Chapter 1: When Fire Meets Storm
Chapter Text
Izuku Midoriya didn’t grow up in Katsuki Bakugo’s shadow.
In fact, he didn’t grow up anywhere near Katsuki Bakugo at all.
Raised in the outskirts of Musutafu’s neighboring district, Izuku attended a local prep school before gaining entrance to Shiketsu High, a respected, prestigious institution that molded tacticians and disaster responders with poise. There, Izuku carved his path—loud and determined, confident and brilliant. His body couldn’t always keep up with his mind, and the moment he received One For All, everything changed into more intense life.
It was All Might himself who had scouted him, appearing at the edge of a collapsed train station during Izuku’s volunteer work. Impressed by the boy’s raw instincts and bleeding heart, the Symbol of Peace made a choice. One that would ripple through every fiber of Izuku’s future.
Training was brutal.
Mastering One For All in the halls of Shiketsu was isolating. He wasn’t coddled like the hopefuls in UA. He was expected to adapt, to strategize, to refine—because failure meant being left behind.
Izuku rose.
Quietly. Methodically. Until he became known as Storm Pulse, a rising storm of strength, speed, and surgical precision.
Hero Provisional Licensure Exam came.
That was the first time Izuku Midoriya met Bakugo Katsuki.
He was wind and pressure, crackling electricity humming in his muscles—focused. Then there was him: a wildfire with a temper for a fuse, tearing through the battlefield like it owed him something.
Bakugo was noise. Chaos. Raw, unchecked power exploding with every punch.
Izuku hated how interesting he was.
They didn’t speak. They didn’t need to. But the second their eyes locked, it was clear they’d be seeing each other again.
And they did.
Over the years, during joint internship missions, rescue operations, villain takedowns, hero summits, and finally, the war against All For One—they kept running into each other. Sometimes shoulder to shoulder. Sometimes face to face, fists clenched, barking orders.
Each time, they fought differently. Grew differently. But always left remembering how the other moved.
Izuku remembered how Katsuki never left a comrade behind, even when raging.
Katsuki remembered how Izuku was always bleeding from fighting too hard for people he barely knew.
They watched each other become legends.
By age 24, both held solid ground in the Top Ten Pro Heroes.
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Hero Pro Hero Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight: Rank 4. Blazing, brutal, the unstoppable force who never compromised.
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Hero Storm Pulse: Rank 7. Calculated, powerful, the eye of the hurricane hiding devastating strength within serene focus.
Their reputations couldn’t be more different.
They didn’t act like friends.
They didn’t send each other messages or hang out on weekends.
But when their agencies were assigned to a month-long joint mission—tracking down remnants of a villain drug syndicate—they moved like they'd trained together for years.
It was in the spaces between chaos that things shifted.
Bakugo broke bones and records with the same ferocity. Izuku commanded natural disasters with the precision of a surgeon—his modified Air Pressure Quirk had matured into full-blown storm manipulation, a terrifying combination of wind, lightning, and tactile force.
Even when they were assigned again in a month-long joint mission, they still didn't act close. But there, in the middle of high-speed chases and hostage negotiations, that they noticed changes in some things.
Their agencies needed coordination—some big cleanup with villains trafficking Quirk-boosting drugs. Dangerous, tense, violent.
The way Katsuki always stepped in front of him during ranged attacks.
The way Izuku always covered his blind spots without needing to be asked.
The way they moved, breathed, fit.
By the final week, Katsuki started calling him "Storm" instead of "Shiketsu."
Izuku started smirking when Katsuki exploded things just a bit more dramatically than necessary.
Their conversations got less strategic and more personal.
Late nights going over plans. Silent meals after operations. Bandaging each other without speaking. The way Izuku’s fingers lingered just a little too long on Katsuki’s wrist. The way Katsuki’s hand hovered over the small of Izuku’s back, guiding him wordlessly through thick crowds.
And one night, after a long mission where the rain hadn’t stopped falling and Izuku’s arms were still trembling from exertion—he looked at Katsuki.
Eyes calm. Mouth curled in a confident, almost cocky grin.
Izuku turned to him and asked him out.
With no hesitation.
No stutter.
Just a confident smile and those bright, unshakable eyes.
“Hey, Dynamight. Wanna go out with me?”
Katsuki’s face barely changed.
A slow smirk stretched across his lips like a fuse catching flame.
“I was fucking thinking the same thing, Stormy,” he said.
That night, they kissed like they’d done it a thousand times.
They shoved each other against the nearest wall.
They devoured each other.
No nervous laughs. No soft fumbling.
Just heat.
Tongues and teeth and gasps swallowed beneath the weight of adrenaline and years of knowing-but-not-knowing. They didn’t go home that night.
Now five months in, their relationship was still wrapped in secrecy and smoldering heat.
No public declarations.
No labels.
Just two men in their prime, deeply obsessed with each other.
They rarely went on normal dates. The little time they had between missions?
They spent it in each other’s houses.
In hotel rooms.
Backstage at hero conferences with locked doors.
Pressing each other into walls, floors, mattresses, any surface that could hold their weight.
Katsuki loved how Izuku grabbed him by the collar and yanked him into a kiss like he needed it to breathe.
Izuku loved how Katsuki’s hands never stayed still—rough fingers mapping every scar, every sensitive spot, every tremble he tried to suppress.
They didn’t talk about labels.
Didn’t call each other "boyfriend."
Their language was touch, bite, moan.
They didn’t talk about the future.
But Katsuki had a spare toothbrush in his bathroom now.
Izuku had a drawer full of Dynamight’s t-shirts.
They slept together, limbs tangled and foreheads pressed, the scent of ozone and smoke always lingering between them.
It wasn’t love.
Not yet.
But whatever it was—it was addictive.
And it was only getting deeper.
Chapter 2: Stormy Nights
Chapter Text
The apartment smelled like grilled meat, citrus, and sex.
It was a surprisingly clean space—especially for someone like Katsuki Bakugo, known for detonating things first and asking questions never. His high-rise condo unit sat just above the city skyline, a sweeping view of Musutafu glowing under the mid-morning light. Floor-to-ceiling windows, matte black accents, and a kitchen that actually looked used.
Izuku Midoriya lounged across the dark leather couch like he owned the place.
He was barefoot. Naked underneath the crumpled black Dynamight shirt that hung loose on his shoulders and draped halfway down his thighs. His legs were sprawled out, one knee bent high on the cushions, the other hanging lazily off the edge. His skin bore marks—reddish bruises, light crescent-shaped teeth marks, and faint prints of fingers that had gripped too tightly the night before.
He didn’t care.
If anything, he wore them like medals.
In his hand: Katsuki’s phone, screen glowing. He scrolled leisurely, green eyes narrowing and flicking across rows of images with a smirk that curled at the corner of his lips.
“You got a folder for this,” he said aloud, almost to himself, thumbing through shots of himself tangled in rumpled sheets, skin flushed, mouth open in pleasure, and Katsuki’s cock buried in him from various angles.
"Stormy Nights? Really?"
From the kitchen, Katsuki barked back without looking, “You asked me to name it something. Don’t start now.”
Izuku snorted.
“I asked you to organize it, not title it like a fucking mixtape.”
The spatula clattered against the side of the pan. Katsuki glanced over his shoulder, frowning at the sight of his lover practically spread open on his couch, legs bare, skin peeking from under the shirt that was absolutely not enough to cover what needed covering. His eyes flicked down, then up again, unbothered and unashamed, because the sight was familiar and tempting all at once.
“Oi, don't flash the city,” he muttered, scooping grilled pineapple from the pan onto a plate next to seared ham and scrambled eggs. “If they had a zoom lens across from here, they'd get a full eyeful of that ass.”
“Wouldn't be the first time someone got off watching me.” Izuku stretched like a cat, then kicked his foot up in the air, giggling softly. “They should be thanking you, really. You’re the artist behind the piece.”
Katsuki rolled his eyes, grabbing two forks before stalking back over.
Izuku was still staring at the screen when he sat beside him. Katsuki clicked his tongue and pulled the phone down with two fingers, lowering it until their eyes met.
“Don’t scroll through that shit while I’m feeding you,” he muttered, tone flat but not quite annoyed. “You got my dick and fruit in your mouth at the same time? I don’t even know which one you’re moaning for.”
Izuku’s grin widened devilishly.
“I’m comparing,” he said with faux innocence. “Trying to remember which one tasted sweeter, the pineapple or your cock.”
Katsuki deadpanned.
“The pineapple. It’s got sugar. Mine’s just yours. Raw.”
Izuku laughed—full belly laughter, his shoulders shaking as he let his head fall back against the couch.
“God, Kacchan,” he gasped, “you’re so fucking gross.”
“You’re the one talking about flavors.”
Katsuki shoved a forkful of ham into Izuku’s mouth mid-laugh. He chewed obediently, eyes still dancing with amusement. Katsuki leaned a little closer, just enough to brush his shoulder.
“Eat properly,” he grumbled.
“Mmm. Okay, daddy,” Izuku said around his mouthful, teasing.
Katsuki groaned, letting his head fall back in exaggerated frustration.
“You’re fucking lucky you’re cute.”
Izuku just smiled, leaned over with food still half in his mouth, and pressed a kiss to Katsuki’s jaw, then lower—to his lips.
Katsuki immediately tried to pull back.
“Oi—that’s disgusting. Swallow first, damn nerd.”
Izuku chuckled into his mouth and kissed him anyway, humming as if to say deal with it.
Katsuki pulled away after a second, wiping his mouth.
“You’re a menace. You won’t kiss me when you’ve got toothpaste foam, but you’ll stick scrambled eggs in my mouth like it’s foreplay.”
Izuku bit back another laugh and stretched again, finally setting the phone aside on the coffee table.
“We literally taste each other’s cum almost every night. And you’re gonna act grossed out by shared breakfast?”
Katsuki glared.
“Yeah, cause I cook that. The other one’s—y’know what, never mind.”
Izuku leaned against him then, head resting on his shoulder, fork idly taken from Katsuki’s hand so he could feed himself.
“Kacchan,” he mumbled between bites, “I don’t have work today.”
Katsuki raised a brow.
“You sure? Thought your ass was on a full agency rotation this week.”
“Nah. I just need to drop by the old man’s place for some OFA synchronization bullshit. Probably thirty minutes tops. Then I go back home.”
There was a long silence.
Then Katsuki, without looking up from his plate, said, casually:
“After that, get your ass back here.”
Izuku blinked up at him.
Katsuki went on, voice low and rough like his first explosion of the day was just starting to brew.
“Wait for me. I only got patrol this afternoon. I’ll cook dinner.”
Izuku blinked again—then smiled so softly it nearly melted the corners of his smart-ass grin.
“Mm,” he murmured, “domestic Kacchan’s kinda hot.”
Katsuki didn’t respond.
Instead, he took another piece of pineapple and shoved it between Izuku’s lips.
Izuku giggled and chewed, humming a little song as he did.
“Feed me more,” he said sweetly. “Then we can shower. Then have sex again.”
Katsuki finally looked down at him, studying the ridiculous sparkle in his eyes. That messy hair, the bare thighs, the smirk that never seemed to leave his stupid face when they were alone like this.
He muttered, “You’re going to kill me.”
Izuku leaned up and whispered into his ear, hot breath curling around the shell, “I plan to.”
The water steamed around them like a curtain, mist curling through the sleek black tiles of Katsuki's bathroom. It was spacious, all stone and matte silver, the kind of shower with enough room to wrestle a villain or, more often, for Katsuki to pin Izuku against the wall and sink into him with no one hearing a thing beyond the pounding of water.
Izuku’s back hit the tile with a wet slap, mouth half open, breath already coming fast as Katsuki’s hands gripped his thighs and hitched them up again around his waist. The slickness of the water, the drag of skin-on-skin, the stretch of being filled—it was overwhelming in the best way.
Katsuki groaned low in his throat, forehead pressed against Izuku’s as he bottomed out again, deep and hard, the angle made easy by how the water coated every inch of their bodies.
Izuku grinned through a gasp.
“Your face gets so intense in the shower,” he murmured, voice light despite the pressure inside him. “Like you’re about to blow up the whole city if I don't moan loud enough.”
Katsuki thrust in again, slow and hard, making Izuku jolt up the wall a little.
“Shut up,” he growled.
Izuku laughed, the sound breathless and warm.
“Seriously, if your phone weren’t at risk of water damage, I bet you'd already have a whole new folder by now. Stormy Shower Sessions, maybe.”
Katsuki didn't even hesitate.
“Phone's waterproof.”
Izuku blinked.
“What?”
Another thrust, harder this time, and Katsuki leaned in, teeth grazing Izuku’s ear.
“Just like it better in here. You’re easier to slip into when we’re soaking wet. No lube. No mess. Don’t even have to clean the bed after.”
Izuku burst out laughing—laughing while being pounded into the shower wall.
“You’re such a damn clean freak,” he wheezed, fingers digging into Katsuki’s shoulder blades. “You only fuck me here because of laundry avoidance?”
“Part of it,” Katsuki grunted, dragging back only to slam into him again. “The rest’s because I like how you sound when it echoes.”
“Then deeper, Kacchan,” Izuku whispered, voice husky and sweet all at once. “Make it echo louder.”
And Katsuki obliged—lifting him higher, locking their hips flush, and driving into him with such steady rhythm that Izuku couldn’t form full thoughts anymore. His laughter melted into gasps, water clinging to their skin like it didn’t want to leave either.
They didn’t last long. They rarely did when it got like this—heated, filthy, intimate in ways they never fully addressed. When Izuku came, back arching off the wall, Katsuki followed soon after, biting into his shoulder to muffle his own groan as he emptied himself deep inside.
After their intense sex in the bathroom, Izuku couldn’t walk straight.
He stumbled out of the bathroom with water still dripping down his legs, one hand on the wall, the other attempting to pull down the hem of Katsuki’s shirt that was still the only thing covering him.
Katsuki sighed like a man whose patience had just expired.
“You’re gonna slip and crack your skull, dumbass,” he muttered, grabbing a towel and stalking over. Before Izuku could protest, he was swept up—bridal style, no less—and carried straight to the bed.
Izuku grinned the whole way.
“You love doing this,” he teased. “Carrying me like I’m your blushing bride after ruining me.”
“I love not cleaning up blood off the floor,” Katsuki grumbled.
He sat Izuku down carefully, helped him into fresh underwear and sweatpants, then knelt behind him with a dry towel and started rubbing his hair in rough circles.
“Gentler,” Izuku pouted. “You’re not buffing a car.”
“Stop whining.”
Izuku hummed, leaned back slightly—then reached up, grabbed Katsuki by the back of the neck, and pulled him forward into a kiss.
At first, Katsuki resisted, grumbling something unintelligible into his mouth. But then he melted into it, one hand bracing the side of Izuku’s face, the other resting gently against his stomach. The kiss deepened—lips parting, breaths shared, tongues slow and unhurried.
When they pulled apart, Izuku was grinning again. Eyes sparkling like he held all the power in the world.
“You know,” he said, voice smug, “I got good taste. Choosing to date someone this hot and this much of a simp? No regrets.”
Katsuki narrowed his eyes.
“I’m gonna throw you out the window.”
Izuku just laughed harder, leaning forward to rest his forehead against Katsuki’s.
“You’re fucking annoying,” Katsuki muttered, standing up.
“And you’re still here,” Izuku shot back, eyes closed, content.
Once Izuku was dressed and no longer at risk of collapsing, Katsuki handed him his backpack, now neatly packed with his hero gear.
“Go,” Katsuki said, pressing a kiss to his hairline as if it was no big deal. “You’ve got OFA babysitting.”
Izuku smiled.
“You’re jealous of All Might.”
“I’m jealous of time you’re not spending naked in my bed.”
Izuku laughed, tossed his bag over his shoulder, and stood at the doorway, barefoot for now, just staring at him for a beat.
“I’ll come back,” he said, quiet now. “After training.”
“You better,” Katsuki said. “You know the passcode.”
Izuku raised his thumb.
“See you later, Kacchan.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
The door closed behind him, and quiet filled the apartment.
Katsuki sighed. Ran a hand through his hair. Then turned to the dishes in the sink, the wet towels on the floor, and the scent of soap and sex still lingering in the air.
He liked it more than he should.
And as he pulled on his uniform, fixing his gauntlets, adjusting his gloves, he thought—not for the first time—
Do we like each other? Or is it just lust?
But then again, Izuku kissed like he meant it.
Laughed like he trusted him.
And Katsuki hadn’t deleted a single picture from Stormy Nights.
So maybe he didn’t need the answer yet.
Maybe having Izuku—loud, messy, teasing, and beautiful—was enough.
For now.
Chapter 3: Softest Trigger
Chapter Text
The training grounds were quiet this morning—at least, for now. A steady breeze rustled the trees lining the edge of the facility while birds chirped lazily overhead, as if even they were taking their time to enjoy the calm.
Izuku Midoriya stood at the center of it all, hair tousled from the wind, chest rising with soft, rhythmic breaths. His arms, already glistening with sweat, trembled slightly as he lowered himself from the last push-up of his warm-up set.
All Might had been watching quietly from the sidelines, a water bottle in one hand and a towel slung over his shoulder. This version of him—the small, thin frame he had no choice but to live in now—still radiated presence, but it was the watchful warmth in his eyes today that made Izuku speak up, during one of their rare breaks.
"Sensei," Izuku said, towel now covering the back of his neck as he plopped beside All Might on the bench. His fingers tugged gently at the hem of Katsuki’s hoodie he borrowed earlier this morning. "What kind of student was Kacchan to you?"
All Might blinked.
"Kacchan?"
"Sorry," Izuku chuckled, adjusting his tone. "Bakugo Katsuki. Dynamight."
The silence that followed was curious—not heavy, not light, just charged. All Might's brows raised slightly, the corner of his mouth twitching with something caught between surprise and fondness.
"My, that's a sudden question," he mused. "He was… intense. Explosive in more ways than one. Focused. Angry, at times—but determined to a fault. There was always something raw under his skin, like he had something to prove to the world."
Izuku listened with rapt attention, a fond smirk playing on his lips.
“Sounds about right.”
All Might turned to him.
“Why the sudden curiosity, my boy?”
Izuku stretched his legs out, the tips of his shoes brushing the ground.
“I’m dating your student, sensei.”
All Might dropped his water bottle. It thudded to the ground with an anticlimactic roll.
“D-Dating?” he blinked at him, flustered. “Wait—I thought young Bakugo liked—was close to—uh… young Kirishima?”
Izuku froze.
Every muscle in his body stiffened like he had just been struck.
“...Who’s that?”
It wasn’t the question itself that was dangerous—it was the way he asked it. Sharp. Cold. Laced with a flicker of something possessive and threatened. His eyes didn’t glow with his usual golden crackle of power, but they darkened slightly, pulling All Might into the thick weight of his emotions.
All Might raised both hands gently.
“Ah—perhaps I misunderstood. It’s not uncommon to have close friendships that look different from the outside. Kirishima and Bakugo were… battle partners. That’s all.”
Izuku didn’t say anything. He nodded slowly and turned his eyes forward.
“Congrats,” All Might offered, trying to shift the mood back. “He’s… something else.”
“I know,” Izuku murmured.
They didn’t speak much after that.
But when training resumed, Izuku wasn’t the same.
The wind picked up again and this time caught in the vortex of his growing power as he shot through the training field, leaping from platform to platform. His fingers curled into fists, his arms snapping forward with purpose. But his thoughts spiraled behind his eyes.
Kacchan and Kirishima, huh?
He didn’t want to care. He knew the past was the past. Katsuki never hid anything from him, never made him feel second. And yet…
Why did I never ask? Why did I just assume there wasn’t someone else before me? Or someone he might’ve wanted?
Every muscle tightened, channeled into his strikes. One For All crackled louder now, flaring as he launched forward and smashed a mock target into shards. The echo of the crash sounded too close to thunder.
All Might noticed.
“Midoriya—ease up. Control.”
But Izuku’s thoughts wouldn’t listen.
He never looked at Kirishima the way he looks at me… right?
His mind betrayed him with flashes—how Katsuki kissed him this morning with food still in his mouth. The way he carried him out of the bathroom, hands firm, expression full of exasperated affection. The way he dressed him, dried his hair, kissed him back even after whining. The way Katsuki looked when he said, "Wait for me. I’ll cook dinner."
He had no right to be jealous. No reason. He was the one who had Katsuki now.
But jealousy wasn’t logical.
With a grunt, Izuku activated Full Cowling at higher percentage. His speed picked up, blur-like, as he created afterimages across the field.
