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The first time that he kissed Kacchan, Izuku expected Kacchan’s kisses to be what he had always assumed to be the essence of Kacchan: all fire, and heat, and passion, and hunger, and consuming.
What he didn’t expect was for Kacchan’s lips to be so soft, nor his hands to be so tentative, there, at Izuku’s waist.
Nor did he expect the quiet whisper of his name, Kacchan’s lips millimeters from his own. Nor did he expect Kacchan’s breath to smell of lavender and blueberries.
It was nothing like Izuku had expected.
Well, actually…
That wasn’t quite true.
It was everything Izuku had dreamed it would be, and more:
Tender, loving, and gentle. It made Izuku’s heart pound loudly in his chest, and he wondered briefly, wildly, if Kacchan could hear it.
His own hands reached up, up, up: one resting hesitantly on Kacchan’s shoulder, the other going further, resting at the nape of his neck, Izuku’s fingers curled into Kacchan’s hair. He heard the quiet gasp, the melting under his touch, the soft pressure of Kacchan’s lips on his, increasing slightly.
Two petals, silky and soft and delicate, drinking in the nectar that was Izuku.
And Izuku had to blink back tears, because even though the first kiss was nothing like he expected, it was also everything that he wanted.
Soft and Sweet Artwork by kalcia
The second time Izuku kissed Kacchan, he was walking back to the lockers at the front of the school, about to change from his school shoes to his sneakers, when a hand reached out and wrapped around his wrist, tugging him behind the lockers, where no one would see them. Izuku opened his mouth, tried to speak, to protest, to say “Kacchan, no, wait, what are you…” but only his name squeaked out as Kacchan pressed him up against the back of the lockers and covered his lips with his.
The second kiss was all Kacchan: fire, heat, passion, and…
And longing.
“I’ve been thinking about this all day,” Kacchan rasped in between kisses. “I have to think about you, sitting behind me in class, and how I can’t turn around to see you, how I can’t do anything but dream about this moment, and fuck, it’s better than I thought it could be.”
“Kacchan,” Izuku murmured, but Kacchan was already kissing him again, already leeching out his lifeblood, until there would just be a puddle on the school corridor that had once been Midoriya Izuku.
Like before, Kacchan’s lips were soft, and pliant, but Kacchan kissed this time with the reckless abandon of a man who had gone too long without kisses—too long without kissing or being kissed—and Izuku swooned under the brusque way Kacchan took him there, behind the lockers, their lips locked in a heated battle, one that Izuku was only too glad to lose.
And then, nearly as soon as it started, it was over, and Kacchan was pulling away. His ruby-red eyes raked over Izuku’s body: from his hair, to his eyes, to his nose, down his torso, and back up to his lips.
Izuku shivered.
Kacchan stared at him, for one long, wonderful, terrible moment. Then, he turned, and left the locker area. Izuku heard the front door of the school clang a moment later, and he let out the breath he didn’t realize that he was holding. His hand reached up and clutched at his heart before he leaned back against the back of the metal row of lockers and sank down, all the way to the ground. He rested his forehead on his knees, and he sighed.
The third time Kacchan kissed him, Izuku had sworn to himself that he would be ready, but really, he wasn’t ready at all.
They’d been studying together in the library, reviewing some material for an upcoming English exam. Present Mic always liked to throw out random passages for them to translate, and since they were working on verb forms, Izuku had been worried that he would mess up the difference between present perfect and present perfect progressive.
He hadn’t meant to ask Kacchan to help him. Not really. He’d just been bemoaning to Uraraka that English was one of his weaker subjects— especially all the damn verb forms!—when Kacchan had come over (stalked, really; he’d been in a wretched mood that day), and said, “Meet me at the library at 7, nerd. We’ll sort out your verb forms then.” And then he’d shouted for Kirishima to follow him (which, Kirishima did ), leaving Izuku and Uraraka to simply gape at him as he’d loped away.
Seven o’clock came, and Izuku found Kacchan in the library, reviewing his English textbook and several English books that appeared to be novel-length. Kacchan scowled up at him. “Sit down,” he snarked, “and let’s get you to the point where you’re gonna kick ass on that quiz.”
Izuku had sat beside Kacchan, who was surprisingly a good teacher: patient, and precise, even if he did call Izuku “shitty nerd” through most of their study session.
At 9:00, Kacchan got to his feet, and yawned. “You did good, Izuku,” he said, and Izuku couldn’t help but blush under the praise. But then, Kacchan dropped his head low, and pressed a kiss into Izuku’s curly green locks. “See ya tomorrow,” he added, and shoved his books into his bag before lumbering away—back to the dorms, presumably, but Izuku couldn’t seem to get up and follow.
