks around his apartment in skimpy pastel colored nightgowns, turns off his brain and focuses on what feels comforting, fantasizes about having someone strong and safe to caress-
Katsuki sighs through his nose. "I escape."
"Like.......take a vacation?" Izuku asks innocently.
"No, idiot. I just......don't be myself for a while." He answers, hiding the full truth to protect himself. Partially to protect Izuku, too.
"So you just don't explode things or swear as much?" Izuku asks with a laugh in his tone.
"Pretty much." Katsuki chooses his answers tactfully. He piles away the details in the corner of his mind, warding them from his tongue.
"Oh." Deku sighs again, clearly disappointed in the answer. "That.....it seems so......easy. Straight forward and without faults."
Katsuki flinches. Thankfully, Deku is too preoccupied pulling out his wallet when their dinner bills get dropped at the edge of the table.
"You touch that, and I stab your hand with a chopstick."
Izuku's head tilts with thinned freckled lips. As if he was actually contemplating taking a wooden chopstick between his knuckles, just to pay for their meals. Just to provide.
Katsuki suppresses the little shiver that tries to crawl up his spine.
"Well...... I don't feel like picking splinters out of my hand, or going to the emergency room tonight, so I guess this one is on you." Deku concedes with a sigh.
Katsuki yanks out his wallet to smash a wad of cash onto the table.
"But-" Deku pipes up, like the cheeky bastard he is. "I'm gonna get the next one."
"Like hell you will." Katsuki grunts, stuffing his wallet back into his pocket.
"Kacchan...." He half whines. "Let me take care of you for once!"
Another full body shiver crawls up his spine. Katsuki holds it back with all the strength he can rouse.
"Fine."
Izuku smiles in victory with a soft praise. "Good boy."
Just as quickly as the words left his mouth, Katsuki's skin breaks out in chills. Izuku's smile drops, morphing into terror and morbid embarrassment.
"Th-Thanks for talking with me, Kacchan. I'll see you at the courthouse tomorrow morning!" Deku jumps up from the booth. The table shakes from the movement. He strides out of the restaurant so fast, that Katsuki can almost see flickers of green lightning under his feet.
Katsuki walks through the rain back to his apartment with light steps, and a heavy heart.
The bedsheets get changed out for the white quilt bedset with gold and pink threads. His favorite house slippers get pulled from their box and sat by the front door. He lays a lemon meringue pie out onto the table, then makes a half gallon of home made sweetened iced fruit tea. His favorite drama airs in fifteen minutes, and his dryer fluffed blankets are already piled up on the couch.
Katsuki moves about his apartment to ready the space for a couple hours of fuzzy bliss before he tucks himself into bed.
Truthfully, Katsuki is exhausted.
Not necessarily in an overworked way. Not even really in a physical way. It's the type of exhaustion and fatigue that weighs a person down at the center of their chests. The kind of weight that stays there with a sense of guilt and regret.
He has built an entire career on his brash, rugged, and feral personality. It's toned down since the societal war that almost claimed his life in high school, but it's still an ever present signature part of who he is.
These days, it's harder holding that part of himself up. The columns and arches that keep his aggressive personality strong, crumble at the base and crack up the hilt. Rotted wood flakes off of the bridge he has kept above water for so long. The hard-ass, stubborn, independent, fiery parts of himself become harder to hold onto as the months pass.
The first few years were easy. Finding outlets and reprieve came with the taste of alcohol and one night stands under fake names and colored contact lenses. Once the relief began to taste stale and bland, he started more aggressively disciplined training exercises. Boxing clubs, wrestling, fight rings, constant sparring sessions with whoever was willing to go toe-to-toe with him, and even taboo quirk training methods.
But, nothing brought him down from the pedestal he placed himself on. Not a single damn thing could provide him with the proper relief, a break, from being so angry and violently independent all the time.
Funnily enough, it started with a pair of house shoes.
A stupid pair of soft pink, crushed fleece, padded, luxury slippers. Gifted to him by his mother. Only because she had somehow accidentally ordered two pairs.
He wore them everyday for six months. The padding had thinned to the point that the threads were popping. Katsuki went online to find the brand website to order a replacement pair, but found matching satin pajamas in the same shade advertised with it. They were on sale, so he thought, "why not?"
It spiraled from there.
Soft pajama sets, fleece pastel blankets, fluffy towels, satin robes, plushed pillows. It was like a gateway drug to comfort and safety. It rapidly went to silk bedsheets, decorative pillows with similar fabrics, a plushed black rug to go over his cold as fuck bedroom floors, and anything that brought him some sort of tangible relief.
It was originally touch based. Soft and fine things that brought tingles to his work-worn skin. But Katsuki had passed a bakery on his way home from the gym one day, and saw a strawberry custard tart in the window. He bought a tea that the quiet sales woman recommend to pair with it, and had the calmest night of his life.
Each time he tried something new in the name of comfortably taking care of himself, it would bring his lungs a full breath of fresh air. Like relaxing in a bath of rose oil and soaking salts. A sugary dessert a couple times a week with an herbal tea. He even started watching and reading old romance dramas. The sort of stories that were predictable with their endings, but still kept up with good character chemistry and a handful of unexpected plot twists.
Now though, a new form of relief has crawled it's way into his life.
It was a book recommendation on his e-books account. It seemed like a plain story, so he started it while munching away on a bowl of salty popcorn.
Little did he know, it would spark a whole new interest. He ended up reading the whole entire series in one weekend.
A story with a bland plot, but the smut was impeccable. It opened the doors to what being a submissive would feel like. To be doted on, cared for, loved unconditionally. To be controlled with tender hands by someone who only had their sub's best interest at heart. A feeling of blissful safety in the arms of someone who could handle the world around him, while he just.... took a break.
Katsuki thought it was just about comfort, at first. But in reality, he was searching for a way to soften the hardened edges of his body and mind.
He stays in control, at the top, fiercely dominant in battle, and confident twenty-four-fucking-seven. Katsuki wanted to not feel that way when his aching feet would slide into his favorite pink house shoes. To evade the metaphorical knife that would stay pointed at his throat at all hours of the day, at least for a little while. Just enough to gather the reigns of control tethered to his persona with a steadier, more confident grasp.
He learned to shut himself down mentally on a schedule around the days he was off work and didn't need to bother about being on-call.
Katsuki would order food instead of cook. He wouldn't worry about his strict work out regimen when he had his favorite pastries plated up on the coffee table. Soft lace and satin clothes, delicate decorative pillows, the taboo explicit novels hidden away by bookshelf covers and tucked behind old dietary encyclopedias. Fantasies that left him writhing and needy. Luxurious floral baths. Edging himself to the point of speechlessness, only to be thrown into a roaring orgasm by setting a timer on the app that can control his second favorite vibrator wirelessly. All things that left his mind quiet for once, and his desires temporarily satiated.
It's a part of himself that he kept hidden from the world.
Though..... it wouldn't hurt to have someone draw him baths, pet his hair, confidently tell him that everything is going to be okay. Someone safe, warm.
For some ungodly reason, that feeling is associated with the color green.
So very fucking green.