I didn’t fall in love with him because he was the coolest. I fell because I couldn’t not love him anymore.
He remembered the first time he asked Katsuki to date him. How the words had slipped from his mouth unfiltered, raw—his emotions too big to hold in. He remembered the panic in his chest when he expected rejection and instead got a flustered, stubborn "I was fucking thinking the same thing, Stormy".
He remembered how Katsuki held him.
He’s not just a lover. He’s my home. My pulse. My chaos and my calm. But I don’t know what I am to him sometimes…
He launched upward, flipped, and punched downward. The force cracked the earth beneath. Smoke and dust billowed outward.
All Might shielded his face with his arm.
When the dust cleared, Izuku stood in the crater—panting, eyes burning with something deeper than just physical exhaustion.
“…Midoriya,” All Might said quietly. “You’re feeling too much. You need to talk, not break yourself.”
Izuku looked up. His smile was crooked, exhausted. But honest.
“I know,” he said. “I just… I'm sorry, sensei. I think I love him this much. More than I thought I could. More than I thought was even okay.”
All Might walked toward him and rested a hand on his shoulder. “That kind of love,” he said, “is always a little terrifying.”
Izuku laughed under his breath, wiping his face.
“Terrifying’s one word for it.”
They stood in silence again.
But this time, Izuku’s heart beat with clarity.
He didn’t care who Katsuki liked before. He only cared about now. And when Katsuki held him, when he kissed him like he was oxygen, now was all that mattered.
He’d go home after this. Not just because he wanted to. Because he needed to.
Katsuki was waiting.
And Izuku would be damned if he let anything shake that.
The streets of Musutafu buzzed like usual during patrol hours—civilians milling about, the odd villain-sighting handled before alarms could even sound, and pro heroes weaving through the grid with practiced ease.
Katsuki Bakugo, Hero: Great Explosion Murder Dynamight, moved like a storm held in check. Sharp eyes, steady strides, boots heavy on concrete. His presence alone cleared paths. It wasn’t fear. It was respect—the kind carved out of explosive precision and unrelenting victories.
Patrol was routine today. No real threats, just visibility and checks.
Then he turned a corner—and heard a familiar voice, bright and too fucking cheerful for the noise around them.
“Bakugo!”
Katsuki didn’t even flinch.
There he was: Kirishima Eijirou, Hero: Red Riot, in full gear but mask tugged down to reveal his ever-grinning face. His red hair was tied back into a loose knot, sweat still glistening from what must’ve been his own patrol.
Katsuki grunted, nodding without slowing down.
Kirishima jogged up beside him, as if it were normal to latch onto Dynamight mid-patrol.
“Man, haven’t seen you in person since that joint mission two months ago,” he said, bouncing on his heels. “You just vanish after work lately.”
Katsuki didn’t respond. He kept walking, eyes scanning the sidewalk, one hand resting lazily against the detonator at his gauntlet—habitual, defensive, automatic.
Kirishima didn’t seem to mind. He rarely did.
“Dude, my last mission was intense. Some underground Boost dealer got ahold of a quirk multiplier and hardened up like a boulder with rocket fists.” He laughed, ruffling the back of his neck. “Took me and two sidekicks to subdue him. Bet you would've crushed him in like, five seconds.”
Katsuki side-eyed him.
“Maybe three.”
Kirishima grinned.
“See? Still got it.”
They reached the edge of a plaza and paused. Katsuki gave a short nod to a nearby officer, scanning his patrol map.
Kirishima tilted his head.
“So. You got any plans after this? Grabbing dinner somewhere? Drinks?”
Katsuki shrugged.
“Going home. What else.”
“Alone?” Kirishima asked with a raised brow. “Man, I’m off tomorrow. C’mon, hang out a bit. You used to tolerate me at least once a week.”
“Tolerate,” Katsuki repeated, unimpressed.
Kirishima laughed.
“You’re such an ass, man. You haven’t gone drinking with me in months. The old Dynamight would’ve at least caved for a late-night snack and a beer.”
“Yeah, well,” Katsuki muttered, checking his comms, “Old Dynamight’s busy.”
Kirishima crossed his arms.
“Busy every night?”
There was a beat of silence.
Then, Kirishima leaned in, grinning knowingly.
“What, you seeing someone now or something? Is that why you never wanna hang out?”
Katsuki didn’t answer.
Kirishima blinked, straightening.
“Wait. Seriously? You’re dating someone?”
Katsuki’s lips parted, ready to bark something, but just then—
Bzzt.
His phone buzzed inside the lining of his gauntlet.
He tapped it without thinking, glancing at the preview.
And then froze.
There it was. A picture.
From: Izuku Midoriya.
Hero: Storm Pulse.
Currently: Naked in front of Katsuki’s bathroom mirror.
The lighting was artful—sunlight streaming from the half-drawn blinds. Izuku’s skin still bore faint marks from their morning shower sex, droplets of water clinging to his collarbones, one leg bent slightly to show just enough without showing everything. The caption below:
“Still warm from your hands. Come home fast, Kacchan.”
“Yo, who’s that?” Kirishima leaned in slightly, trying to glimpse the screen.
Katsuki snapped the phone shut with a sharp movement, shoving it back into the inner lining of his gear.
“None of your business,” he said curtly, voice now tight.
Kirishima raised both hands in surrender.
“Hey, hey—relax. Didn’t mean to pry.”
Katsuki turned away, jaw clenched. His pace doubled without warning.
“I’ve got another sector to check,” he growled over his shoulder. “You should finish yours before flirting with the clock.”
“Rude,” Kirishima called after him, still chuckling. “But fine. See you around, man. Don’t forget us when you're too busy getting laid every night.”
Katsuki didn’t reply. He didn’t even look back.
His thoughts were already spiraling.
Kacchan.
Come home fast.
He could still see the photo—every detail burned into his brain. Izuku was waiting. Still naked, probably lying on his bed with one of Katsuki’s hoodies pulled halfway over his hips, humming some stupid tune while playing with his phone.
Katsuki’s entire body was coiled with tension, like he was going to explode if this patrol didn’t end soon.
Fuck.
He rubbed the back of his neck, resisting the urge to grin like a lovesick idiot in the middle of the street. He hated that Izuku had this effect on him. Hated how easily he dropped everything at the slightest sign of him.
And still…
He checked the time. Only two hours left.
Then he could go home.
To him.
To them.
Whatever the fuck that was.
Whatever the fuck they were becoming.
Katsuki exhaled, steam curling from his breath as if his body had to vent it somehow.
Then he leapt into the air with a blast—back to patrol, back to motion, closer to where he wanted to be.
Chapter 4: No Room for Two
Chapter Text
The door clicked softly, and Katsuki stepped inside, toeing off his boots in practiced silence. He barely had time to lift his head when the faint scent of sweet cream and peppermint hit his nose—Izuku’s favorite ice cream lately. He raised a brow and padded further into the room, muscles still buzzing from the tension of patrol and the unsatisfied urgency that picture had stirred in him earlier.
There, sitting cross-legged on the couch, with one of Katsuki’s oversized sleep shirts hanging loosely off his shoulders, was Izuku Midoriya. The green-eyed storm in Katsuki’s life. He was calmly eating ice cream straight from the tub, the television playing muted news in the background, the room bathed in a warm, golden light. He looked like trouble wrapped in domestic softness.
“You're dressed,” Katsuki mumbled as he neared, a frown ghosting across his face. “You were naked earlier.”
Izuku smirked, not even glancing at him.
“It’s cold.”
His voice was casual, teasing—but the spark in his eyes said otherwise.
Katsuki tsked and let himself lean, arms lazily wrapping around Izuku’s shoulders from behind as he crouched beside the couch. He nuzzled against Izuku’s cheek, burying his nose at the crook of his neck. He exhaled slowly, kissing the line of his jaw and nipping at his earlobe, letting his hands drift under the shirt to stroke warm skin.
“You’re such a damn tease,” he muttered against his skin.
Izuku giggled, twitching slightly at the tickle of rough fingertips on his back.
“You promised to cook dinner before we could have sex again, remember?”
Katsuki groaned.
“You’d remember that part.”
Reluctantly, he pulled away and walked off toward the bathroom, his shirt ruffled from crouching, hair slightly damp from the summer humidity. He didn’t look back—though the low hum in his chest threatened to drag him right back to the couch and kiss that smug look off Izuku’s face.
Once the door shut behind him, Izuku’s smile dropped.
His jaw clenched subtly.
He turned toward the television where muted visuals played:
Pro Hero Dynamight seen with Red Riot on evening patrol—saved a civilian from a collapsing scaffold moments after the pair was seen chatting at the west sector.
The camera footage blurred slightly, catching Katsuki’s serious expression as he bolted toward danger. But what annoyed Izuku wasn’t the act—it was the commentary.
—interesting to see the close coordination between these two heroes, considering their long-standing friendship. Red Riot, seen following Dynamight before the heroic rescue—
Izuku rolled his eyes, clicking his tongue.
“Why does it matter who was with him before he saved someone?”
He hated that little voice that had crept in ever since All Might's slip-up earlier:
"I thought young Bakugo liked young Kirishima."
The coincidence irritated him. The footage, the mention, the timing—it all fed that gnawing pit in his stomach.
Izuku stood and walked toward the full-length mirror by the corner. He tugged Katsuki’s shirt slightly tighter around him, staring at his own reflection—hair tousled, cheeks a little flushed from waiting, lips still tasting the faint chill of mint from the ice cream.
“I’m still a storm,” he murmured, half to himself, half to the shadow of doubt clawing in his chest. “A storm to the fire Katsuki has. No hardening man is stealing him from me.”
He smirked, tilting his head.
“I sent him a picture of me. Came running back here.”
Just as he turned, the bathroom door swung open.
Katsuki emerged shirtless, towel draped over his neck, hair slightly damp from the rinse he took to cool himself off. His golden skin glistened faintly in the light, muscles taut and defined from the recent tension of duty. His eyes met Izuku’s—and whatever smirk Izuku had sharpened turned immediately bright again.
“Oh, screw it,” Izuku said.
He bounded across the room, launching himself at Katsuki, who caught him with a low grunt, one arm wrapping firmly around Izuku’s thighs, the other against his back for balance.
“You said I should cook first,” Katsuki reminded, breath ghosting over Izuku’s cheek as he adjusted the weight of the other in his arms.
Izuku just grinned, his breath warm against Katsuki’s jaw.
“Change of mind. I need an appetizer.”
He kissed him—deep and slow and greedy—fingers tangling in Katsuki’s hair, tugging lightly as if to pull him closer, always closer. Katsuki growled into the kiss, pressing Izuku against the nearest wall, lips trailing down to the edge of his jaw, his neck, then up again.
Their breaths came faster, hungrier, skin against skin, warmth pooling between them like fire ready to ignite. Katsuki’s hands roamed under the shirt he owned but felt utterly possessed by Izuku now. Izuku’s mouth parted with a soft moan as his back pressed to the cool wall, contrast stinging and electrifying.
“Appetizer, huh?” Katsuki whispered against his lips, voice rough.
Izuku smiled lazily.
“Main course later. Just make sure dessert is extra.”
And with that, the storm took the fire again—no hardening hero in the world stood a chance.
“You’re trouble,” Katsuki muttered into Izuku’s neck, his voice low and rough.
Izuku only smiled, brushing his fingers through Katsuki’s ash-blond hair.
“You love trouble.”
Katsuki snorted, then let his eyes linger on Izuku’s face—open, bright, but hiding something under the curve of his smile. He knew that look. Izuku’s mind had been wandering somewhere deeper before he came out of the bathroom.
But he didn’t ask, not now. He would always choose to hold Izuku first, especially when his arms were the only thing that could bring that guarded smile back.
They stumbled gently onto the couch, Katsuki lowering Izuku down onto the cushions without breaking the kiss. Izuku's legs tightened around his waist, the fabric of Katsuki’s sweats catching on Izuku’s bare calves. Neither of them cared. The room was dim, lit only by the flickering of the TV still showing the muted news channel in the background.
Their kisses turned deeper, slower, each one laced with the kind of hunger that wasn't just about need—but longing.
It wasn’t frantic.
Not like their first nights of rediscovering each other. This one was quiet, drawn-out, as though each brush of skin was memorizing the other again.
Katsuki’s hands moved under Izuku’s shirt—his shirt—exploring the dips and curves of familiar muscles and fading scars. He pushed it up slowly, watching Izuku’s face as he did, until the soft cotton bunched at his chest. Then, with a smirk of his own, Katsuki leaned down and kissed a long line down Izuku’s stomach.
Izuku gasped softly, breath hitching when Katsuki dragged his teeth along a sensitive spot just above his waistband.
“You really were planning this, weren’t you?”
Katsuki murmured against his skin.
Izuku’s laugh was breathless.
“Guilty.”
They shed the layers between them slowly, like a quiet unraveling of restraint. Touch by touch, they expressed everything that words didn’t dare to name yet—uncertainty, possessiveness, love. The tension Izuku had been hiding—the irritation sparked by Kirishima’s name, the insecurities awakened by that offhand comment from All Might—melted under the grounding heat of Katsuki’s presence.
Katsuki kissed every part of him like it was an answer. Like he knew Izuku’s doubts before they could be spoken.
And when they moved together on the couch, the world outside ceased to matter. It was just them again—Storm Pulse and Dynamight, Izuku and Katsuki, two boys who used to yell and bleed for dreams that no one believed in. Now men, clinging to each other in the quiet between their battles.
The city still pulsed outside. The news still rolled. The past still whispered.
But in this space—between labored breaths and whispered names—there was only now.
And when it was over, when their bodies tangled into one mess of flushed skin and soft sighs, Katsuki tucked Izuku close against his chest. No jokes. No teasing. Just the steady beat of his heart echoing against Izuku’s cheek.
“…I’m making soba,” Katsuki said at last, his voice husky.
Izuku smiled against his skin.
“I’m not moving for ten minutes.”
“You’ll be starving in five.”
“I’ll still blame you.”
“Good. Then I’ll feed you like a damn king.”
Izuku chuckled softly and closed his eyes, letting the warmth of Katsuki and the comfort of their space soak deep into his bones.
Tonight, whatever ghosts were lingering from the past could wait.
Because Katsuki was his. Still. Always.
And no name on a news ticker would ever change that.
Chapter 5: Sparks and Shadows
Chapter Text
The dinner table was filled with the comforting aroma of grilled miso salmon, rice, and stir-fried vegetables, Katsuki’s way of grounding their chaotic intimacy with something solid. Izuku was seated across from him, shirt slightly tugged loose from earlier, cheeks still warm with the lingering heat of their living room rendezvous.
“You really outdid yourself,” Izuku hummed, taking a bite with a pleased sigh. “Mm, the seasoning’s perfect. You always make rice taste better than mine. What is it? Love? Is this the flavor of Mr. Great Explosion Murder Dynamight's love~?”
Katsuki, mouth full, didn’t bother hiding the dry look he shot across the table.
“You’re such a dumbass.”
Izuku chuckled through a spoonful of rice.
“Your dumbass.”
He leaned forward, grinning wickedly.
“You know, with that kind of performance earlier, I wouldn’t mind having you for dinner too. Again.”
Katsuki rolled his eyes.
“You literally did. That’s why your ass was almost sliding off the couch.”
Izuku snorted loudly, laughing so hard he had to wipe tears from the corner of his eyes.
“Touché! But you can’t blame me, Kacchan. Your hands? Those kisses? The way you lift me like I weigh nothing? It’s criminal. I’m a victim, really.”
“You’re a menace,” Katsuki muttered, taking another bite, pretending not to be affected, but the slight curve at the corner of his lips betrayed him. He was used to this now—Izuku’s sweet-talking, cheeky compliments, shameless flirtation—and damn if it didn’t make his heart feel full every time.
When dinner was over, Izuku stood up, stretching with a playful groan.
“I’ll do the dishes tonight. You cooked.”
Katsuki gave him a pointed look.
“You sure you won’t drop everything again when I so much as breathe behind you?”
Izuku winked.
“Try me.”
Never one to back down from a challenge, Katsuki stood and lazily walked up behind him at the sink. His arms wrapped around Izuku’s waist without warning. His chin rested on Izuku’s shoulder.
“Fine. Let’s see how long you last then.”
“Kacchan—” Izuku’s breath hitched slightly when those strong hands pressed against his abdomen, fingertips slowly stroking light patterns across the curve of his stomach. Katsuki’s lips brushed against his nape, featherlight. Then a kiss. Then another—slow, deliberate, dragging warmth along his spine.
“You always start with the teasing,” Katsuki whispered against his skin. “You forget how easy it is for me to shut you up.”
Izuku's smug expression softened into a flustered grin, ears tinged red.
“Shut up,” he muttered, weakly elbowing him. But he didn’t move an inch. He melted under Katsuki’s touch despite himself.
That was the thing with Katsuki—Izuku might be the flirty one, the bold one, but once Katsuki wanted to take the lead with that calm intensity, he crumbled without a fight.
Katsuki didn’t stop. His hands moved in slow circles while his lips traced up to Izuku’s ear, pressing a kiss there before murmuring, “Take your time. I’ll wait.”
It was both a tease and a promise. Izuku’s heart thumped hard in his chest.
When the dishes were done and water was turned off, Izuku turned in Katsuki’s arms, hands lazily looping around his lover’s neck.
“I don’t wanna wait anymore,” he said, eyes lidded. “Let’s go upstairs.”
Katsuki raised an eyebrow. “I thought you still want a dessert.”
“You are the dessert. Upstairs. In your bed. Served hot and messy.”
Katsuki huffed a laugh, already leaning in to steal a kiss.
“You’re such a damn brat.”
“And you love it.”
“I do.”
In one swift motion, Katsuki hooked his arms beneath Izuku’s thighs and lifted him onto the kitchen counter. Izuku gasped, laughing as their lips met again, messily this time, tongues brushing as hands tangled in hair and shirts. He tugged at Katsuki’s hair, letting his fingers slide along the nape and scratch gently, earning a growl from Katsuki’s throat.
“Izuku,” he muttered between kisses, voice growing hoarse and hungry, “you’re really pushin’ it.”
Izuku just smirked, wrapping his arms tighter around his lover.
“Good.”
That was all Katsuki needed.
Without letting go, he lifted Izuku into his arms again. Izuku instinctively wrapped his legs around him, arms locked behind Katsuki’s neck as he was carried through the hall. Their kisses turned slower, deeper, the kind that made Katsuki's chest ache in a good way. Each step up the stairs felt heavier with tension, the air between them electric and warm.
“Your wish is my command,” Katsuki murmured when they reached the bedroom door.
Izuku bit his lip, eyes dark with want.
“Then take your sweet time, Kacchan. I want to feel everything.”
Katsuki kicked the door open, their bodies pressed tight together, and stepped into their bedroom, ready to do just that.
The next morning, sunlight bled through the gauzy curtains, casting a soft golden warmth across Katsuki’s toned back as he stirred. The bed was large, unmade, and far too quiet. There was no soft breathing beside him, no flirty whisper, no arm carelessly sprawled across his chest.
His eyes opened slowly, lashes blinking against the soft morning glare.
"...Tch."
Katsuki turned and met nothing but a cold, crumpled side of the bed. He dragged a hand through his messy blond hair, ruffling it into further disarray as he sat up, stretching slightly. Then he saw it—folded neatly on the nightstand was a note in a familiar rounded handwriting.
“Patrol duty today! I’ll call you after. Don’t miss me too much. ;)
Katsuki let out a long exhale that was almost a sigh. He took the note, let his gaze linger on it, then crumpled it with a grunt and tossed it over his shoulder with no real aim.
“Damn tease,” he muttered.
He stood up, walking barefoot toward the window and pushing the curtain aside to look down over the bustling city. Heroes already patrolled, the streets alive with morning chatter and traffic.
But to him? The apartment just felt… empty.
It wasn’t always like this.
Sometimes Izuku would still be wrapped around him come morning, hair messy, lips bruised, mumbling drowsy flirtations before crawling atop Katsuki for a lazy round two. But lately, Izuku had been elusive in the mornings. Quicker to leave. Duty calls and all that.
Still, the space beside him was always cold when he woke up without him, and it was getting harder not to notice.
“Why the hell not live together already?” he mumbled, brushing a hand across his jaw. “We basically act like damn newlyweds half the time anyway.”
He had asked—once. Just a casual, “Move in with me already, dumbass.”
Izuku only laughed, kissed his cheek, and said, “And lose the thrill of missing you, Kacchan? No way. We might end up quitting hero work and just fucking all day.”