Because, once again, Kacchan had taken Izuku completely by surprise.
How did he keep managing to do that?
The fourth time, Izuku decided to take the initiative this time and be the one who kissed, instead of the one being kissed.
He waited until all their classmates had gone to bed. Kacchan was sitting at the table in the common room, finishing up some homework: one hand gripped a pencil, which scratched along his notebook page, while the other one tugged at his hair. He looked beyond frustrated, and a little voice told Izuku that now might not be the best time to approach Kacchan, but he also kind of didn’t care.
“The fuck you want, shitty nerd?” Yup, maybe this was not the best time to approach Kacchan. Izuku swallowed, and took a deep breath.
“I thought that…maybe you could use a break?” Izuku tried, sliding along the table’s edge, both wanting to get close to Kacchan and wanting to run away forever.
“Can’t.” Kacchan grunted. “You already finish Ectoplasm’s homework?”
“I—” Izuku wasn’t quite sure what to say. Technically , yes, he had already finished it. With a little help from Todoroki.
Okay, with a lot of help from Todoroki.
“Yeah,” he settled on, “I’m already done.”
Kacchan let out a huff of air. “Who helped you?”
“To—Todoroki-kun,” Izuku breathed.
Kacchan scoffed. “Fuckin’ figures. Then here,” he added, “show me how he solved this one for you.”
Izuku bent over Kacchan’s notebook. “Oh,” he said, “that’s easy. All you have to do is—”
Izuku gasped when strong hands gripped him by the waist, tugging him down onto Kacchan’s lap. His hands were more confident now than they were back then, that first time, and they held Izuku firmly as their eyes met.
“All you have to do is what, nerd?” Kacchan whispered. “What’s next?”
Izuku’s eyes grew wide. Was Kacchan…did he…
“Here,” Izuku said, pointing to his lips. “I think the answer is here.”
“Is it now?” Kacchan shot back, his voice hoarse. Izuku gulped, but nodded.
“Then,” Kacchan whispered, “I don’t think that Icy Hot was able to help you solve the equation.”
“Why…why not?” Izuku’s voice was no more than a breath; the air between them crackled.
“Because…” Kacchan’s voice was so deep it should have been illegal, “…I’m the only one who can find that answer.”
Izuku didn’t know what happened next—whether he made the first move or not—but in an instant, he was on Kacchan, his palms pressed to Kacchan’s cheeks, his lips devouring Kacchan’s mouth feverishly, desperately, hungrily. Izuku thought he heard a rumble from Kacchan’s chest, as Kacchan tightened his grip on Izuku’s waist and teased his tongue at the seam of Izuku’s lips, begging for entrance…
Which Izuku gave him, eagerly, willingly, lovingly.
The fifth time Izuku kissed Kacchan, they were lying in Kacchan’s bed, away from the potential prying eyes of their classmates (especially Kaminari, who seemed to have a sixth sense for such things). Izuku’s hands traced the delicate lines of Kacchan’s scars, of the ridges and valleys of his abs, of the gentle grooves of his lips.
They’d fought together, side-by-side, for three years, and now, with graduation looming, they would continue to fight, side-by-side, as sidekicks at Mirko’s agency. The hero had taken a liking to Kacchan, long ago during the war, and when she’d offered him a position at the agency, he agreed on one condition:
That Izuku be allowed to join him, too.
The agreement was set before the kisses, before the quiet words of love whispered in corridors, before the hands that reached out and found each other, ever so briefly, during training sessions, providing them with the comfort that no one else but each other could offer.
That’s how Izuku ended up in Kacchan’s bed, at first: nightmares that they could tell only to each other, fears of the dark, of the silence, that only they could understand.
How many nights before the first kiss had Izuku held Kacchan in his arms as he struggled to bring Kacchan out of his dream? How many nights had Izuku sobbed, mourning the past—all those lost, and injured: the days of a bright future, gone…
Or so Izuku had thought.
Because now, tonight, in Kacchan’s arms, with Kacchan’s body providing the warmth that Izuku so desperately needed, he was reminded of something he’d learned, long ago:
The future was not set in stone. It was always in flux, always shifting and always changing.
And now, for Izuku and Kacchan, the future belonged to them, and would continue to belong to them, for as long as they wanted it.
And oh, how Izuku wanted it, there, and now, and tomorrow, and the next day, and the next, and forever.
If it meant that he always got to stay by Kacchan’s side.
“You’re thinking stupid thoughts again, ‘Zuku,” Kacchan said lazily. And yes , there was the kiss on Izuku’s temple.