Katsuki did laugh at the time, and yeah, maybe he agreed. He liked their independence, the constant push and pull, the need to chase each other still. But on mornings like this, when Izuku was gone before the sun finished rising, it left something inside him hollow.
Still rubbing the sleep from his eyes, Katsuki walked over to the kitchen and flicked on the news screen embedded into the wall panel while he prepped his coffee.
The first flash of video caught his attention immediately.
It was him.
Storm Pulse—Midoriya Izuku—blazed across the screen with his signature white and black hero coat trailing behind him. His green curls whipped in the air, electricity crackling around him like a crown, as clouds thickened above. OFA shimmered violently across his limbs while arcs of storm power surged with every strike.
Katsuki’s brows furrowed as he leaned in.
The villain—a brute who thought it was smart to rob three banks and throw public trains off their schedule—was now coughing blood against the pavement. The scene paused on Izuku's smirk, lips curled devilishly, eyes bright with adrenaline and righteous power.
“Fucking show-off,” Katsuki muttered into his mug—but a smirk tugged on his lips too. He leaned on the counter, admiring that fierce, untouchable energy. The crowd behind the camera screamed his name in unison.
Storm Pulse had risen fast. Too fast. And he was proud of his lover. But the itch in Katsuki’s knuckles to fight him, to test their sparks against one another, remained strong.
He had asked more than once. “Let’s spar.”
But every time Izuku chuckled and kissed him instead, replying with that damn smug tone,
“I might just let you win if the prize is sex, babe.”
Katsuki clicked his tongue. “Seriously? Is that all you think you're good for?”
The problem was… Katsuki still didn’t have an answer to that himself.
Meanwhile…
The storm had cleared.
Izuku stood atop the building where the recent fight ended, brushing dust off his gloves as he glanced at his vibrating communicator. His schedule flashed an invitation request:
“Joint mission request from: Red Riot Agency
Duration: 3 days
Location: Yokohama border area
Confirm / Decline”
He was already raising his hand to press “Decline” when he paused.
His mind flashed—All Might’s words from last week’s charity event, said with a strange warmth and tension:
“You and Red Riot, huh? Reminds me of me and Bakugo back in the day. Two fiery souls.”
Izuku’s jaw twitched.
Red Riot?
He never paid much attention to Bakugo’s best friend—Kirishima Eijirou. But if All Might thought that there was something similar between them, then he wanted to see for himself what kind of bond those two shared.
He tapped “Confirm” and smirked as he muttered, “Let’s see if the so-called ‘brotherhood’ is as pure as everyone says.”
Later that afternoon, Izuku arrived at the joint base station in full gear, the shadows of the building casting deep angles on his face. A few agents bustled around, but his eyes searched for the familiar red hair.
“Ah! Storm Pulse!” a cheerful voice called out.
Izuku turned.
There he was—Kirishima, tall and broad, waving enthusiastically as he approached.
“It’s such an honor to finally work with you! I’ve seen your footage, and man—you’re amazing. I’m really looking forward to this mission together!”
Izuku smiled. The press-ready one. Bright and polite.
“Of course. I’m excited too,” he replied smoothly.
But as Kirishima turned to guide him to the briefing room, Izuku’s eyes narrowed, smile falling the moment his back was turned.
Face isn’t even that good compared to mine, he thought, nose scrunching. Tch.
Three days of working with him.
Let’s see what kind of man might have made Kacchan laugh.
Let’s see what made him stay by Kacchan’s side for years.
And let’s see if I’ll still feel this calm if I ever watch them stand next to each other again.
Because jealousy?
Jealousy was something Storm Pulse wore well.
Chapter 6: Tactical Error
Chapter Text
The sun had barely risen over the city skyline when the agency’s conference room filled with murmurs and rustling reports. This mission was a joint effort between four top-ranking agencies, requiring the collaboration of at least eight pro-heroes — among them were Red Riot and Storm Pulse, assigned to lead separate units during the raid. The threat was an underground trafficking operation of dangerous support items linked to villain cells. It required careful coordination and strategy, not just brute strength.
Storm Pulse — known in public life as Izuku Midoriya — arrived early, fully suited up and focused. His thick green curls were tamed under the edge of his reinforced hooded suit, the Shiketsu colors subtly mixed with his signature design. His arms crossed over the mission layout displayed digitally on the table, green eyes tracking every movement and strategy plan with unnerving sharpness. His presence was intense but professional — a man who wore his title of Top 7 hero with purpose.
Their unit leader began assigning duties and opening the floor for additional insight. Izuku, after receiving the unit's operational framework, adjusted some weak points, offered alternative pathways, and even managed to suggest efficient exit routes for hostage retrieval without stepping on any toes. The leader — a senior hero from the Orion Agency — nodded with approval and even asked for Izuku’s thoughts on the proposed stealth-entry segment.
“We’ll have to consider the quirk suppression radius from this sector here,”
Izuku said, pointing at the third quadrant.
“It’s not visible on the standard heat scan, but if the enemy has nullification gadgets similar to what the black market’s been shipping through Kyushu, we’re going to need counters set ahead of time. I suggest splitting infiltration to flank them from the southwest while a secondary team delays them from the main eastern hall.”
“Brilliant,” the leader said. “I’ll green-light the split approach. Pulse, since you’re already managing Zone 3, assign your partner for point defense.”
Izuku looked across the room, where Red Riot stood, arms at his side. Kirishima grinned and nodded.
“Maybe it’s a good thing for us to try coordination, huh?”
There was a beat of silence. Then, Izuku turned, narrowing his gaze at him.
“This isn’t the time for a try-and-error coordinator, Red Riot.” His voice was firm. “If you’re really going to stand beside me, make sure you learn what you need to do before the scene starts. On-field improvisation costs lives.”
Kirishima blinked, taken aback for a second — it wasn’t the words, but the tone. Sharp. Unforgiving. But it wasn’t anger, he realized. It was pressure — the kind of pressure someone carried when people’s lives depended on how sharp their blade was. Storm Pulse, as intimidating and no-nonsense as he was during briefings, wasn’t cruel — he was exacting.
The redhead lowered his head and gave a sincere nod.
“You’re right. Sorry. I won’t mess around. I’ll focus.”
Izuku didn’t miss a beat. He gave a single nod, accepting the apology, before continuing the strategy discussion as if nothing happened. He circled back to the mission layout, encouraging other team members to voice concerns or offer intel. Storm Pulse’s presence somehow commanded clarity. He wasn’t just a fighter — he was a tactician, and the others quickly fell in line with his flow.
When the meeting wrapped up, Kirishima caught up with him as they walked through the corridor toward the agency’s temporary base.
“Hey, Pulse,” he began, rubbing the back of his neck. “Just wanted to say again — sorry if I sounded too casual back there. I guess I’m just used to keeping things light when I’m nervous.”
Izuku didn’t stop walking. His tone remained polite but distant.
“It’s fine. This is our first time working together. Maybe I surprised you with how I handle things too.”
He paused, his boots clicking sharply against the concrete floor before he turned slightly over his shoulder, his eyes calm but challenging.
“We still have twenty-four hours before deployment. Want to train with me? So we can avoid that try-and-error situation.”
Kirishima blinked.
“Oh—uh. Yeah! Hell yeah!” His grin was genuine again. “Let’s see how we click.”
“Good.” Izuku glanced at the nearby training room. “Let’s go.”
They went to the training facility that was modified swiftly. Izuku taking the liberty to design a simulation with various obstacles — crumbling platforms, dynamic barriers, flying drones, and environmental hazards. The goal? Reach the control zone together while neutralizing threats and maintaining field formation.
Red Riot watched the setup with eager eyes, stretching his arms and checking his gear.
“Don’t worry about me, Pulse. I’ve got stamina like you wouldn’t believe.”
Izuku smirked, walking ahead of him until he stood on the edge of the zone. The quiet hum of energy began to crackle around him — faint green lightning starting to rise and swirl around his figure.
“Stamina, huh?” His voice lilted with amusement. “Show me how much you can reserve before the mission.”
Kirishima barely had a moment to react before Izuku vanished from his sight with a loud BOOM, propelling himself into the first obstacle with a sharp turn that obliterated two drones in the air.
“Holy crap—!”
Red Riot launched himself into the fray, dodging low-hanging wires and debris. Storm Pulse moved like a current — agile, seamless, and unpredictable. But what caught Kirishima’s attention the most wasn’t just the speed or power — it was the precision. Izuku checked every angle, left room for Kirishima to maneuver, and threw him a support cable when a collapsing panel gave way under him.
Their quirks might not naturally synchronize, but Izuku clearly knew how to adjust his style for the person beside him. He let Red Riot take lead in close-range bursts, while he cleared the higher threat zones from behind.
Midway through, the obstacle course switched to a hand-to-hand spar session.
Izuku took off his gloves, cracks of green energy licking his fingers.
“One minute spar. Come at me with your hardest hit.”
Kirishima grinned, hardening fully.
“Now you’re talking my language!”
The clash was loud.
Kirishima charged, landed a few blows, but Izuku danced around him, redirecting force rather than countering head-on. He was toying, studying, evaluating. After the match, both were panting — Kirishima sweating, his hardened arms slightly chipped, while Izuku barely looked ruffled.
Storm Pulse offered him a water bottle.
“You did better than I expected.”
Kirishima groaned, flopping to the mat.
“You’re brutal.”
“I’m just thorough,” Izuku said with a smile. “You’ll do fine tomorrow. Just stay sharp. And if I say fall back, don’t argue.”
Red Riot nodded solemnly.
“Got it. Thanks for the training, Pulse.”
Izuku walked away, green crackles still whispering around his arms.
“Don’t thank me yet. Let’s survive the mission first.”
The next day, the mission had started smoothly—predictably even.
Just as they planned.
Storm Pulse, sharp and precise, carved paths through the chaos with gusts of wind-embedded energy. Red Riot moved with grit, guarding flanks and using his hardened body to shield civilians in the immediate vicinity. For the first few minutes, Izuku had the perfect rhythm with the field. He even thought, Maybe, just maybe, I can pull this off without snapping today.
But it all came crashing down.
He was mid-air, about to lunge at a villain attempting to scale the abandoned building's wall. Wind was roaring at his fingertips, OFA coursing through his bones like lightning—and then it happened.
A sharp, sickly scent of blood hit his nose.
Red Riot yelled out—not for himself, but, “Storm Pulse! You’re bleeding!”
In that one second of hesitation, Izuku’s attack faltered.
He still launched it, but with the trajectory off, it cracked sideways into a signpost, sending him tumbling through the air. He landed roughly—too roughly—and his head clipped the edge of the fire escape before bouncing against the ground. A hard metallic clang echoed through the alley as his body hit the pavement.
Stars burst in his vision. Dizziness hit him like a drunk punch, and for a moment, all he heard was his own ragged breathing. Somewhere behind the fog, he registered Kirishima calling his name—but it only pissed him off more.
He gritted his teeth, groaning, and rolled over with a hiss.
“Shit,” he spat, dragging himself upright with trembling fingers.
Blood was sticking to his temple, warm and slow, and his vision blurred again when he blinked too hard.
Still, the villain was bolting for the alley's far end.
“RUN AFTER HIM, YOU IDIOT!” Izuku snarled. His voice cracked sharp and unforgiving. “You’re not a f*cking nurse, you’re a HERO! Go!”
Red Riot hesitated. Of course he did.
Izuku flicked his wrist, firing off a concentrated Air Force shot just wide of the fleeing villain to startle him back toward the ambush set earlier. He grit his teeth again as his body lurched from the effort, and he barked into his comms,
“Lock down all east exit paths—target moving into sector C2!”
Pain throbbed behind his eyes like a drumbeat, and when he stood again, his legs barely held him. He could still taste iron on his tongue.
If I could just kill annoying people… Red Riot would be six feet under by now.
He forced himself to breathe—slow, tight, and controlled.
He would not let Kirishima ruin his mission or his composure.
Later, back at base, the post-mission debrief dragged longer than it should have, mostly because Izuku kept it professional in front of the agency reps. But the moment they were dismissed, he grabbed Kirishima by the collar and yanked him down a hallway. The redhead barely had time to process before he was slammed against the wall in a deserted corner of the corridor.
Then—
SLAP.
It wasn’t full force, but it was enough to make Red Riot’s head snap sideways.
“You didn’t even try to harden your face,” Izuku said, a thin, bitter smirk playing on his lips. “What? Guilty?”
Kirishima blinked, stunned.
“I-I… I just—Storm Pulse, I couldn’t leave you like that! You were bleeding while using OFA, and we were briefed that if something goes wrong in your body mid-use—”
“I know what I’m doing,” Izuku hissed. “We trained. Our coordination during the last simulation was solid. One goddamn scratch and you abandon position?!”
He stepped in closer, eyes glowing faintly with residual storm-light.
“What if my misfired attack injured civilians? What if your hesitation got someone killed? You trained with Dynamight, didn’t you? Where were you during their intense drills and drills about priority ranking and field awareness?! Did you learn nothing?!”
Kirishima winced, guilt spreading through his features.
“I’m sorry. I just— I was worried. I couldn’t think straight.”
Izuku sucked in a deep breath and let it out slowly, forcing his hands down. The adrenaline was fading. His headache was not.
“…Sorry for snapping,” he said after a long pause. “I’ll talk to the supervisors. Try to reframe the incident to lessen the consequence.”
“I don’t need you to—”
Izuku’s smile was sudden and sweet—but something behind it was fake and icy.
“Oh, I know you don’t. But I still need you, Red Riot. You mess up again, they’ll ban you from working missions with me.”
He leaned in slightly, voice low.
“And that can’t happen. Because I still need to teach you a lot of things.”
Red Riot blinked. “…You mean like teamwork?”
Izuku didn’t answer.
He gave a soft laugh, waved over his shoulder, and walked off.
Teamwork?
No.
He didn’t care about training Kirishima. He just wanted to keep an eye on him. There was something about the way he tried to protect him—too earnestly. Like he had something to prove.
Tch, Izuku hissed internally.
There’s no fcking way Kacchan liked that guy. No fcking way.
The moment the door closed behind him, Izuku threw his gloves onto the floor and staggered into the bathroom of his hotel room.
He stripped his bloodstained top off and stared at himself in the mirror, scowling at the red streak down his temple and the blooming bruise on his ribs. His head was pounding like a war drum. He grabbed the antiseptic, biting his lip to keep from groaning when the sting hit. Bandaged his head with practiced hands. Tied up his waist with compression wrap.
When he finally walked out of the bathroom, shirtless, sore, and pissed off, he threw himself on the bed with a growl.
He reached for his phone, stared at the camera.
Then threw it aside.
No sexy pictures tonight. His body was bruised. Bandaged. Nothing Katsuki would find attractive.
Perfect, he thought, bitterly.
Just the first day of this three-day mission and I already look like I lost a bar fight.
And worse—Red Riot was proving to be a bigger liability than he thought. Not a partner, not even backup.
Just useless.
An overgrown golden retriever with a savior complex and a barely-there brain when things got tense.
“Ugh,” he groaned, rolling over and punching the pillow.
He refused to let Kirishima f*ck this up. Not his mission. Not his image. Not his thoughts about Katsuki. Not Katsuki and Kirishima’s past.
It doesn’t matter. It’s not worth it.
Two more days. Just two more days of working professional.
He wasn’t going to think about Kacchan and what he saw in that man.
Not when his blood boiled so hot just hearing Red Riot’s voice.
He was going to survive this mission. With or without the deadweight.
Chapter 7: Not His Storm
Chapter Text
Red Riot didn’t sleep much.
Not because of guilt—at least, not only because of that. Guilt had settled into his muscles and nerves since Izuku slapped him the day before and told him, point blank, that he could’ve endangered civilians. It was the sting in those eyes, not the slap, that haunted him. Storm Pulse had been right, completely right. But that wasn’t what made it hard to sleep.
It was the shame of being less. Of being slower, more emotional, more reactionary. Of letting concern override training. He’d spent years trying to overcome that. Years fighting to stand beside the strongest, even if he wasn’t as flashy. And yet, in front of Storm Pulse, he faltered on day one.
But today would be different.
From the moment the sun began peeking past the curtain lines of their temporary quarters, Kirishima had his focus narrowed and sharp. He replayed their mission plan in his head, memorized the shifting roles Storm Pulse mapped out, and went over every gesture Izuku gave during yesterday's operation.
Every hand flick, every eye shift, every muttered call to his inner system—that cryptic AI-assisted support he still couldn’t fully understand—meant something. Kirishima swore he’d understand it all. Not just to avoid being scolded again. But because he wanted to deserve Storm Pulse's trust.
Their mission on the second day was tighter, riskier, and far more coordinated. The area was more open, an abandoned industrial yard with twisted metal and scattered cranes offering both obstacles and tactical advantages. Izuku, now wrapped under his high-collared storm jacket, looked like a damn force of nature walking into the chaos.
Calm.
Deadly.
Cool green eyes flickering with focus, his voice as crisp as the wind that always seemed to follow him.
"Red Riot," Izuku called before their operation began, not looking back. His tone was flat. Cold. “Don’t overthink. Don’t hesitate. If I tell you to jump, you jump. If I don’t say anything—still jump. Got it?”
Kirishima stiffened, heart pounding.
“Got it.”
No warmth. No smile. But Izuku didn’t slap him this time.
He gave instructions. Clear. Measured.
That meant he hadn’t given up.
The moment they launched into action, Kirishima felt the difference. Storm Pulse moved like liquid lightning—arcs of pressure exploding from his feet when he sprinted, bolts of condensed wind pressure pushing enemies into position, followed by whip-fast mobility to trap them with smokescreens of compressed mist.
Kirishima didn’t need to ask why anymore. He just moved.
He anticipated the angles Izuku would take, providing cover without getting in the way. He used his hardening not to defend Izuku blindly—but to support pressure points Storm Pulse couldn’t cover while simultaneously catching any villain slipping out of his storm traps.
Izuku didn’t look back once.
Because he didn’t need to.
And Kirishima felt it—that quiet click of cooperation finally settling into place.
When the operation wrapped without any major incident. A few minor injuries on both sides, but manageable. The villains apprehended, the hostages secured. Red Riot was bruised, scraped, but fine. Storm Pulse, ever the storm incarnate, stood tall, breathing steady.
Izuku didn’t give him a full smile. But as Kirishima stood beside him while the medics scanned for vitals, Izuku reached out once—just once—and tapped his shoulder.
No words.
But Red Riot understood.
"Thanks!" he called out after Izuku, who was already walking off. “I’ll do better again tomorrow!”
He didn’t get a reply, but he didn’t need one.
And when he looked up again, watching the retreating back of the man who once defeated the world's strongest quirk only to remake himself into something… refined and terrifying and disciplined, something that seemed to float just out of reach—Kirishima couldn’t stop the stupid smile tugging on his lips.
Storm Pulse’s hair clung damply to his jawline from the exertion, strands falling over the bandaged cut on his forehead. His waist was wrapped tightly from yesterday’s impact, though it barely slowed him down. That storm jacket of his moved like living armor, weighted yet graceful, brushing behind his legs like a cape.
Shit, Kirishima thought, eyes widening as heat flooded up his neck.
He’s so damn hot.
He slapped a hand over his face to muffle a low groan. He could feel his cheeks burning, practically steaming.
That’s Storm Pulse, he scolded himself. That’s your superior. Your co-hero. The man who called you useless yesterday.
But instead of resentment, his heart just thudded faster.
Izuku Midoriya—Storm Pulse—was a paradox.
He wasn’t like a hero everyone knew, soft and breakable and sweet. That part of him had melted under years of pressure and been reforged into someone Kirishima didn’t even think could exist.
He was precision.
Fire through frost.
Brutally efficient.
And every time he barked a command, every time he landed after a spin-kick powered by air force and created a crater in the ground, Kirishima swore his lungs forgot how to work.
Think about something else, Ei, he begged himself. Think about training or maybe how to survive another slap from him tomorrow.
But nothing helped.
The image of Izuku—standing with one foot on top of a subdued villain, hair fluttering in the wind, arms crossed with those damn gloved fingers tapping judgmentally—was burned into his skull.
And Storm Pulse had no idea the chaos he was causing.
Kirishima groaned again and smacked his cheeks. He needed a damn ice bath.
Or therapy.
Or both.
The third day unfolded like a different battlefield—faster, heavier, sharper. The cityscape was darker, rain-damp from the earlier drizzle, and the mission was classified as high-risk: multiple escapees from Tartarus had rebanded under a new villainous leader. The heroes deployed were among the finest.
Kirishima Eijirou was no longer unsure of his footing.
He cracked his knuckles, shoulders loose, mind sharp, and heart surprisingly calm as he landed beside Storm Pulse in the abandoned financial district. He remembered what the older heroes used to say:
“You don’t rise up in battle. You fall to your training.” So he followed.
Every step Storm Pulse made, every gesture, every glance—it was a silent language now. And Red Riot, quick to learn and loyal to a fault, adapted swiftly.
Unlike Day 1, where he lagged, or Day 2, where he caught up, Day 3 was synergy.
Their quirks synced in perfect tandem.
When Izuku raised a gust barrier to stop flying debris, Kirishima charged forward, his hardening creating a path through the explosion.
When a villain tried to sneak up behind Red Riot, Izuku didn’t even shout a warning—he flicked his wrist and sent a bolt of condensed plasma into the wall behind them, ricocheting to knock the assailant unconscious.
It was art.
And Red Riot could only marvel at how naturally it happened—no spoken plan, just battle rhythm.
Storm Pulse wasn’t a loud leader. He didn’t bark commands or demand results. He simply was, and the world adjusted.
Kirishima could see it now: why Storm Pulse was ranked No. 7.
Why even Endeavor looked at him with a mix of caution and pride.
Why heroes fell silent when he walked into a room.
It wasn’t just power.
It was balance.
It was refinement.
It was Izuku Midoriya, the man who defeated All for One and made the weight of OFA his own.
They fought through the hordes with increasing tempo, Red Riot keeping up, building walls, blocking blows, and launching enemies into Izuku’s traps and counterattacks. They saved civilians—every last one. Izuku even redirected an entire collapsing parking structure using a combined wind-and-force vector through his palms, buying enough time for rescue units to arrive.
Then the final confrontation.
The leader was waiting, enhanced, smug, twisted. He had taunted them as they arrived, calling heroes glorified mascots and Storm Pulse an "OFA clown who got lucky."
Red Riot had been ready to lunge, but Storm Pulse raised a hand.
“No quirks,” he murmured coldly.
And then he attacked.
Izuku didn’t need Storm.
He didn’t need OFA.
He just used his fists.
He closed the distance, dodged the first blast, and socked the man in the stomach. Then in the ribs. Then the jaw. One hit. Another. Then another. The villain screamed. Then gurgled. Then fell silent as punch after punch landed with raw, brutal accuracy.
Red Riot flinched as he watched Izuku knuckles split from the sheer force.
"Storm Pulse!" he shouted, rushing forward. "He's done. He’s not moving anymore!"
Izuku didn’t stop.
Kirishima grabbed his arm. “Enough.”
The look Izuku gave him was blank.
Detached.
Dangerous.
For a split second, Red Riot saw something terrifying in those eyes—like looking into the heart of a thunderstorm. But then Izuku tsked, annoyed, and yanked his hand away.
"You're still annoyingly soft until the end, Red Riot."
Then he turned and walked off, gloves soaked, back straight, not looking back.
Kirishima stood there, stunned. That back—it didn’t carry regret.
It carried purpose.
Still, Red Riot clenched a fist over his chest.
"Stop it," he whispered to his heart. "That’s too much fantasy. He’s your idol, not your dream."
With the mission wrapped and the criminals detained, the group of heroes returned to the agency base to debrief and clean up. The support staff prepared a celebratory meal in the common room: hot bowls of beef stew, rice, tea, and grilled fish. Everyone was relaxed now. The tension had bled off, leaving only camaraderie and the thrum of accomplishment in the air.
“Storm Pulse!” one of the younger heroes called. “Come join us!”
But Izuku was already stepping out through the glass doors, holding his phone to his ear, waving vaguely behind him.
“I have a call to make.”
“Again?” someone whispered. “Man, he always slips out. Who’s he calling?”
Kirishima followed, not even hiding his curiosity this time. Something tugged at him—something aching and unspoken.
He stopped just short of the balcony, peering through the open slit of the door.
And there he was.
Storm Pulse.
Glowing.
Not literally—but close.
He had taken his hero jacket off, letting the breeze flutter his shirt. His cheeks were pink, his smile soft, the edge of laughter curling his lips. He leaned on the rail, phone pressed to his ear like a teenager in love.
“Yeah, I’m done here,” Izuku giggled quietly. “No injuries. Just some bruised knuckles.”
Pause. Then his expression shifted into an adorable pout.
“But why not? I don’t want to stay here and drink miso with them. I wanna come home.”
Another pause, then a bright laugh.
“You didn’t miss me? Really?”
His shoulders bounced. It looked like he got the answer he wanted.
Then, so sweetly it made Kirishima freeze—he whispered:
“See you soon, Kacchan.”
And that name—Kacchan?
Kirishima blinked.
Kacchan.
Kacchan??
His brain raced.
He'd never heard that name before.
Never heard Storm Pulse call anyone with such familiarity and joy. Whoever it was—they were special. Important. Loved.
The man who fought like a machine just hours ago was now radiant. Warm. Pure softness. And completely taken.
Kirishima backed away from the balcony quietly, heart sinking.
He chuckled bitterly.
“Of course,” he muttered. “Of course someone like him can be already in love.”
The fantasy shattered, and all that was left was respect—and something that stung quietly in the corners of his chest.
“Damn,” he whispered, rubbing the back of his neck. “He’s not just strong. He’s...human.”
And somehow, that made Storm Pulse even more unreachable.
Chapter 8: Midnight Bruises
Chapter Text
Izuku zipped the last compartment of his bag, eyes glinting with a mischievous plan. He moved swiftly but silently, every motion calculated and practiced, like a spy sneaking past enemy lines. With his hood up and his green overnight duffel slung across his shoulder, he looked more like a high-class thief than a top-ranking pro hero.
He slipped out of his room and made it to the hotel elevator with ease, even humming lightly under his breath. But just as the elevator doors were about to close, a loud "WAIT!!" echoed down the hallway.
Izuku’s eyes widened, thumb scrambling to press the open button again—too late.
THUMP!
The doors bounced open slightly and a familiar redhead stumbled forward, hand to his chest, dramatically winded from running.
“...Seriously?”
Izuku blinked, trying not to laugh.
Kirishima let out a sheepish chuckle, rubbing the back of his head as he stepped inside.
“Ow. Man. That timing... I almost ate the door.”
Izuku tilted his head, amused.
“What’s wrong, Red Riot? Late-night cardio?”
“Nah,” Kirishima panted, brushing back his hair. “I saw you leaving with all your luggage and got a little curious. Thought you were gonna join the afterparty with the rest of the team.”
The elevator doors closed gently behind them as Izuku gave him a look.
“You should’ve just stayed and rested if you're planning to drink more later. Why follow me?”
“I guess I just got surprised seeing Storm Pulse going somewhere alone,” Kirishima admitted, awkwardly shifting his weight. “Are you that excited to go back home?”
Izuku offered a coy smile.
“You could say that.”
Silence fell between them for a moment, only the soft hum of the elevator accompanying them. Then, Kirishima straightened his back and bowed deeply.
“Thank you again,” he said, voice sincere. “For letting me work with you this week… despite all the mess-ups.”
Izuku blinked. Then chuckled, a short amused sound escaping his lips.
“Is this your way of fishing for compliments, Red Riot? On your third day?” he teased.
“Wha—No! I mean—” Kirishima stumbled, before laughing nervously. “Okay, maybe a little?”
Izuku leaned casually against the elevator wall.
“Well, not bad. You’re passionate, focused, a little too loud sometimes, but you don’t give up. Glad I got to work with you. I had fun. Learned a lot of things too.”
Kirishima’s ears perked up.
“Yeah? Like what?”
Izuku’s smile turned teasing.
“Something kind of… interesting about you.”
“Is that a good thing?”
“You can think however you want.”
Izuku grinned as the elevator chimed.
“Have a nice trip back tomorrow. I’m off.”
He stepped out with ease, waving over his shoulder as Kirishima called out a quick goodbye. The doors slowly closed on the redhead, who sighed and muttered to himself, “Being close to Pulse is dangerous… for the heart.”
Outside, Izuku tucked himself into the backseat of his private car, setting his luggage down and letting the engine purr to life. The city lights painted golden streaks across his face as he leaned back and whispered to himself with a snort, “That guy’s too pure. Still like a high school hero.”
His smile slowly softened.
"No way he's a rival. Kacchan would never date someone like that."
Without even thinking twice, he tapped on his phone and hit the call button. The car Bluetooth connected instantly, and the name “Kacchan 🧨💚” lit up the dashboard screen.
It rang once.
Then twice.
Then—
“...What?”
Izuku laughed.
“Kacchan~! Did I wake you up?”
Katsuki's voice was thick with sleep and irritation.
“It’s almost ten, dumbass. Why the hell are you calling? Aren’t you still with your team?”
“I was,” Izuku said proudly. “I’m on my way now. Told you I’d sneak out.”
“You could’ve just waited until tomorrow,” Katsuki muttered, a little grumbly now. “I’m sleeping.”
Izuku pouted dramatically, as if Katsuki could see it.
“Come on, I already promised I’d move out of this boring hotel once I found the perfect timing. And besides…” He paused, lips curling. “I kinda wanna see you before the day ends.”
There was a long, tired sigh on the other end.
“Where are you going, then? Your place?”
Izuku hesitated, then asked, voice soft and hopeful, “Can I go straight to yours?”
Katsuki groaned like he already knew what this meant.
“Just live with me, dumbass.”
Izuku burst into laughter.
“No!”
“Still a no?”
“Nooo,” Izuku sang out. “I’ll just go there to rest. I’ll go home tomorrow. We still need our own places for now, remember? Until I’m satisfied with how much you miss me.”
Katsuki grunted.
“I told you I don’t need to say it.”
“You never say it!” Izuku whined. “You gotta show me that longing, babe. How else would I know if your desire for me is deep enough to keep me?”
There was no reply.
“Kacchan?” Izuku asked again, blinking.
Still no reply.
He peeked at the screen.
Call in progress.
He smiled to himself.
The silence wasn’t a hang-up—it was Katsuki letting the phone stay on.
Izuku leaned back against the leather seat, his smile growing as he hummed a soft melody under his breath. A gentle tune that drifted in the quiet of the car, filling the space between them across the line. He knew Katsuki was listening. Just waiting. Not hanging up.
Not even pretending to.
“Kacchan,” Izuku whispered softly into the speaker. “I’m coming home.”
The car turned a corner, headlights glowing on the pavement ahead. His heart beat a little faster, knowing whose door he’d be standing at in less than an hour.
And even if Katsuki wouldn’t say it, the silence on the line was more than enough.
It was a kind of waiting that said: I missed you too.
The door to Katsuki’s penthouse clicked open with a soft chime. Izuku stepped in, exhaling a long breath as he slipped out of his boots. His body still ached from the accumulated strain of the three-day mission, but it was dull now, nothing sharp or unbearable. The quiet hum of the apartment wrapped around him like a blanket, familiar and comforting.
He walked in slowly, his eyes scanning the room—and there he was.
Katsuki was on the couch, sitting upright with his arms crossed over his chest, head tilted slightly down. Fast asleep.
Izuku couldn’t help the small smile tugging at his lips. Even in sleep, Katsuki looked tense, stubborn as ever—shoulders stiff, brow faintly furrowed. As if he fell asleep in the middle of waiting for something. Or someone.
Soft footsteps padded closer. Izuku came behind him, leaned down, and gently wrapped his arms around Katsuki’s shoulders from behind. He pressed a lingering kiss to the corner of his jaw, just below his cheekbone.
“Tell me you miss me, please,” he whispered, amused.
Katsuki stirred with a small grunt, eyes cracking open. His gaze met Izuku’s sleepy green ones. But instead of a smirk or teasing reply, his face shifted into something else entirely—focused concern.
“I don’t have any scar on my face,” Izuku said with a soft grin, brushing his own cheek playfully. “Still pretty for you.”
Katsuki didn’t laugh.
He lifted one hand slowly and flicked Izuku’s forehead—not hard, but not light either.
“I can see a bruise here,” he muttered. “Where’d you bump? When? Did it bleed?”
Izuku groaned, rolling his eyes.
“Someone messed up on the first day and I caught a hit to the head. It bled, yeah, but it’s fine now. Doesn’t even sting anymore.”
Katsuki’s eyes narrowed, scanning him like a human MRI.
“How about your body?” he asked, tone calm but edged. “ For someone obsess on showing off his body, you missed three days of flexing those muscles at me. You hurt somewhere else?”
Izuku, already regretting walking in so proudly, tried to slowly back away.
“No, I’m—”
But Katsuki was already pulling him closer with one firm tug on his arm, making Izuku stumble a bit and collapse lightly against his side. There was no escape. Izuku huffed, hiding his face in Katsuki’s shoulder.
“Deku,” Katsuki said again, this time softer but insistent. “What happened? Show me.”
Izuku tilted his head to peek up at him, lower lip caught between his teeth like a kid about to be scolded.
Katsuki sighed, then unwrapped his arms just enough to guide Izuku in front of him. Still holding one of his hands, he tugged him closer until Izuku had no choice but to sit on his lap, straddling Katsuki’s thighs, their faces now just a breath apart.
“…You really don’t let up,” Izuku muttered under his breath.
“Not when it comes to you, idiot,” Katsuki replied without missing a beat.
With a quiet sigh, Izuku finally slid off his jacket. Then, slowly, he lifted the edge of his shirt, exposing the pale skin of his torso wrapped neatly in bandages. There were some faint red smears where the wound had reopened slightly during movement—nothing life-threatening, but enough to make Katsuki’s eyes darken with quiet fury.
“You got injured during your first day,” he said tightly, voice low. “And still fought through your second and third? Are you a fucking masochist?”
Izuku winced slightly, but not from pain.
“I didn’t have a choice. I already started things on day one. It would’ve been worse if I pulled out in the middle. Besides…” He gave a crooked, tired smile. “I checked myself carefully before each day. I knew I could handle it. I’m fine now.”
Katsuki leaned his head back against the couch, exhaling hard through his nose. He reached up to pinch the bridge of it, as if trying to hold back all the lectures boiling inside him.
“You’re seriously an idiot.”
Instead of pushing the argument, Katsuki made his decision quickly. With one smooth move, he wrapped his arms around Izuku’s waist, lifted him like he weighed nothing, and stood up.
Izuku gasped, arms circling around Katsuki’s neck instinctively.
“Wait—Kacchan—!”
“No talking,” Katsuki mumbled, carrying him up the stairs. “You’re done for today.”
Izuku smiled, his cheek pressed against Katsuki’s shoulder.
“I thought you were gonna scream at me for risking myself.”
“I will,” Katsuki replied flatly. “In the morning. After you sleep. Maybe after breakfast.”
Once they reached the bedroom, Katsuki set him down on the bed gently, like glass. He pulled off Izuku’s shirt and carefully loosened the bandages, replacing them with a fresh set he had apparently prepared in advance. Izuku let him do everything without protest.
And when it was done, Katsuki laid beside him, pulling the blankets over both of them. Izuku curled into him naturally, fitting into the crook of his body like he always did.
Katsuki ran his hand through Izuku’s hair, stopping to graze over the faint bump on his forehead. He didn’t speak, just pressed a soft kiss there and pulled him closer.
“Don’t sneak out for hero missions without letting me punch the person who hurt you,” he murmured against Izuku’s temple.
Izuku chuckled softly, closing his eyes.
“Then you better wake up earlier next time.”
“Idiot.”
“Mmhm. Your idiot.”
And with that, they both fell into a long-awaited, peaceful sleep.
Chapter 9: Two Years
Chapter Text
The morning sun filtered through the wide window of Katsuki's bedroom, casting a warm golden hue across the sheets. The air was still, peaceful—quiet save for the sound of two steady breaths beneath the comforter.
Katsuki slowly stirred first, eyes blinking open to the familiar warmth of Izuku pressed against his side, arm sprawled over his waist. He blinked again, momentarily disoriented, before realization hit him.
He was here.
Izuku.
Still sleeping. Still here. Still tangled in the same bed as him for the first time in five days.
Katsuki exhaled slowly and brushed aside a few soft strands of green hair covering Izuku’s face, fingers grazing across his cheek.
Five days.
The last time Izuku stayed over, Katsuki had woken up to an empty bed and a note. A sticky note. That said nothing but “Patrol duty today! I'll call you after. Don't miss me too much ;)”
It actually had pissed him off for a full 24 hours.
Now, with Izuku snuggled close and uncharacteristically still, Katsuki found himself... soft.
Way too soft.
How the hell do I get this idiot to just live with me already? he wondered, watching the slow rise and fall of Izuku’s chest.
As if summoned by the thought, Izuku squirmed and shifted, letting out a small groan before stretching his arms like a lazy cat. His eyes opened, still groggy, before he spotted Katsuki hovering above him.
“Mmm… good morning,” Izuku mumbled, sleep-slurred. Then he yawned, arms reaching lazily around Katsuki’s neck. “Can I have kisses now?”
Katsuki scoffed but leaned in anyway, giving him a chaste kiss on the nose.
“You act like a damn cat. Get up.”
An hour later, the kitchen was alive with the smell of butter and maple syrup.
Katsuki was dressed in half of his hero gear, his boots thudding on the tile as he fastened his gauntlets. On the island counter, Izuku sat cross-legged on a stool, devouring a stack of pancakes Katsuki had made—fluffy, golden, perfect.
Of course.
“Kacchan,” Izuku started between bites, “something happened during the mission.”
Katsuki didn’t even look up from adjusting his glove.
“Aside from you bleeding and being a reckless moron? What did you mess up?”
Izuku gave an exaggerated eye roll.
“Okay, rude. First of all, no. It’s about Red Riot.”
Katsuki paused, eyes narrowing slightly.
“…What about him? You two become besties?”
Izuku wagged his head dramatically.
“Nope. Actually... I just got weirdly bothered. You know... by him.”
Katsuki finally looked up, brow raised.
“What the hell does that mean?”
Izuku paused dramatically, then slowly licked the syrup off his fork.
“Remember the time I trained with All Might last time and I told him we were dating?”
“You told the old man without even asking me?” Katsuki muttered.
“Does it matter?” Izuku blinked innocently.
Katsuki rolled his eyes again and went back to buckling his gear.
“So,” Izuku continued, “when I told him, his tongue slipped. He thought you liked Kirishima.”
Katsuki froze.
Just a beat.
“...And?” he asked, nonchalant.
“So, when I saw I was gonna do a mission with Red Riot, I accepted it without second thought,” Izuku said, mouth full.
“I needed to see this guy. The one who All Might thought was your type. But now? After three days with him?” He shook his head, giggling. “There’s no way. That’s not your type. He’s all... smiles and hair gel and ‘bro’ energy. Not you at all.”
Katsuki closed his locker door.
“Ahh… that,” he said, voice too casual. “Yeah. We dated.”
The fork fell.
Izuku looked up at him, eyes wide, jaw literally dropping.
“…What!?”
Katsuki shrugged. “Back in U.A. Two years, I think?”
“You THINK!?” Izuku nearly choked.
“So—All Might was RIGHT!? No, not fully right 'casue you dated him!? That little... that idiot?! Waaaah—Kacchan, I can’t believe this!”
Katsuki didn’t even blink.
“It’s old news. Doesn’t matter. Not that big deal.”
“No big deal!?” Izuku screeched. “You dated someone and didn’t even tell me!?”
“It’s not like it was... something serious,” Katsuki muttered, brushing a stray thread from his gauntlet. “We were young. Stupid. Just had a label. That’s all.”
Izuku narrowed his eyes.
“So who got fucked?”
Katsuki blinked.
“What.”
“Did you fuck him? Or did he put it in you?” Izuku demanded, fork raised like a sword of truth.
Katsuki groaned and rubbed his face.
“We were minors, dumbass!”
“So what?” Izuku hissed. “If you weren’t, you would’ve done it with him!?”
“I told you it wasn’t like that!” Katsuki snapped. “It was curiosity. Hormones. Idiocy. And NO, nothing ever happened. Not even a kiss.”
Izuku gasped, scandalized.
“Not even a kiss?! So you dated him like—like a vegetable?”
Katsuki smirked.
“Sure. A very emotionally repressed broccoli.”
“BROCCOLI IS ME, YOU—!”
Katsuki laughed now, full chest laughter, shaking his head.
“You’re so dramatic.”
Izuku was practically steaming.
“I thought you fell for me at first sight! During the hero provisional exam!”
“What? Why the hell would I?”
“Because it’s ME, duh!” Izuku shouted, pointing at his own face.