Izuku gasped. “I am not, Kacchan!” he exclaimed, scandalized. How could Kacchan…
“Tch,” Kacchan shot back, “definitely stupid thoughts.”
Izuku rolled over suddenly, so that his thighs straddled Kacchan’s hips. He enjoyed the flush spreading across Kacchan’s cheeks, and leaned forward to kiss each one, to kiss the embarrassment away. “Just thinking about you, Kacchan,” Izuku teased. “Such stupid thoughts.”
“You little—” Kacchan never got to finish that sentence, though, because Izuku’s lips were on his in seconds; their bodies flush, their lips met, and once again, Izuku was startled by the sheer softness of Kacchan’s lips, and by the tender way he kissed.
Izuku was sure: the love came, not from the pressure or the intensity of the kiss, but from the way Kacchan held him so tenderly; from the way that Kacchan allowed Izuku to set the pace with their kisses; from the way that he moaned, ever so softly, when Izuku pressed his tongue against the seam of Kacchan’s lips. Kacchan opened up eagerly for Izuku, whose body burned at the thought of being here, right now, with Kacchan. They were the only two in the room; they were the only two in the world.
Izuku knew, and Kacchan knew, that tomorrow, their lives would go on, and tomorrow, they would face another day: a day without people they cared about; a day filled with constant reminders of the worst time of their lives.
But it was also a day where Izuku would carry with him the memory of this night: of the way that Kacchan felt beneath him, both so strong and so vulnerable; of the way that Kacchan’s hands held him, so steady, but also, so tentative; of the way that Kacchan’s lips touched his, loving, and warm, and full of hope that tomorrow, and the next, and the next…
They would face the world, firm with the resolve that anything else that came their way…
They would handle it together.
The first time Izuku kissed Katsuki, it was under a canopy of red and white roses. He could feel the smoothness of Katsuki’s jaw, freshly shaved, as it brushed against his own. He could feel Katsuki’s lips, soft and supple, but no less fierce, as they pressed against his mouth. He could feel Katsuki’s hands, sliding around his waist, holding him close as Katsuki dipped him under the arbor, the sun shining through the vines and the flowers, the slim gold band Katsuki now wore catching on his suit jacket and making Izuku giggle.
”You think that’s funny?” Katsuki whispered, tightening his grip. His breath smelled of spearmint and whiskey. With anyone else, Izuku would have called them an old man, but for Katsuki, the smell fit him perfectly.
Izuku giggled and brushed their lips together. “Yeah,” he breathed, the smile huge on his face, even as he knew he was going to be in trouble for sassing Katsuki here and now, of all times and places. “We’re married now, Kacchan, and you’re really stuck with me, whether you like it or not.”
Katsuki growled, and yanked Izuku closer into a deep kiss, one that Izuku knew was not PG the moment Katsuki’s tongue pushed its way between Izuku’s lips.
“Get it, Bakugō!” Kirishima shouted, and Mina definitely was the one wolf-whistling as they made out.
Normally, Izuku wasn’t huge on PDA; he didn’t like drawing attention to himself, to them, in that way. He wanted to be able to live his life with Kacchan, free from the drama of their everyday lives, not wanting to add to the rumors and the speculations that the media had about their relationship.
But here, on his and Katsuki’s wedding day?
Here Izuku felt free to share his affections, to make them known, loud and clear and for everyone to see. He knew somewhere in the back of his mind that his mother, Katsuki’s parents, Aizawa-sensei, all the heroes they’d trained under and with, All Might…
They were all here. They were all watching.
Their earliest kisses had been in secret: behind school lockers, between library shelves, in the close quarters of dormitories well after curfew. In those days, so fresh after the war, Izuku had been afraid of bringing attention to himself, to Katsuki, to UA. He had simply wanted to exist, to go from one day to the next, to not think about the lives that had been lost and the people that he couldn’t save.
It was Kacchan’s kisses that helped bring him through the darkest days, because in every touch, every kiss, Izuku could tell that Katsuki was feeling the same regrets, the same remorse, the same desire to move forward in his life, towards the hopeful, brighter future.
That future was here, now, them. It was in their souls and their lungs and in the beating of their hearts. It was in the rhythm of the world, one that had been set and reset so many times over the years, most recently by Izuku and Katsuki themselves.
It was in the joy and the pain and the freedom to live one’s life openly and passionately, rumors and paparazzi and adoring fans be damned.
This was his life. Katsuki’s life. Their life.
And, as Izuku shared his first kiss with his new husband, there under the roses and the sunshine, he found that he didn’t really care who saw, who knew…
Because Izuku wanted them all to see that this was the life they had chosen, the life that they wanted to live.
Here, now, together. Forever.