Katsuki, now laughing so hard, grabbed his bag.
“I’m telling you—no physical stuff happened. Not even a peck on the cheek. Stop freaking out and eat your damn pancakes. I’m heading out.”
He made it halfway to the door when Izuku, eyes still wide, dramatically slid down the wall, groaning like a soap opera protagonist.
“You betrayed me,” he muttered. “My instincts betrayed me. I knew there was no way that hair-spiked, gym bro, emotional sunbeam was your type.”
Just as Katsuki grabbed the doorknob, Izuku bolted up and yelled:
“WAIT! Did you only date me because we’re not minors now!? Is it because my body’s better than his!?”
Katsuki wagged his head, stifling another laugh.
“I’m out. Lock the door behind you when you're out.”
With that, he shut the door.
Inside, Izuku slid all the way down to the floor again and sat there, dazed, fork still in one hand, jaw slack.
Red Riot.
Kacchan’s first boyfriend.
TWO YEARS.
No way.
That overly polite muscle-head with the sunshine smile was Kacchan’s first love!?
He groaned, slapping both hands to his face, then pulling at his hair.
“Dammit,” he muttered, staring blankly at his empty plate. “I should’ve known... No wonder that guy was looking at him like that. First love energy my ass. Stupid sexy redhead...”
He sighed, slumped fully against the wall like a man defeated.
“Now I’m gonna be thinking about this all day.”
Chapter 10: Ember Jealousy
Chapter Text
The sun was just beginning to lean westward, casting a mellow gold over the bustling side street near Shibuya. People came and went, chatting, shopping, or stopping to admire the nearby Pro Hero posters hung up around the square. Among them, Red Riot’s sharp red hair stood out like a flare in a crowd of neutrals.
Kirishima was midway through patrol, eyes scanning the scene in typical heroic focus, when a voice behind him cut through the background noise.
“Red Riot. Got a second for snacks?”
Kirishima turned around, blinking once, twice—then froze.
There he was.
Storm Pulse himself. In the flesh. Midoriya Izuku.
Not in uniform, not barking orders mid-mission, but dressed in his famously sleek, dark streetwear. A black coat open over a textured top, some chain hanging tastefully from his neck, and a single sapphire earring glinting by his cheek. His emerald eyes shone with mischief, and his signature wind-tossed curls framed his face in maddening perfection.
“…Storm Pulse?” Kirishima asked, brain lagging slightly.
Izuku chuckled.
“Just Izuku’s fine. I’m off-duty.”
“Right. Uh—what… brings you here?”
Kirishima tried not to sound awkward, but the nervous smile on his face sold him out.
Izuku tilted his head.
“I was around, needed to grab a few things, and I heard you were nearby. Figured… why not ask you to grab coffee? Unless you’re too busy being a hero?”
Kirishima blinked again, then straightened up.
“No! I mean—yeah, I can take a break. Let’s go!”
A few minutes later, the two were seated at a modest café tucked into a side alley—cozy, mostly quiet, with little vintage cups and framed sketches of Pro Heroes on the wall. The smell of coffee and pastries filled the space, and the soft music made it feel far too intimate for what was supposed to be a “friendly catch-up.”
Izuku sipped his iced Americano, watching Kirishima from behind his cup with a hidden smirk.
Kirishima sat across from him, hands fidgeting slightly as he stirred his black coffee unnecessarily. He tried to focus on the tiny sugar packets beside him instead of the man across the table. Just days ago, they were neck-deep in a mission together. Now, somehow, he was sitting across from Storm Pulse in off-duty fashion show attire.
Was this real life?
Izuku noticed Kirishima’s stiffness, the way his eyes kept darting to the side like he was trying not to stare. With a quiet laugh, he leaned forward just a bit.
“You’re tense,” he teased. “Careful. If there were danger nearby, you wouldn’t sense it with how focused you are on pretending not to be uncomfortable.”
Kirishima rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly.
“Sorry. I just… didn’t expect this. You, uh, dropping in like this.”
“I just wanted to hang out a little. No villain chases, no planning. Just snacks and vibes.”
Kirishima gave a small laugh, this one more genuine.
“Well, I’m glad. It’s nice to see you again, Storm—I mean, Midoriya.”
Izuku smiled, pleased.
“See? Not so hard.”
Kirishima glanced down at their plates—Izuku had ordered cake, of course—and then back up.
“So… really, what brought you here?”
Izuku lifted his fork, twirling it between his fingers as he answered casually, “I told you. I was in the area. Needed to grab something. Heard you were patrolling nearby. Figured maybe you’d buy me a drink.”
He sipped again and locked eyes with Kirishima.
Kirishima laughed.
“So… you’re the kind of guy who chooses friends based on who treats you?”
Izuku raised one brow.
“Depends. If they’re also good-looking, I stay longer.”
The air thickened. Kirishima blinked, surprised into a laugh that came out a bit too loud.
“So… did I pass that test?”
Izuku rolled his eyes playfully.
“Hmm. Not yet. One drink isn’t enough.”
“Well then,” Kirishima said, sitting straighter with a grin. “Guess I’ll have to treat you again. Name your next craving, Midoriya.”
Izuku leaned back, satisfied, and held out his hand.
“Glad we’re on the same page. Let’s drop the pro names. Deal?”
Kirishima took it.
“Deal. Eijirou.”
The handshake was brief, warm, and grounding. For a second, it felt like things shifted, settled—like something new started to form, just faintly.
Suddenly, a phone buzzed sharply against the table.
They both looked down.
Caller ID: Kacchan.
Izuku sighed, rolled his eyes, and picked up the phone. He didn’t answer. Just slid it back into his coat pocket.
Kirishima blinked, startled.
“You’re… not answering?”
Izuku cut another piece of cake, tone flippant.
“Let’s just say—it’s also part of my method for befriending people.”
Kirishima raised a brow.
“Ignoring someone?”
“Letting them miss me,” Izuku clarified between bites. “Letting them reflect on their mistakes. Especially if they’ve been annoying.”
Kirishima blinked slowly. Oh.
Oh.
This was definitely something about Kacchan.
And from the way Storm Pulse sipped his coffee like a smug cat, this was a game.
A calculated one.
Kirishima didn’t ask, but he understood.
They must’ve fought. Or something close to it.
Maybe it was more than that.
Still, he didn’t pry. Instead, he chuckled, playing along.
“Well, whoever that was,” he said, “they’ll definitely be repenting.”
Izuku grinned.
“That’s the goal.”
Eventually, Kirishima’s watch buzzed, signaling the end of his break. He stood, brushing crumbs from his lap, and reached into his pocket to pay.
“No arguments,” he said, beating Izuku to the counter. “I promised.”
Izuku laughed genuinely, raising his hands in surrender.
“Fair. Thanks for the treat, Red—I mean, Eijirou.”
Kirishima chuckled as they stepped outside.
“Don’t mention it. Let’s do this again sometime.”
Izuku watched him walk off toward the patrol route, hands in his pockets, the edges of his coat fluttering in the wind.
He stayed there, leaning against the café wall, green eyes tracking the fading red figure.
A small smirk tugged at his lips.
Kacchan dated him for two years? This goofball with the blushing ears and nervous smiles? What the hell did he see? What the hell did they have?
“I’m curious now,” he muttered, crossing his arms. “Let’s see just what made you worth two years of his life…”
He turned on his heel, his own walk casual and calculated, as if his entire day hadn’t just turned into a private investigation of Kirishima Eijirou.
Katsuki wasn’t the type to overthink—he trusted his instincts more than anything. But Izuku’s cold response had been eating at him all day. That stupid message with a photo of Izuku’s middle finger—followed by complete radio silence—gnawed at him harder than any villain fight ever had.
It wasn’t even a full argument.
The last time they’d talked was about Kirishima. Something he thought just casual stuff. Katsuki barely remembered. He’d laughed, teased Izuku a little and Izuku had some dramatic takes.
Now it had been days. Hours today. A whole damn day.
And Izuku had ignored every one of Katsuki’s calls and messages.
No explanation. Just a cold, sarcastic dismissal.
“Fuck off.”
Attached: [image/jpeg: middle_finger.jpg]
That image sat burned into Katsuki’s skull.
He could hear the bitter snap in Izuku’s voice without even needing to play it out. He’d thought it was just some joke. It usually was. That was how their relationship worked, wasn’t it? Teasing. Sex. Banter. Sex again. Half a year of this strange rhythm that felt like it meant something, even if neither of them had said it out loud.
But maybe that was the problem.
Katsuki sat heavily on the bench in the changing room, freshly out of his hero suit. His hands raked through his messy hair, still damp with sweat from the mission.
“What the hell even are we?” he muttered under his breath, annoyed—not just at Izuku but at himself.
They’d been doing this thing for months now.
Always together. Always touching.
But never... talking. Not really.
Had he ever told Izuku he was serious about them?
And what about Izuku? Had he ever said anything that made Katsuki believe he wanted more than just sex and late-night visits?
He gritted his teeth and slammed his locker shut.
“Screw this.”
If Izuku wanted to play distant, fine. But Katsuki needed answers. He grabbed his jacket, slung his helmet under his arm, and stalked out of the agency. Within minutes, he was on his motorcycle, racing through the city streets toward Izuku’s house.
He knew Izuku had the day off. Knew he was probably lounging in one of his ridiculous silk robes, sipping overpriced tea and pretending he wasn’t bothered. That was the most infuriating thing about him—he could act like he didn’t give a damn when Katsuki knew he did.
When he arrived at Izuku’s gated property, he immediately spotted him on the second-floor balcony.
Just... standing there.
Barefoot in an emerald green robe that shimmered like starlight, a black choker snug around his neck. His hair tousled, skin glowing under the moonlight. The city lights lit up his silhouette like a dream Katsuki would never admit having.
The sight made Katsuki’s throat dry.
He honked the bike horn.
Izuku looked down.
His eyes narrowed in confusion at first.
Then he smirked.
That same smug, cocky grin that drove Katsuki insane. Like he’d won something again. Like he knew Katsuki was weak for him—and maybe he was, fuck it.
Izuku didn’t move.
Didn’t wave.
Didn’t speak.
Just tilted his head, eyes shining with something unreadable.
Katsuki growled, kicked the stand down on his bike, and yanked off his helmet.
“Open the gate,” he called, glaring up at him.
Izuku didn’t budge.
Instead, he floated down, descending slow and graceful like some smug fairy king. He landed lightly in front of the gate, arms crossed.
“That’s how burglars ask to be let in, honey,” he said coolly. “Gotta try harder than that.”
Katsuki sighed through his nose. God, he wanted to shake him. Or kiss him. Or both.
“I’m not jumping your damn fence,” he muttered. “I’m not here to fight.”
“Could’ve fooled me,” Izuku said, arching a brow. “With that face?”
Katsuki swallowed hard. Something about the way Izuku looked tonight—the robe, the choker, the slight glow of moonlight on his skin—hit him differently.
Softer. More dangerous.
Then he looked at him again. Really looked.
Izuku’s expression wasn’t just smug.
It was... defensive.
His chin was high, his mouth curled in a sharp smile—but his eyes.
They were waiting.
Scared, maybe.
Katsuki took a step forward.
“Babe,” he said quietly, “can you let me in? Can we talk?”
Izuku blinked at him.
“Why would I do that?”
Silence stretched between them.
Katsuki stared. His hands flexed at his sides. Then he dropped his gaze, exhaled slowly, and looked back up—softer this time. Open.
“I miss you,” he said. “Let me in, please?”
Izuku froze.
The words hit like a gut punch.
His lips parted slightly. The confidence drained from his posture in seconds. He stared at Katsuki like he couldn’t believe what he just heard. Then he bit his bottom lip, pink and soft, and slowly stepped forward. His fingers hovered over the gate’s control panel, and with a beep, the lock clicked.
Katsuki stepped inside—and Izuku stepped into him.
Without another word, Izuku stretched his arms out and slowly wrapped them around Katsuki’s neck. Katsuki let himself be pulled in, hands already gripping Izuku’s waist as if he belonged there. He lifted him off the ground with ease, like he always did, and Izuku instinctively wrapped his legs around his waist too, arms around his shoulders.
They were nose to nose.
“You’re annoying,” Izuku whispered, eyes searching his.
“You’re worse,” Katsuki muttered, grinning.
Their mouths met.
The kiss was deep and messy, with chuckles tangled in it. Like they were drunk on each other. Like they were too close and not close enough.
Izuku’s fingers dug into Katsuki’s hair as he tilted his head for more, and Katsuki swore softly against his lips. He never wanted to stop.
But under all the teasing and heated touches, there was something real pulsing between them.
A silent apology.
A question they were both scared to voice.
Because despite all the sex and all the fights and all the teasing—
They missed each other.
And maybe… just maybe…
It was time to finally start talking about it.
Chapter 11: Almost
Chapter Text
Katsuki entered the house with Izuku still in his arms, carrying him like he weighed nothing. The familiar scent of cedarwood, lemon, and the faint earthy trace of ozone from Izuku’s storm-scarred quirk-laced aura lingered faintly in the air. It wasn’t the first time Katsuki had stepped inside this house—hell, it wasn’t even the first time they’d lost themselves in each other under this roof.
They had a history with this place.
In the bedroom, where pillows had once been thrown in mock anger and later clutched during quiet nights tangled together. The kitchen countertop, which bore silent witness to hungry kisses between hurried meals. The home theater room where a movie played for three minutes before it was forgotten, the wine storage where Izuku’s back once pressed against cool stone, and even the closet—lined with tailored suits and pressed shirts—where Katsuki once heard Izuku whisper his name so desperately, it still echoed in his mind.
Now, that same storm-kissed pressed to his chest, soft and warm and completely at ease in Katsuki’s arms.
Katsuki didn’t put him down until the front door clicked closed.
Even then, Izuku lingered, his arms loosely looped around Katsuki’s waist, his face tucked against his chest as if reluctant to be separated. Katsuki’s hand found his back, warm and steady, and he bent down to kiss the crown of green curls.
Izuku looked up, a quiet pout tugging at his lips.
Katsuki raised a brow.
“The hell’s that face for?”
Izuku didn’t answer immediately. He just stepped back with a breath, eyes avoiding Katsuki’s for a second as he wandered off toward the kitchen.
“You always ask that,” he muttered.
Katsuki followed with a frown, watching the lean lines of Izuku’s back as he moved. He looked relaxed, but there was something tight in his shoulders. Something pouty and secretly charged in the air.
“Tch. Okay, fine. I’ll bite. How was your day off? Where did you roam around this time?”
Izuku was already opening the cabinets, pulling down Katsuki’s favorite mug. He answered without turning around, “Shibuya. Checked out some suits and new combat boots. Oh, and—” he turned his head slightly, revealing his left profile, “—got a new piercing.”
Katsuki’s eyes immediately honed in on the earlobe. A tiny silver ring glinted against pale skin.
A smirk pulled at Katsuki’s mouth.
“Trying to look hotter than usual?”
Izuku finally faced him again, amusement in his eyes, but he didn’t answer. Instead, he poured the coffee and handed it over silently. Katsuki took it, sipping once, savoring the warmth—and the taste he’d long associated with Izuku.
He put the mug aside, then tugged gently at Izuku’s wrist, pulling him between his legs where he leaned on the kitchen counter.
Izuku didn’t resist. His hands found Katsuki’s thighs, giving them a light squeeze with a grin.
Katsuki huffed.
“There you go with that smirk again. Like none of this affects you.”
Izuku raised an eyebrow.
“I’m smiling because it does affect me,” he said, almost too casually. “You think I smirk when I’m bored? I’m horny, babe.”
Katsuki blinked, stunned for half a second before his gaze sharpened.
Izuku’s hand didn’t falter—he reached down, trailing fingers slowly along Katsuki’s inner thigh until he reached what he’d been teasing. His touch was precise, a light press on the restrained heat Katsuki had been ignoring since their kiss at the gate.
“I could touch this,” Izuku said, his voice a hushed, teasing hum.
Katsuki’s breath hitched.
“Shit…”
Izuku grinned wider, pressing again, firmer now, then began to stroke him through the fabric. Slow. Deliberate. And confident.
Katsuki swallowed hard, head tipping back slightly as he hissed a breath. His palms gripped the edge of the counter behind him. He wasn’t going to stop him. Not now.
“You’re dangerous when you’re like this,” Katsuki growled low.
Izuku knelt slowly, like a hunter stalking prey, and looked up once—those bright, fire-touched eyes filled with mischief.
“You’ve known that for months now.”
He undid the front of Katsuki’s pants with practiced ease, and his fingers slipped inside, freeing him in one firm, fluid motion. Katsuki cursed under his breath as he felt cool air on his heated skin.
Izuku’s hand started again, slow but focused, watching every twitch, every soft hiss Katsuki released.
“Fuck, Izu…”
The sound of his name only spurred Izuku more. His tongue followed, licking a stripe up the length before wrapping his mouth around the tip. Katsuki grunted, his hips jerking forward slightly, but Izuku’s free hand pressed firmly on his thigh, anchoring him.
He moved slow at first, languid and purposeful, building a rhythm that made Katsuki’s legs tremble slightly against the cabinets.
Then he quickened, hands working in tandem with his mouth—wet heat surrounding Katsuki until he could barely keep from losing his balance.
“I—I’m gonna—”
Izuku hummed in acknowledgment, not stopping, only flicking his gaze up to meet Katsuki’s dazed one as his tongue pressed just right—sending Katsuki over the edge with a groan deep in his chest.
Katsuki collapsed forward slightly, arms wrapped around Izuku’s shoulders as he panted.
“You’re… You’re not fucking fair.”
Izuku chuckled softly, wiping his lips and standing slowly.
“Never claimed to be.”
Katsuki looked down at him, still recovering, but eyes full of warmth and heat. “You’re mine, you know that?”
Izuku smirked again, leaning in close until their noses almost touched. “Keep reminding me… and I'm sure I'll never get tired of hearing it.”
Katsuki kissed him—deep and slow this time.
No rush.
Just a promise.
Katsuki sat half-leaning against the kitchen counter, shirtless, hair still slightly damp from earlier, holding the now-warm cup of coffee Izuku had lovingly made before they got distracted—thoroughly and sinfully—on the living room floor.
Across from him, Izuku perched on the counter, legs swinging slightly. His knees were pressed close together, his shirt unbuttoned and only lazily thrown over his frame. His cheeks were still flushed, lips swollen from what he’d done earlier, but his gaze was trained curiously—if not a little nervously—on Katsuki as he sipped his coffee. The domesticity of the moment clashed wildly with what they just did, but that was starting to become normal between them. Whiplash between raw desire and quiet comfort.
The silence wasn't awkward—it never was between them—but it was filled with something unspoken. Something heavy. Something that didn’t belong to the morning, or to coffee, or to two people who had spent the night wrapped around each other like they were trying to disappear into the other's skin.
“You’re not saying anything,” Katsuki muttered, brow raised, lips curling into that half-smirk that always made Izuku feel exposed.
Izuku blinked out of his thoughts. “Just wondering if the coffee’s still good.”
Katsuki hummed in amusement. “It’s not, but it’s drinkable.”
Izuku chuckled, leaning closer until his bare knee bumped against Katsuki’s arm. “You know, I did make it for you. You could pretend it’s the best thing you’ve ever tasted.”
“I don’t lie,” Katsuki said flatly, but the corner of his mouth twitched.
Izuku stuck out his tongue and scooted a little closer. “Fine. Next time, I’ll just spit in it so you can taste it the fun way.”
Katsuki paused mid-sip, snorted. “You already did,” he said under his breath.
Izuku blushed, hard. “Kacchan!”
“You started it.”
They both laughed, the kind of soft, private laughter that lingered in the air like the scent of leftover sex and brewed coffee. For a moment, it felt easy again—until Izuku, still high on the affection and buzz of their intimacy, decided to risk a question.
“Hey… what do you think about… trying something new? Like…” he glanced at Katsuki, carefully. “Maybe we could go to one of those, uh, themed hotels or something?”
Katsuki raised an eyebrow, finished his coffee, and set the mug down on the counter behind Izuku, then leaned forward, invading Izuku’s space with casual familiarity.
“Something new, huh? You got something in mind, perv?”
Izuku’s face burned, but he still managed a lopsided grin.
“I dunno. Maybe a place with mirrors on the ceiling. Or one of those private hot springs. I just thought… change of scenery, you know?”
Katsuki didn’t laugh, didn’t tease. He only raised an eyebrow, setting his mug down with a soft clink.
“Ceiling mirrors, huh?”
Izuku looked away, smiling like he wanted to hide it.
“I mean, it’s probably lame, but—”
“It’s not,” Katsuki cut in, his tone casual but thoughtful. “Could be fun. You wanna book it, or you want me to?”
“I thought you’d say no,” Izuku admitted softly. “You’re always the one who… I dunno, says no to new stuff.”
Katsuki scoffed.
“That’s not true. I just say no to dumb shit. You asking for mirrors during sex isn’t dumb. Just very you.”
Izuku chuckled, a little embarrassed, and scratched his cheek.
“Well, thanks.”
Then, without warning, Katsuki went quiet for a beat. His eyes locked onto his coffee mug like it held the answer to a question he hadn’t asked out loud yet.
“What do you think about going to my parents’ vacation house after?”
Silence.
Izuku’s breath hitched.
He blinked.
The words hit him with the subtlety of a slap.
or a moment, the words didn’t register fully. They passed through his ears and got tangled in his overthinking brain.
“Huh?”
His parents’… vacation house?
Katsuki was still facing the counter, casual, like he’d just asked if Izuku wanted to pick up groceries.
The silence stretched as his mind spiraled.
Was that a casual suggestion? Was he seriously inviting him as himself—Izuku, his current, undefined… what even was he? A fuck buddy? A friend with way too many privileges? A placeholder for someone else?
Was this just another private place where they could have uninterrupted sex, or… was it something else?
His thoughts scattered like birds startled from a wire.
Did Kaccahn mean that seriously? Did he want meto come—as in, come with him, for real, as someone… important? Or was this just a convenient way to say “we can fuck there uninterrupted for a few days”?
“I…”
Izuku opened his mouth but nothing came out.
Was this a test?
Was this an invitation to see how far they could go—or maybe a trap? Was he supposed to accept and assume it meant more than it did, only to later realize Kacchan had just needed a plus-one for the sake of appearances?
His heart pounded as his thoughts spiraled. Was Katsuki testing whether Izuku thought this—they—meant anything?
Did it?
And if it did… did he want it to?
And then, a far more dangerous thought whispered: Does this mean he’s thinking of introducing me to his parents? Does that mean I’m someone he can actually… bring into his life, officially?
All this time, Izuku had kept himself in check. Even when their nights together started to feel like more than just heat and skin. Even when Katsuki’s voice softened in the middle of the night, or when he pulled Izuku close after they were done. Even when he caught himself memorizing Katsuki’s laugh, or the way he let Izuku curl up against him like they belonged like that.
But now…
“You’re thinking too loud,” he said, putting the empty mug down and fully turning toward Izuku now. He stepped between Izuku’s legs, hands gently bracketing his waist, then reached up and tucked a stray curl of green hair behind Izuku’s ear. His touch was light, softer than expected. Gentle.
Katsuki noticed.
He noticed everything
“Don’t be too obvious when you’re spiraling, nerd.”
Izuku flinched, but Katsuki stepped closer, slowly, eyes never leaving his.
“Don’t be so obvious when you’re not thinking straight,” Katsuki said, voice quieter now. “Relax, dumbass. It’s not a trap. I mean it,” he said, voice softer now.
“If you don’t want my parents to be there, they won’t be. I can just tell them Storm Pulse is coming with me for a tactical assessment. No issues will come up.”
“Kacchan…”
“If you don’t want to go,” Katsuki continued, “I’m not gonna force you. Just focus on things you do want. I’ll go with it.”
Izuku’s eyes widened a little, and for a split second, something swelled and cracked inside him. That gentle acceptance—so unlike the sharp edges Katsuki was known for—made something flutter in his chest. It felt like… being wanted. Maybe even… being loved.
Finally?
But just as the warmth grew, so did the doubt. His feelings—blurred and messy—rushed in all at once.
Izuku swallowed.
The words—so simple—still hit hard.
I’ll go with it.
Like it was that easy.
Like Katsuki didn’t have walls of his own.
Like he hadn’t once pulled Izuku close with those same hands and said this doesn’t mean anything, we’re just blowing off steam.
Izuku smiled, but he knew it didn’t quite reach his eyes.
He didn’t know if he looked sad or scared or confused, but before Katsuki could read too deeply into it, Izuku pulled him into a kiss. A hungry one. A kiss that made Katsuki laugh against his mouth.
“Do you want the taste of the coffee that bad?” Katsuki murmured.
Izuku smirked.
“I made that coffee. Of course I’d want to taste it—but this way’s the best.”
He kissed him again, more desperate this time, letting himself drown in it because that was easier than asking. Easier than admitting that he didn’t know what this was. That he didn’t know if the tightness in his chest was love or longing or fear of being left out.
The rumors about Katsuki and Kirishima dating for two years—those haunted Izuku. Was his jealousy because someone else had loved Katsuki first, or because Katsuki had loved someone else deeply, genuinely, and for longer than whatever this was between them?
What was this?
Katsuki’s hand found his waist, strong and grounding. His thumb rubbed slow circles into Izuku’s hip, not pulling him closer, not rushing—just being there.
They kissed like two men trying to hold back everything they couldn’t say.
Meanwhile, Katsuki’s thoughts spiraled too.
Was Izuku uncomfortable because I didn’t want to be introduced as his? Or was it because they’d never actually defined what they were? Hell, had I already defined it in my own head without saying anything? When did that happen?
Why did I even ask him about the vacation house? he wondered.
Why did I want to take him there?
And the answer, unspoken and terrifying, was that maybe he wanted Izuku to meet his family. Maybe he wanted his mom to see this chaotic, sharp-eyed, coffee-loving nerd and think this is the one.
Maybe he wanted to wake up in that vacation house bed with Izuku in his arms and have it feel like a promise, not a fling.
Shit, Katsuki thought.
I really might be falling for him, huh?
And the worst part?
Even if it wasn’t clear.
Even if this whole thing was fragile and stupid and full of doubt.
If Izuku said stay, he would.
If Izuku said go, he would go.
Neither of them spoke the things that mattered, not yet.
Sometimes, the body knew things the heart was too scared to admit. And tonight, they were both still too afraid to say it out loud.
I want this to be more. I want this to mean something.
Because right now, the only thing anchoring them was the silence between kisses, the way their bodies stayed close, and the shared truth neither was brave enough to say out loud:
I think I’m starting to love you.
Chapter 12: Already Falling
Chapter Text
The sunlight crept in through the sheer curtains, casting soft gold across the chaos of the room—blankets kicked to the floor, clothes scattered like petals after a storm. Katsuki blinked awake slowly, instinctively reaching to the other side of the bed before pausing mid-motion.
There, sprawled like a dead starfish, was Izuku—face down, arms flung out, a soft wheeze escaping his parted lips. The blanket only managed to cover him from the waist down, exposing his freckled back with faint red marks that made
Katsuki smirk.
His own body ached deliciously, his hips slightly sore and muscles tingling from overuse. Hell, they went wild. Kitchen counters. This bed. Against the hallway wall. And every single time, Izuku clung to him like he’d been starving.
Katsuki sat up, ruffling his hair roughly as he exhaled through his nose.
He didn’t even know what time they passed out. It was a blur of mouths and sweat, whispered ‘love yous’ like they meant it mutually, and guttural moans that turned the damn air heavy.
Even now, the scent of it lingered—salty, sweet, heady. He scratched absently at his chest, suppressing the heat that flared just from remembering.
His thoughts broke when his phone vibrated from the nightstand. With a groan, he leaned over Izuku’s unmoving form and grabbed it. The screen lit up with a familiar contact.
Kirishima:
“Bro, can we meet? It’s kind of an emergency.”
Katsuki narrowed his eyes, fingers poised to type.
Katsuki:
“What do you want?”
The reply came instantly.
Kirishima:
“I think I can only fix this if I talk to someone.”
Katsuki clicked his tongue, then typed again.
Katsuki:
“Go bother Kaminari.”
A few seconds passed.
Kirishima:
“There's no way that man will understand me. Come on. Help me out.”
Katsuki rolled his eyes, muttering, “Drama queen,” before tossing his phone back onto the nightstand. Whatever it was could wait.
Still, a part of him didn’t relax. Not because of the emergency—but because of what had been said the day before.
The mention of him dating Kirishima had hit a nerve with Izuku, hadn’t it? The subtle shift in his eyes. The pause. That tiny moment where his voice faltered before continuing. And the days he got ignored after the topic.
Katsuki glanced back at Izuku’s sleeping face, his green hair sticking to his cheek, lips slightly chapped from their kisses.
Did he get jealous? Was that what it was?
He huffed. It was funny, in a way. Because if there was one thing that relationship with Kirishima proved, it’s that some people just aren’t meant to be a couple.
It had been casual. So casual it almost didn’t count.
Kirishima once joked, “What if we dated?” and Katsuki, ever the “try me” bastard, just said, “Sure.”
No dates. No kisses outside of the stupid training drills that called for ‘team trust exercises.’ Even their so-called hangouts were nothing more than game nights with Kaminari and Sero invading the dorm room.
Hell, they never even held hands unless it was for some dumb-ass reason in class.
And when graduation came, they just looked at each other and shrugged.
“Cool?”
“Yeah, cool.”
Katsuki wasn’t even sure they ever called it dating in the first place.
But Izuku… Izuku wasn’t like that.
He made every moment feel like something earned.
Every brush of their hands.
Every kiss.
Every look.
Even his words from the day he invited Katsuki to date felt like a small explosion in his chest. And Katsuki, stupidly smug at the time, just agreed with a cocky smirk that Izuku kissed off his face.
But now… he couldn’t stop staring.
Couldn’t stop feeling.
Two years with Kirishima felt like water evaporating in the sun.
Two nights with Izuku felt like fire he never wanted to put out.
Yeah, he was fucking gone for this nerd.
Later that day, they moved like they had done this for years.
Izuku brewing coffee while humming softly, Katsuki scarfing down toast while adjusting his belt, grumbling about his missing gloves—only to have Izuku toss them from the bathroom with a grin.
By the time they reached Katsuki's motorcycle, Izuku was already bouncing on the balls of his feet, checking his bag for the third time.
“You nervous?”
Katsuki asked, strapping on his helmet as Izuku climbed on behind him.
Izuku scoffed, arms wrapping around Katsuki’s waist.
“For work? Nah. But I might combust if I don’t kiss you before we get there.”
Katsuki snorted, starting the engine with a low rumble.
“Save it for lunch break, nerd.”
He couldn’t see Izuku’s grin behind him, but he could feel it in the way Izuku squeezed his sides—warm, familiar, and just a little dangerous.
He dropped Izuku at his agency entrance, watching the smaller man disappear inside with a wave and a stupid grin that wouldn’t leave Katsuki’s brain even when he drove off.
Arriving at his own agency, Katsuki raised a brow to see Best Jeanist waiting outside. Next to him was All Might.
“What the hell?”
He stepped out of the car, slamming the door with enough force to make nearby sidekicks flinch.
“All Might?” he called. “You lost or something?”
The former Number One turned with visible panic on his face. It made Katsuki blink, then slowly smirk.
Ah. Right. Izuku already told him.
Good. Saves him the trouble.
Still, All Might’s reaction was laughably awkward, shifting from foot to foot while pretending to examine a tree.
Katsuki didn’t bother dragging the man into a confrontation. Not yet. Instead, he turned to Jeanist, who offered a respectful nod.
“We’re finalizing candidates for the provisional exams,” Jeanist said, walking with Katsuki toward the building. “We’re partnering with a few Shiketsu alumni—Storm Pulse and Gale Force, specifically. And we’re looking for a UA representative. Someone who can match pace, adapt, and... babysit.”
Katsuki grimaced.
“Babysit?”
Jeanist smiled, ever-so-neutral.
“That was All Might’s word. Mine is ‘mentor. You want to get in?’”
“Hell no,” Katsuki growled. “I’m not wiping snot off brat noses.”
Jeanist turned to All Might with a raised brow. All Might tried to give a hopeful thumbs-up.
“You’re all insane,” he muttered, walking into the agency. He’d deal with brat training later—if he had time between saving the city and figuring out how to navigate this whole lover thing.
Still, before he disappeared down the hall, he caught All Might looking at him again. Like he wanted to ask something.
He knew it already.
That old man wanted to ask about Izuku.
About how serious they were. About how long it had been going on.
And Katsuki? He was waiting for him to do it.
Because the moment All Might opened his mouth, Katsuki was going to let loose—not with anger, but with honesty. Just like Izuku did.
He’d tell him straight up:
Yeah, we’re dating.
Yeah, I love him.
And yeah, I’m going to scold the shit out of you for planting that damn seed of doubt in his head with that Kirishima crap.
Because that—whatever it was—was nothing.
But this?
This thing he had with Izuku?
It was everything.
The city buzzed with the usual midday rhythm—cars honking, people brushing past in their usual hurry, neon signs flickering in the bright daylight despite being almost redundant at this hour.
Izuku adjusted the cuff of his dark green, structured trench coat as he walked briskly down the cobbled pavement, the fabric flaring slightly with each purposeful step. Underneath, a black turtleneck clung neatly to his frame, tucked into slim, high-waisted black pants cinched with a minimalist gold-ring belt. Sleek black boots clicked softly against the stone, steady and confident. Gold accents glinted subtly from his ears—dozens of piercings in intricate arrangements, some bold and sharp, others delicate and jeweled, catching the light as he moved.
He was on duty—half patrol, half recon for a suspect rumored to linger in this part of the district. His junior sidekick trailed behind him, breathless but trying to match Midoriya’s pace, their awe only growing with every quiet flash of gold and quiet command of presence he exuded.
Just as they reached the corner of a busy intersection, Izuku’s eyes narrowed slightly. There—right across the street in front of a modern ramen and grill place—stood a familiar frame. Bright red hair tied neatly, hands in his pockets, a casual but expectant posture that gave away more than Kirishima probably realized.
A smirk tugged at the edge of Izuku’s lips. He tilted his head slightly toward his junior and said under his breath, “Wait here for a sec.”
He didn’t wait for confirmation. Without hesitation, he crossed the street in easy, confident strides.
The moment was too perfect.
He hadn't seen Kirishima for some time—at least not outside of brief team meetings or overlapping missions—and something about the way the man stood there, awkward but hopeful, sparked a teasing itch in Izuku.
“Ei!” he called out casually, his voice cutting through the hum of traffic and city life.
Kirishima looked up, blinking once before recognition lit his face. His shoulders straightened instantly and a bright grin broke out on his face. He gave a slight, respectful bow.
“Storm Pulse—uh, hello!”
Izuku let out a small laugh, his green eyes gleaming with amusement.
“You know,” he said, stepping right in front of him, “I get that I’m on duty today, but the last time we talked, I called you Eijirou even while you were on patrol. And you called me Midoriya. Let’s not get all stiff with each other now. Didn't we promised to be casual?”
Kirishima scratched the back of his head sheepishly, clearly caught.
“Ah—yeah, you're right. Sorry, force of habit, I guess. It's been a while…”
Izuku folded his arms and tilted his head, voice laced with playfulness.
“So? What’s up with you standing outside like some lost dog? Not gonna get yourself a proper lunch?”
Kirishima chuckled, looking a little bashful.
“I invited a friend over. I need a bit of help with something… Sent them the place and time, but they haven’t replied yet. I figured I’d wait here just in case they show up.”
Izuku raised an eyebrow, genuinely surprised.
“You’re the kind of guy who keeps waiting even if someone doesn’t reply? Bold of you, Ei.”
Kirishima gave a nervous laugh.
“They’re… that kind of person. They don’t always respond, but they tend to show up anyway. So I just figured—eh, probably a yes.”
Izuku stared at him for a moment and then, without restraint, blurted what he was thinking.
“You’re an idiot.”
He expected a flinch, or maybe a sheepish defense. But instead, Kirishima just laughed—loud and cheerful as if he'd just been told a compliment.
“Heh. That’s not even the worst thing you’ve called me, Storm. At least it wasn’t ‘useless’ this time, right?”
Izuku clicked his tongue and gave him a sideways look.
“You’re weird. Don’t laugh it off—I am insulting you.”
Kirishima blinked.
“You are?” Then shrugged. “Didn’t feel like that. So I guess it’s not a big deal.”
Izuku sighed dramatically.
“Wow. You’re seriously something else. Every time we talk, you confuse me more. And then I end up realizing again—you’re actually just a dumbass.”
Kirishima beamed.
“Well, if it gets to you that much, I’ll take it as progress. Am I finally good-looking to you now?”
Izuku rolled his eyes, but there was a hint of a smirk playing at his lips.
“Don’t flatter yourself. You haven’t even invited me out for food yet. That’s step one if you want to get on my list of friends.”
Kirishima grinned even wider.
“Got it. Treats equal friendship. I’ll remember that.”
Both of them laughed—an easy, unforced sound that felt comfortable despite the chaos of the world around them.
Eventually, Izuku glanced at the time.
“Alright, duty calls. I’ve got to get back to work.”
Kirishima nodded, giving him a small wave.
“Be safe out there.”
Izuku gave one last look over his shoulder, a rare softness in his eyes before he returned to the street where his junior still waited. As he walked away, Kirishima stared after him, still smiling—but the moment Izuku was out of sight, he quickly turned around, buried his face in both palms and let out a small groan muffled by his gloves.
“Damn it…” he whispered to himself, his cheeks flushed a deep red. “I got to see Storm again. I wasn’t even ready to ask for help yet and there he goes just… showing up looking stupidly hot. Ughhh…”
He exhaled heavily and leaned back against the restaurant wall, his heart still racing.
“Where the hell is Bakugo now when I need him to kick some sense into me…” he muttered, eyes flicking toward the street like he half-expected another surprise appearance.
But for now, he stayed. Still waiting. Still hoping. Still red in the face.
Chapter 13: Misplaced Love
Chapter Text
The door opened with an annoyed click, Katsuki's scowl already painted on his face. He didn’t even wait to step fully inside before barking, “What the hell do you want now, shitty hair? You called me like it was a damn emergency.”
Kirishima was seated awkwardly on the couch, arms resting on his knees, fingers nervously tangled together. He stood when Katsuki entered, flashing a guilty, sheepish grin.
“Uh… yeah, sorry about that, man. I just— I didn’t know who else to talk to.” Katsuki narrowed his eyes, fists clenched at his sides.
“So this ain’t a damn emergency.” Kirishima winced.
“It’s kinda personal. About someone I… like.”
Katsuki turned on his heel, already halfway out the door.
“I’m out.”
“Wait, wait, wait!” Kirishima scrambled after him, grabbing onto Katsuki’s arm.
“Please, just hear me out, alright? I just need to say it somewhere—get it out of my chest. You can ignore me the whole time if you want. Please.”
Katsuki rolled his eyes so hard it could’ve caused a thunderclap.
“Fine. You got five minutes. And you’re buying me something later to make up for wasting my time.”
They both returned to the couch. Katsuki slouched into the armrest, arms crossed, eyes already glazing over in expectation of whatever stupid romantic drivel Kirishima was about to spew. He decided right there and then he wouldn’t listen—he’d just nod, grunt, and wait for it to be over so he could head back to Izuku. But then Kirishima started talking. And the name he dropped slapped Katsuki right out of his apathy.
“Okay… uh. So, remember about a month ago, I mentioned that mission I had with one of the top agencies? The one where I got paired with Storm Pulse?”
Katsuki blinked.
Kirishima’s voice softened, something uncharacteristically tender in his tone.
“Dude. I don’t know what happened, but… that guy—he just—he got to me."
Katsuki raised an eyebrow.
“Got to you how?”
“He was… magnetic. The way he moved in a fight, how he never hesitated—his rhythm, man, it’s like he had his own beat and didn’t care if you kept up or not. He was so cool, and I thought, okay, it’s just admiration, right?”
Katsuki’s brow twitched. He blinked slowly, unimpressed.
“You dragged me here for a fucking crush?”
“No!”
Kirishima held up both hands defensively.
“Okay, yes. But it’s more than that. I tried not to feel it. I swear. The first day of the mission, I messed up bad. Real bad. Storm ended up getting hurt because of me. I was worried—like really worried—because it was my fault, and I thought he’d be pissed or tell the agency. But you know what he did?”
Katsuki stared at him flatly. “Slapped you?”
Kirishima blinked. “...Yeah. Actually. How’d you—?”
“Lucky guess.”
Kirishima scratched his cheek with a sheepish chuckle.
“He said I needed to get my shit together if I wanted to be a hero he could count on. He was right, too. So I did. I don’t know why but that slap—” Kirishima let out a small laugh, “—snapped me into gear. It made me want to be better. For him. So I worked hard, made sure he didn’t need to scold me again. Day two was clean. He didn't praised me, just nodded and said, ‘Good.’ And day three... damn hot.”
He sighed, staring at the floor like he was recalling a dream.
“When I saw him outside work. Not as Storm Pulse. But as just… him. He was laughing with someone over the phone. His eyes lit up in a way I never saw before, and his smile? It was different. Softer. Sweeter. And he kept talking with this person. You know what name he said?”
Katsuki, who had tuned back in with the precision of a predator sensing his territory encroached, raised an eyebrow.
“What?”
Kirishima let out a groan and flopped back dramatically against the couch.
“Kacchan. He kept saying the name Kacchan.”
Katsuki stilled. So did the air.
“And you know what? He was laughing. Like this really pure, sweet laugh—talking to someone on the phone. Giggling. And he called whoever it was ‘Kacchan.’ That’s when it hit me—he was taken."
Katsuki stiffened slightly, but schooled his expression before Kirishima could notice.
“But god, Bakugo—he was cute. Storm Pulse was cute. How is that even fair? He’s so badass, but then he acts like a fluffball to this invisible Kacchan! I can’t explain it,” Kirishima went on, “but it sucked. I felt… jealous? Not just ‘cause of the relationship, but because Storm Pulse was so open and full of life with whoever Kacchan is. But not with me. Not like that.”
Katsuki inhaled slowly. Counted to three. Bit the inside of his cheek. He didn’t laugh. He chuckled. Low and dry. In disbelief.
“So what, you’re just gonna pine after some guy who’s clearly taken?”
Kirishima sat up, resting his chin on his palm with an exaggerated groan.
“I know, I know! That’s why I’m telling you—I know there’s no chance. I’m not delusional. But I dunno, I just—being around him makes me feel like I wanna grow more. Be more. Not to impress him but just because… he makes me believe I can.”
Katsuki frowned at that. It was honest. It was kinda sad.
And it was a little annoying.
Because that’s my damn Izuku you’re talking about, you dumbass.
“So,” he grumbled, “what are you gonna do? Mope around like a kicked puppy or actually do something?”
Kirishima laughed.
“I’m gonna be his friend. At least that. I’m not trying to do anything! I just—ugh, this is so stupid.”
He let out a huff and leaned back.
“But I’m not giving up on being his friend, at least. We ate snacks together earlier, and he said if I want to qualify as a friend, I should treat him again and be someone he could consider ‘good looking.’ It was playful, I think, but my dumb brain took it seriously.”
Katsuki’s brow twitched. “How early did this snack thing happen?”
“This morning. I ran into him while waiting for you. He was wearing this casual hoodie and big glasses but still looked like a walking poster. He teased me again. Then, I offered him next time we eat real meal together. He said it was passable. Then he smiled and left.”
Katsuki leaned back with a huff, barely hiding the twitch of irritation in his eye.
“And what, you think that means something?”
“One: treat him to snacks again. Two: be ‘good-looking enough for his aesthetic.’” He laughed again, eyes sparkling.
“It was all a joke, I think. But I told him I’d meet all of it. Every dumb requirement. Because I wanna stay in his orbit, even if just as a friend.” Katsuki sat back slowly, lips twitching.
“What the hell…” he muttered.
“When did you even eat with him the first time?”
“After we finished our joint assignment! Maybe he called it his reward for tolerating me for three days. I offered to pay, and he smirked like I fell into his trap.” Kirishima snickered.
“He even said he likes feeding off people’s attention.”
Katsuki groaned, dragging a hand down his face.
That was Izuku.
100%.
Teasing, smug, and secretly soft as a marshmallow underneath all his Storm Pulse flair. And Kirishima, of all people, was falling for him.
This was the guy Izuku was worried about? Katsuki folded his arms again, finally relaxed now that he had the full picture. His gaze dropped to the floor, then back at Kirishima.
Katsuki stared at him for a long moment. In his mind, he was screaming.
What a damn mess.
He could picture Izuku’s sly grin, that soft laugh, the way he teased with his lips curling up at the corners when he played innocent. No wonder the idiot fell. Storm Pulse had that effect when he let people get even a fraction of his charm.
He pressed his lips together and grinned to himself.
“So what’re you gonna do, Eijirou?” Katsuki finally asked. “Storm Pulse ain’t gonna like you the way you like him.”
Kirishima looked down at his glass, turning it slowly.
“I know. I’m not expecting anything. I just want to be around him more. That’s enough. I just needed someone to tell me I’m not insane.”
Katsuki snorted, standing up again. “You are insane.”
But his voice was less biting now. Almost amused.
“Storm Pulse, huh,” he said slowly. “Yeah. He’s damn cool. And yeah, he’s beautiful. I get why you’d fall for him.”
Kirishima shrugged with a sheepish grin. “I think he was just messing around.”
Or maybe he was trying to poke fun at Kirishima—exactly the way he poked at him when they started seeing each other. Damn nerd always had a habit of throwing confusing compliments and cheeky tests into every conversation.
Katsuki leaned back, biting down on his smirk. “You’re really fucking dumb.”
Kirishima winced. “You think I should just back off, then?”
“I think you’re already too deep in your head.”
Katsuki paused, tapping his fingers on the table.
“But he’s not gonna fall for you. Storm Pulse already has someone. Someone who’s not you.”
Kirishima gave a solemn nod.
“I figured as much. I’m not expecting a miracle. I just… wanted to get close enough to understand why someone like him could shake me up like this.”
That caught Katsuki off guard. For a second, his annoyance faded.
He let out a heavy sigh, dragging a hand through his hair.
“You don’t get it yet, but you’re probably already screwed. That’s just how he is.”
Kirishima frowned.
“Huh?”
“He shines,” Katsuki muttered. “And when he shines on you, you start thinking it’s for you. But that light’s just how he is. You’re not the first to think they’ve got a shot. I just think it’s funny. You’re crushing hard on a guy who’s already head over heels for someone else.”
Kirishima raised a brow. “Have you ever liked someone like that?”
Katsuki gave him a long, unreadable look.
“Yeah,” he said quietly. “But unlike you, I didn’t waste time being confused about it.”
Kirishima’s eyes widened just a bit.
Katsuki stood up, brushing invisible lint off his shirt.
“You done crying over your hopeless crush?”
Kirishima chuckled under his breath.
“Yeah, I guess. Thanks, man. I needed that.”
“Tch.” Katsuki turned away.
“I swear I’ll block your number.”
Kirishima called out, “Hey, Bakugo?”
“What.”
“You ever been so into someone, it’s hard to breathe around them?”
Katsuki paused.
A moment passed.
Then, with a low smirk. Katsuki muttered, “Yeah. Every fuckin’ day.”
Kirishima blinked, confused.
Katsuki didn’t elaborate. He just stretched, popped his shoulder, and walked toward the door.
“Next time you fake an emergency, at least make it something that involves actual blood.”
Kirishima scratched his head, mumbling, “Right… sorry…”
As Katsuki stepped out, he shook his head with a grin.
Damn idiots, both of them. My nerd really made this guy fall for him, huh?
And still, that final smirk on his lips lingered. Because at the end of the day, Storm Pulse’s ‘Kacchan’ was him. And Izuku was his.
Chapter 14: In the Eye of the Storm
Chapter Text
It had been a week since his unexpected heart-to-heart with Katsuki, but Kirishima Eijirou hadn’t been able to stop thinking about Storm Pulse.
And not just the flashy pro hero image, not the cool under-pressure vibe he gave off during rescue missions, and definitely not just the way he carried himself with that precise and almost intimidating calm.
It was the man himself.
The one with sharp, assessing eyes that somehow softened when he spoke to the rookies. The one who stood firm and composed, yet made Kirishima feel like he’d been seen—really seen—for the first time in a while.
That feeling was dangerous.
And yet, here he was, standing in his apartment, brushing his hair back for the fifth time, staring blankly at his phone, cursing himself for forgetting the simplest, most crucial move: getting Storm Pulse’s number.
“Seriously, Eijirou?” he muttered, flopping face-first into the couch cushions. “You’re a full-grown hero and you didn’t even ask for the guy’s number?”
He groaned. Loudly.
He was Red Riot, for crying out loud. He fought villains. He charged into burning buildings. He jumped into situations that could kill him. But apparently, the thought of asking for someone’s contact—someone he liked—was too much.
He let out a long, dramatic sigh and sank deeper into the couch.
“Should I even keep trying?” he whispered to the silence of his apartment. “This is already dumb. I’m being dumb.”
He’d told himself there was no real point to this. Storm Pulse was intense, professional, maybe even emotionally unavailable. Kirishima had already accepted, in theory, that this wasn’t a big deal.
But theory never accounted for how serious this crush felt.
It wasn’t just infatuation. It was something heavier. More hopeful.
And because he couldn’t let it go, he did the thing he’d been avoiding since the day after his talk with Katsuki.
He called him again.
The moment the line rang once, he regretted it.
“Yo.”
Katsuki's voice was sharp and unsurprisingly impatient.
“Hey, man,” Kirishima began, trying to sound casual. “So, uh, you remember last week when we talked about… you know, that hero guy—Storm Pulse?”
Katsuki didn’t respond. But the silence was heavy.
Kirishima cleared his throat. “So, I forgot to ask him for his number.”
“Yeah, I figured.”
“…You have it, right?”
Another beat of silence.
Then Katsuki snorted.
“Why the hell would I have some random hero guy’s number just because you’ve got a thing for him?”
Kirishima blinked. “Wait—so you don’t have it?”
“I didn’t say that,” Katsuki snapped.
Kirishima could practically hear the scowl through the phone.
“Then—can I have it?”
“No.”
“What? Bro—”
“Get it yourself,” Katsuki cut in flatly. “If you’re serious about this, then go find him. Ask him. Like a man.”
Then the line went dead.
Kirishima stared at the screen.
“Why are you like this, man?”
But even as he grumbled, he couldn’t deny that Katsuki had a point. This wasn’t something he could half-ass. If he wanted to know Storm Pulse—really know him—he had to put in the effort.
He tossed his phone aside and slumped back again.
But just as he was considering giving up, fate—or maybe sheer coincidence—handed him a lifeline.
The evening news blared from the television. Kirishima wasn’t even really watching—just zoning out to the background noise—until the words “Hero Provisionary Exam Supervision” caught his attention.
He sat up straighter.
The report detailed how the Hero Association was now holding the final examination phase for upcoming provisional license candidates. It was a big deal—media coverage, official observers, and a lineup of selected pro heroes tasked to guide and evaluate students during their practical tests.
They flashed images of the supervising heroes.
Kirishima’s heart nearly stopped.
Storm Pulse.
Standing right there next to Gale Force, wearing that sharp uniform with his arms crossed, a little grim, a little noble, and just as captivating as Kirishima remembered.
They even mentioned the venue and listed the participating schools: UA, Shiketsu, and two others.
Kirishima grinned wide, feeling a rush of energy like he’d just found a villain’s weak spot.
He was off-duty tomorrow.
He knew exactly what he was going to do.
By noon the next day, Kirishima was already at the provisional exam venue. The moment he arrived, he felt incredibly out of place—surrounded by reporters, rookie students, instructors, and pro hero staff.
Still, he had enough reputation to gain access as an observer. After all, he was Red Riot, and people respected him enough to not ask too many questions.
He wasn’t there to interfere. He just wanted to watch.
And maybe, just maybe, get a chance to talk.
From a distance, he spotted Storm Pulse almost instantly.
The guy had a commanding presence even when he wasn’t doing anything loud or flashy. His black and steel-gray hero costume had been modified slightly for the event—clean lines, practical build, and sleek earpiece attached, clearly tuned in for coordination. Kirishima admired the way he held himself, the way he gave instructions not just like a boss, but like someone who knew the weight of every decision.
He was assigned to four students—two from UA, one from Shiketsu, and one from another academy. Kirishima recognized the UA kids—they were good, sharp, and clearly determined.
Storm Pulse stood in front of them, his stance straight, hands behind his back, like a general briefing his squad.
Kirishima inched closer to hear.
“…You will not move until I give the signal,” Storm said firmly. “This is not a game. This is a simulation, yes—but it reflects the reality of field work. I will not tolerate recklessness. I expect communication, discipline, and precise execution. Clear?”
“Yes, sir!” the students responded in unison.
Kirishima smiled to himself.
God, he was even hotter when he was being a hardass.
He didn’t even know that was possible.
Storm Pulse turned slightly, his gaze sweeping the crowd of spectators behind the security line. For a brief second, their eyes locked.
Kirishima’s heart jumped.
He nodded.
Storm blinked—surprised—but didn’t smile. Just held his gaze for a second longer.
Then he turned back to his students.
Kirishima leaned on the nearby wall, watching the way Storm Pulse gestured, gave corrections, and guided without sugarcoating. The man was sharp but fair, tough but protective.
And Kirishima realized, with a tiny ache in his chest, that he didn’t just like him.
He wanted to know him.
He wanted to learn the things behind that serious face. The man behind the pro hero name. And yeah—he also really wanted that number.
But first, he’d wait until the exam ended.
Then maybe, if Storm didn’t hate surprises, he’d say hello.
And maybe ask for that contact properly this time.
The final exam began with tension humming in the air like static before a storm. The exam ground had been transformed into a simulated disaster zone—half-crumbled buildings, flickering streetlights, and overturned vehicles scattered across mock city blocks. Cameras were hidden everywhere to monitor performance. The public wasn’t allowed to interfere, but Pro Heroes and selected individuals had permission to observe from a special enclosed viewing area—Kirishima among them, clutching a bottle of water but barely drinking, eyes tracking one person only: Storm Pulse.
Storm—Izuku Midoriya—stood with his team of four students: two from U.A., one from Shiketsu, and one from Ketsubutsu Academy. Despite the mix of backgrounds, Izuku had already spent weeks blending them into a functioning unit. He believed in them, not as perfect heroes, but as seeds of greatness.
Before they entered the field, Izuku’s voice was calm but firm, his expression unreadable but somehow comforting. He knelt slightly, meeting their eyes like an equal, not a mentor towering above them.
“Remember,” he began, tone laced with passion and clarity, “you’re not here to win a fight. You're here to save. A hero's true victory isn’t beating the villain—it’s protecting life. You can lose a battle and still save the day. But if you forget to save while chasing victory, then you've already failed. Do you understand?”
The students nodded, fire igniting behind their eyes.
They respected him deeply.
For them, Izuku wasn’t just a legend or a top-tier pro—he was a teacher who made them feel seen.
Heard. Worthy.
Izuku’s plan was not to shine. His every movement was calculated to create moments for the students. He delegated, asked the right questions, stayed one step back rather than three steps ahead. He let them lead, even if it meant mistakes. He only stepped in when absolutely necessary, like when the Ketsubutsu student almost triggered a collapse of debris without realizing. A single word from Izuku—soft, subtle, “Left foot”—was all it took to prevent a misstep. He smiled faintly when she corrected herself.
Meanwhile, in the bleachers, Kirishima leaned forward with awe in his eyes. He wasn’t even pretending to watch anyone else. He’d never seen Izuku in his element like this—not during his own mental imaginings.
And damn, he was captivated.
Storm Pulse wasn’t flashy. He didn’t bark orders or dominate space. But there was gravity around him. Strength in how he trusted others to step up. Kirishima grinned. He makes them feel like they belong. No wonder Bakugo respects him too.
As the test progressed, the teams began completing objectives: retrieving injured civilians, disabling faux villain traps, and securing critical infrastructure.
But the twist hadn’t hit yet.
Just as the final checkpoint was achieved and the students began to regroup and breathe with relief, the alert rang through the system.
“Final Phase: Supervisor Barrier.”
A synthesized voice echoed through the area.
“Supervisors must now assume the role of unexpected enemy combatants. This is your final trial. Defeat, escape, or neutralize your mentor to pass.”
The students blinked, stunned. They turned to Izuku with disbelief.
Was this real? Were they seriously expected to fight him?
Izuku smiled softly, pulling his gloves tighter.
“Don’t hold back,” he said gently. “Show me what you’ve learned. I won’t go easy on you—but I will never hurt you more than I have to.”
He stepped back once, powered up, and his entire presence shifted. That calm, humble demeanor melted away as green lightning began crackling around him. The air grew heavier. He was no longer their kind, warm mentor.
He was Storm Pulse—Pro Hero, Top Ten, and now their obstacle.
They faltered at first. All four students hesitated to raise a hand against him. But Izuku didn’t give them that luxury. He moved fast—deliberately testing their reaction time, separating them with gusts of compressed wind and pressuring their weak points. He didn’t attack recklessly. He was shaping them through his challenge.
“You’re better than this!” he called out. “Where’s the strategy? You’ve worked together this long—show me!”
That was what snapped them out of it. The Shiketsu student took the lead, adapting quickly. He called formations, drew Izuku’s attention, and made use of the U.A. student’s mobility quirk to lay traps. Ketsubutsu’s energy burst was used to briefly stun him, while the other two combined to restrain him with steel thread and kinetic walls.
Izuku smiled mid-battle.
“Good. You’re finally thinking like a unit.”
He broke through the traps—but not before acknowledging the teamwork that had briefly caught him.
Kirishima could hardly breathe watching it unfold. Sweat ran down his back as he gripped the rail of the observation deck, whispering,
“He’s so good… They’re all doing great, but—damn, he's amazing.”
In the end, Izuku didn’t let them win. But they earned his nod. He powered down, panting slightly, offering his hand to the student who hit the ground last.
“You didn’t beat me,” he said, smiling gently, “but you proved you’re ready to face a world that won’t always let you win.”
The students looked stunned—but proud.
When the announcement of successful passes was given later that afternoon, Izuku stood to the side, arms crossed and eyes proud. The students hugged each other, some crying, and one approached Izuku with a soft, tearful “Thank you, Storm Pulse.”
He blinked, then gave them a rare, warm laugh and gently patted their head.
Kirishima remained frozen, barely noticing when someone offered him water again.
He was so gone.
Not just impressed—he was moved.
He’d always known Storm Pulse was strong. But now he saw the heart behind the strength. And that was the most dangerous part.
“Shit,” he muttered to himself, watching Izuku crouch to tie a student’s loose bootlace. “I’m really in trouble now.”
Chapter 15: Storm's Spark
Chapter Text
Kirishima had completely lost track of time. Of reason. Of everything.
His chest still throbbed from the pressure he felt while watching the final moments of the exam. His hands were stuffed inside his pockets as he trudged through the halls of U.A., steps slowing the more the events played in his head—the teamwork, the desperation, the unwavering belief in Midoriya’s teachings that the students clung to until the very end.
Their refusal to give up.
To abandon each other.
The principle he heard Midoriya preach—“You save first. That’s the only real win that counts.”—it echoed in Kirishima’s mind so vividly that he nearly walked past the most important person he came here to see.
He halted when something gently poked his cheek. Startled, his eyes snapped open wider, turning to find none other than Izuku Midoriya standing right in front of him, smiling with a mix of surprise and something unreadable in those bright green eyes.
“You good?” Izuku asked casually, but with genuine concern. “I didn’t expect to see you here, Ei. Were you watching the exam?”
Kirishima blinked. His mouth opened. He panicked. He couldn't exactly say:
I came here to see you.
So instead, he scratched at the back of his head with a sheepish grin.
“Y-yeah! You could say it that way…”
Izuku hummed and nodded, crossing his arms playfully. “Huh, and here I thought you came here to finally ask me out for a meal or something.”
Kirishima choked on nothing.
“Wha—! I—!”
Izuku chuckled at his reaction and waved it off, clearly teasing.
“Relax. I was joking,” he added with a grin, eyes crinkling.
But Kirishima couldn’t stop the heat rushing to his ears.
“I mean… I did think about it. But I forgot to ask for your contact number last time. So maybe… this is a chance? Contact exchange and a meal?”
Izuku’s smile softened, a mix of amused and flattered.
“So you actually came here for me, huh?”
The way he said it had a teasing lilt—but Kirishima, heart hammering, didn’t deny it. He simply let out a breath and nodded with a lopsided smile.
“Yeah. I guess I did.”
Izuku’s cheeks gained the faintest color before he turned around, waving over his shoulder.
“Alright, wait for me outside. I’ll just take a bath and change, then we’ll go.”
“Sure!” Kirishima called after him, watching him disappear into the locker room hallway.
Inside the locker room, Izuku wiped the lingering grin from his lips. His boots echoed faintly against the floor as he headed for his locker, only to find Gale Force—Inasa Yoarashi—already there, half-dressed and eyeing him suspiciously.
“Who was that just now?” Inasa asked bluntly, brow raised as he peeled off his shirt.
“You’re friends with Red Riot now?”
Izuku grabbed his towel and change of clothes, casually stripping off his jacket before responding.
“I don’t even know if we’re friends. He just keeps showing up since we worked together last month.”
Inasa’s eyes narrowed, a smirk tugging at the edge of his lips.
“So it’s one of those again.”
Izuku raised a brow.
“One of what?”
“You, in your playtime again,” Inasa replied with a laugh. “You’re seriously confusing. You lure people in like a magnet. Then you... what? Crack them open to see what’s inside and either save them or mess with them?”
“I don’t lure anyone,” Izuku said with a smirk, pulling on a clean black shirt. “They just follow.”
Inasa scoffed, shaking his head.
“People call it manipulation. Or flirtation. Pick one.”
Izuku paused just as he was buttoning his pants, then turned with a lazy wink.
“Why not both?”
Inasa gaped for a second before bursting out laughing.
Izuku leaned on his locker, confidence radiating off of him.
“There’s a big difference, though,” he added. “Manipulation? That’s about control. Flirtation? That’s an invitation. But me?”
Izuku grinned before he continue.
“I’m just entertaining them. I like seeing how careless people get around me. How they drop their guards. It’s cute.”
“Cute?” Inasa echoed.
“Mm,” Izuku hummed. “Because when they forget to protect themselves… that’s when you really know who they are. And sometimes, I save them. Sometimes, I just enjoy the show.”
“You’re terrifying,” Inasa muttered with a grin, slamming his locker shut. “No wonder people can’t stop looking your way.”
Izuku laughed softly.
“Then I must be doing something right.”
As they finished dressing, Izuku checked himself in the mirror briefly, running his fingers through his hair, making sure his usual freckled charm was still in place.
He wasn’t going to lie.
He was a little excited about that meal.
Outside, Kirishima waited with a hand on his hip, staring at his phone blankly, pretending not to be nervous.
Until the moment Izuku stepped out in casual wear—simple but clean, a dark green hoodie over a white shirt and jeans—and Kirishima’s jaw tensed at the sight of him.
“Sorry to keep you waiting,” Izuku said with a light bounce in his step. “Now… you said something about food, right?”
“Y-yeah!” Kirishima nodded quickly. “Right. Let’s go.”
As they started walking side by side out of U.A.’s gates, Kirishima caught the way people glanced at them—at Izuku, especially. At Storm Pulse.
But right now, Izuku was just laughing beside him.
Just Izuku.
And Kirishima could already tell he was going to be in trouble.
Meanwhile, across the other city, Katsuki dragged himself back into his agency office, shoulders aching from the long mission that had run him ragged. He dropped his gear onto the couch, collapsed into his chair, and only then noticed the thick cream-colored envelope resting on his desk. His brow furrowed as he picked it up, fingers brushing the embossed gold lettering on the flap.
Hero Charity Gala. Next Month. Invitation enclosed.
“Tch.” He clicked his tongue, leaning back in his chair.
The gala—one of those high-end, glitter-filled, ass-kissing events he always avoided. Suits, champagne, the press flashing cameras, every word dissected for gossip fodder. He never cared for that crap. Heroes belonged on the field, not parading around in overpriced suits for society’s approval.
But now… things were different.
For years, he had seen Izuku pop up in the news coverage of the event—usually arriving late after patrol or, more often, not attending at all because he was too wrapped up in work.
Storm Pulse wasn’t the type to waste time on empty appearances, but Katsuki knew how much those charities raised for rebuilding programs, for support systems to civilians. He’d seen the articles, heard the speeches. Izuku showed up when he could, made an impact, then disappeared into the night like the damn overworking nerd he was.
Katsuki’s thumb dragged over the envelope’s edge. He exhaled.
If they went together… it wouldn’t just be about showing up. It’d be about showing up together.
Partners.
Publicly.
A heavy thump hit his chest at the thought.
He knew how he felt—he had admitted it to himself, and hell, to Izuku too in his own way. He loved this nerd. Loud and reckless and stubborn as hell, Katsuki Bakugo loved Izuku Midoriya.
Their bond had always been sharp and complicated, but somewhere between battles, scars, and late-night confessions, it had settled into something so clear that Katsuki couldn’t deny it anymore. He wanted Izuku. He wanted him all to himself.
But… did Izuku really want him that way? With the same kind of possession, the same burning certainty?
Sometimes Katsuki caught himself doubting. Everything between them had been so sudden, so overwhelming—it rattled him, even if he wouldn’t admit it out loud.
And then, like an unwelcome ghost, Kirishima’s face popped into his head. His best friend, the idiot, all worked up and dazzled by Storm Pulse’s so-called “charisma.” Katsuki barked a laugh under his breath, shaking his head. Poor bastard didn’t even know who Storm Pulse really was. Didn’t realize he was walking headfirst into a trap woven by Izuku’s easy smiles and subtle tricks.
Katsuki almost pitied him. Almost.
But the truth? He found it funny as hell. Because at the end of the day, he was the one Izuku was dating. He was the one Izuku touched, kissed, whispered to. Not Ei. Not anyone else.
The laugh faded, leaving him with the heavy envelope in his hands again. He scowled, then tossed it onto the desk and pulled his phone from his pocket. Time to just ask.
He dialed Izuku’s number. One ring. Two. Three. His forehead creased deeper with every buzz, until finally, the line clicked.
“Kacchan?”
Izuku’s voice came through, warm and a little breathless.
“Where the hell are you right now?” Katsuki demanded, his voice rougher than intended. “Done babysitting those damn examinees?”
Izuku laughed on the other end, the sound irritatingly bright.
“Yeah. Finally done. It was actually fun, you know? I’m just having a great meal before heading back to the agency.”
Katsuki’s brows pinched tighter.
“Where?”
“A restaurant,” Izuku replied vaguely, his smile obvious in the way his voice curled. “Kind of fancy, actually. I’m doing a little… friendly assessment with Red Riot.”
Katsuki froze. His grip on the phone tightened until the plastic creaked.
“…With who?”
Before Izuku could answer, another voice filtered through the line, loud and unmistakable.
“Who is it, Storm?” Kirishima asked, curious and too damn close to the speaker.
Katsuki’s blood pressure spiked instantly.
“It’s Kacchan,” Izuku answered smoothly, deliberately. His tone held that smugness Katsuki recognized too well, like he was twisting the knife with ease. “You know, Kacchan.”
Kirishima laughed awkwardly in the background, clearly not putting two and two together, but Katsuki could practically hear Izuku smirking through the phone.
His teeth ground together. He dragged a palm down his face and growled low.
“…Whatever. We’ll talk later. Don’t get too carried away with your shit.”
Izuku chuckled, a dangerous warmth beneath the sound.
“Yes, Kacchan. See you later.”
The line went dead.
Katsuki dropped his phone on the desk, pinched the bridge of his nose, and let out a long, ragged exhale.
That damn nerd was going to drive him insane.
But as much as it pissed him off… it also made his chest burn with something dangerously close to pride.
Because at the end of the day, Izuku was still his.
Chapter 16: Dangerous Banter
Chapter Text
Kirishima shifted in his seat after Izuku slipped his phone back into his pocket. The faint smile on Izuku’s lips and the way his eyes softened when he said “Kacchan” still lingered in his head, and Ei couldn’t shake it. He cleared his throat, scratching the back of his neck nervously.
“Uh… sorry if I interrupted your call. I didn’t mean to—”
Izuku waved his hand, chuckling.
“No, no, it’s fine! I should be the one apologizing to you, Ei. I answered my phone while we’re eating. That’s rude, huh?”
Kirishima laughed awkwardly, holding his glass of water a little too tightly.
“It’s not like we’re on a date or anything, right?”
Izuku tilted his head, green eyes wide, his mouth curling into that mischievous little smile he was infamous for on the field but almost unbearable up close. He leaned forward slightly.
“We’re not?”
Kirishima’s jaw nearly dropped. His fork clattered lightly against the plate, and he froze mid-breath.
“W-wait, uh—what—”
Izuku let the silence hang for a couple of seconds, just long enough for Kirishima’s ears to burn bright red, then laughed—bright, bubbly, so casual it made Kirishima's heart pound harder.
“I’m kidding, I’m kidding! Don’t look so scared, Ei!”
“Man, you almost killed me there,” Kirishima groaned, covering his face with a hand while chuckling into his palm. “You can’t just drop that out of nowhere. My poor heart…”
Izuku giggled, shoulders shaking.
“Sorry, sorry. I couldn’t resist. You’re fun to tease, you know?”
Kirishima peeked at him from between his fingers, a helpless grin tugging at his lips despite himself.
“You’re dangerous, dude. First you slap me during training, then you tease me like this. What’s next, huh? You gonna start charging me friendship fees?”
“Maybe,” Izuku answered without hesitation, grin widening. “You already owe me snacks, remember? And now dinner. That’s two.”
Kirishima pointed his chopsticks at him with mock seriousness.
“So this is a racket. Storm Pulse’s secret side hustle—extortion by charm.”
Izuku gasped in fake offense, clutching at his chest.
“Extortion? That sounds so evil! No, no, Ei—I’m just… entertaining.” His grin softened into something smaller, gentler. “And honestly, thanks. I was exhausted. Mentoring those students today drained me more than I expected. I was starving too. If you hadn’t invited me, I’d probably be eating convenience store sandwiches right now.”
Kirishima blinked, his chest tightening at how sincerely Izuku said that. He tried to laugh it off.
“Hey, nothing wrong with sandwiches! But… yeah, I get it. Glad I could help then. Even if it’s just dinner.”
Izuku gave him a genuine smile this time, no teasing laced behind it.
“It’s not just dinner. It’s with you. That makes it better.”
Ei’s heart nearly stopped again. He could feel the tips of his ears going hot.
“You… you really gotta stop saying things like that,” he mumbled, shaking his head.
“Why?” Izuku blinked innocently. “It’s true.”
Kirishima groaned but couldn’t stop the laugh bubbling out of him.
“You’re impossible. But fine. If you’re gonna be like that, then don’t blame me if I tease you back, okay?”
Izuku’s eyes sparkled, leaning forward with his chin on his hand.
“Oh? You think you can handle that?”
“Oh, I know I can,” Kirishima said, finding his rhythm now. “Like, you act all cool and mentor-like, but outside missions? You’re kind of a dork. Giggles, teasing, shiny eyes—you’re like a… like a sugar-high gremlin.”
Izuku burst out laughing so hard he had to cover his mouth with a napkin.
“A gremlin?! That’s what you think of me?”
“Yeah!” Kirishima grinned wide, emboldened. “Strongest gremlin alive. No wonder people can’t keep up with you. They’re too busy being lured in by your shiny, sneaky gremlin energy.”
“Shiny gremlin, huh?” Izuku chuckled, wiping a tear from his eye. “I’ll take it. That’s better than extortionist, at least.”
Their banter carried them through the meal, both trading playful jabs and easy laughter. What had started as Kirishima feeling stiff and awkward melted into something natural, something that made his chest ache in the best way.
He smiled without thinking, responded without hesitation, and for the first time in days, he wasn’t trapped in the loop of what ifs about liking Storm Pulse.
Because sitting here, watching Izuku laugh with reckless brightness one second and lean back with calm wisdom the next, Kirishima realized something heavier:
He didn’t just like Storm Pulse.
He was starting to love Midoriya Izuku.
Not just the hero with dazzling strength and charisma, but the person who could sit across a table, giggle like a kid, tease shamelessly, and still look at him like he mattered.
Kirishima swallowed hard, his laughter tapering into a quiet smile.
This is bad. Really bad.
But at the same time…
I can’t stop.
Soon. when the night air felt cooler than expected, Izuku waved goodbye outside the restaurant.
“Thanks again for inviting me, Ei,” Izuku said, hands tucked into his jacket pockets, his smile soft but radiant. “I really needed this.”
Kirishima rubbed the back of his neck, grinning but a little stiff.
“Ah, no problem, man. Glad you came. Eat well, sleep well, yeah?”
Izuku laughed—a small, bright sound that seemed to chase away the awkward silence they had stumbled over earlier.
“Of course. And you too. See you around.”
He jogged off, curls bouncing, leaving Kirishima standing under the warm glow of the restaurant sign, hands shoved into his pockets, trying to steady the strange weight in his chest.
By the time he got back to his apartment, Kirishima’s usual energy had dimmed into something quieter. He dropped his jacket on the chair, kicked off his shoes, and fell onto his couch, staring at his phone.
Izuku’s name—Storm Pulse (Midoriya-san)—was flashing at the top of his contact list, freshly saved. Just seeing it there tugged a grin onto his face. He hadn’t felt this kind of giddy rush since… well, since high school.
Unprofessional, he told himself, dragging a hand over his face.
So unprofessional to just text him like that.
But his thumb hovered dangerously over the message bar anyway.
Before he could type, his phone vibrated with Mina’s name. He sighed, already knowing where this was going.
“Kiri!” Mina’s voice was bursting with cheer when he answered. “Perfect timing. You’re free for the hero gala, right? Be my partner!”
Kirishima groaned, leaning back on his couch.
“Again, Mina? You always pull me into these things.”
“That’s because you’re the only one who doesn’t bail on me last minute!” Mina shot back with her usual sass.
“Besides, you clean up nice, so quit complaining.”
He rolled his eyes, lips twitching despite himself.
“I swear, this is the last time.”
Mina laughed knowingly.
“You say that every time, Kiri. See you there!”
The line clicked dead, leaving him shaking his head with a small smile. Still, the thought of the gala nagged him. He’d almost wanted to ask Izuku first—but that was ridiculous. Storm Pulse never showed up at those things, or if he did, it was late, brief, and alone. Independent to the core, shining in his own lane.
Kirishima sighed, dragging himself into the shower.
Afterward, with damp hair and clean clothes, he sat on his bed, towel slung around his neck. His phone sat there on the nightstand like it was daring him.
Finally, he gave in.
Just one message.
Nothing serious.
I enjoyed eating dinner. Thanks for coming with me, Midoriya-san. See you around!
He smiled as he hit send, not knowing the message had gone somewhere entirely different.
Across town, Katsuki had just come out of the bathroom, towel around his waist, steam still clinging to his skin. His phone buzzed on the dresser.
One glance at the screen made his brows furrow.
I enjoyed eating dinner. Thanks for coming with me, Midoriya-san. See you around!
“What the hell…?” Katsuki muttered, jaw tightening.
From behind, Izuku padded into the bedroom, still in his robe, tying the sash loosely. He peeked over Katsuki’s shoulder with an innocent grin.
“Kacchan, what are you looking at?”
Katsuki turned, holding the phone up like evidence.
“What did you do, Izu?”
Izuku tilted his head—then his eyes caught the message. And he burst out laughing, clutching his stomach.
“Oh my god—he really didn’t notice! He really thinks your number is mine!”
Katsuki’s scowl deepened.
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
Izuku wiped tears of laughter from his eyes, gasping.
“I—I never actually saved my number on Ei’s phone this afternoon. I just changed your name to Storm Pulse! So now that he messages me, he’s actually messaging you!”
Katsuki blinked, disbelief painted on his face. Meanwhile Izuku was practically falling onto the bed, laughter spilling out in waves.
“You should’ve seen your face!” Izuku wheezed. “Kacchan, you’re so serious—oh my god—”
Katsuki rolled his eyes and, in one smooth motion, crawled onto the bed, pinning Izuku down between his arms. He pressed quick, sharp kisses to his lips, muffling his laughter into gasps.
“You’re a pain in the ass,” Katsuki muttered between kisses.
Izuku giggled against his mouth.
“What, is Kacchan jealous now—jealous of his ex whom he dated for 2 years?” he teased, his green eyes sparkling mischievously.
But Katsuki’s face didn’t budge. His gaze was sharp, serious.
“Yeah.”
The word landed heavy, slicing through Izuku’s laughter. His breath hitched, his smile faltering as he searched Katsuki’s eyes.
“Kacchan…” Izuku whispered, throat tight.
Slowly, Katsuki leaned down again, but this time the kiss wasn’t playful or rushed. It was deep, raw, claiming. Izuku’s hands slid up his bare shoulders, clutching him closer as the teasing dissolved into something real.
Izuku stopped laughing. He only kissed back, heart pounding with the weight of Kacchan’s unspoken truth.
Izuku blinked up at him, still pinned beneath his weight, Katsuki’s damp hair dripping faintly onto his cheek. The air between them had shifted—no longer playful, no longer light. The way Kacchan had said “yeah” still echoed in his chest like a confession.
“Kacchan…” Izuku’s voice was soft, trembling with the weight of things unsaid. His fingers slid over the broad expanse of Katsuki’s shoulders, thumbs brushing the scars and the muscle lines as if to remind him:
I’m here, I’ve always been here.
Katsuki kissed him again, harder this time, as though he needed proof, as though he needed to erase the sound of another man’s name attached to Izuku’s. His lips were hot, demanding, moving against Izuku’s until the omega gasped, robe slipping open under Katsuki’s insistence.
Izuku let him, arching up to meet every press of his mouth. But when Katsuki pulled back, breathing ragged, his eyes were dark with something more than lust.
“You’re mine.”
Katsuki rasped, his voice gravelly with need but edged with something vulnerable, something sharp.
“Don’t laugh it off—don’t mess with me, Izuku. I don’t care if it’s shitty hair or anyone else—I don’t fucking share.”
Izuku’s chest squeezed painfully. He cupped Katsuki’s face with both hands, thumbs brushing the sharp line of his cheekbones.
“Of course I’m yours. Always yours," he whispered again, softer, firmer.
Katsuki’s jaw tightened, but Izuku leaned up, pressing a gentler kiss to his mouth—slow, coaxing, reassuring.
“No one can ever take me away from you. Not Ei. Not anyone.”
The words cracked something inside Katsuki. His forehead dropped to Izuku’s, breaths harsh and uneven.
“Damn it, Izuku. I missed you.”
Izuku’s eyes stung. He pulled Katsuki into a crushing hug, wrapping his arms around his neck.
“I missed you too, Kacchan. So much it hurt. Even when we’re together every day—I still miss you the second you’re not holding me. I'm here. Always. Just love me, Kacchan.”
The words set Katsuki ablaze.
His kisses deepened, rougher at first, until Izuku whimpered into his mouth. Then something shifted—Katsuki slowed, tasting each gasp, each shiver, as if memorizing him. His hands mapped Izuku’s body like he was relearning a language only he had the right to speak.
Izuku responded in kind, fingers tangling in Katsuki’s damp hair, nails scraping lightly down his back. Every sound, every sigh, was threaded with reassurance Katsuki wanted to claim so bad:
I’m yours. I’m not going anywhere.
“You’re mine.”
Katsuki kissed him like he was trying to burn the silence out of existence. His mouth was demanding, rough, but beneath the heat Izuku could feel it—the crackling edge of fear.
He’s scared.
Izuku realized, because the same fear was coiled tight in his own chest. Each clash of their lips, each desperate touch, wasn’t just lust—it was a plea neither dared to put into words.
Katsuki’s grip on his shoulders was iron, not just to hold him close, but because part of him was terrified that if he let go, Izuku would vanish.
Don’t leave.
Don’t laugh at me.
Don’t run if you realize how much I need you.
The thoughts burned through him, but his throat refused to shape them into sound.
And Izuku—every gasp, every shiver—was threaded with the same ache. He wanted to tell Kacchan he loved him, that he always had, that he couldn’t imagine a life without him. But the fear gnawed at him:
What if I say it and he pulls away?
What if it ruins this?
So instead, he kissed back harder, nails curling against Katsuki’s back, letting his body scream what his voice couldn’t:
Please, just love me. Please, don’t let go.
“...You’re mine,” Katsuki rasped against his lips, voice breaking with something heavier than possession.
Izuku’s chest squeezed painfully. He wanted to answer with I love you—the words sat right there on the tip of his tongue—but they lodged in his throat. Instead he whispered, “Always yours,” because it was safer. Because it was close enough.
But as they clung to each other under the weight of their own silence, both of them knew the truth.
They weren’t just giving in to lust.
They were already in love.
They were just too afraid to say it.
Jessica1574 on Chapter 2 Tue 09 Sep 2025 07:13PM UTC
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Two_ofhearts on Chapter 6 Mon 25 Aug 2025 08:39PM UTC
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DynaBOOMight on Chapter 9 Wed 10 Sep 2025 01:49AM UTC
Last Edited Wed 10 Sep 2025 01:51AM UTC
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