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Katsuki gapes at the smoking, splintered wood scattered across the yard. At the hole in the side of his family’s small but precious shrine. Gunpowder, damp earth, and decaying leaves overwhelm his senses. The smoke from the burning cypress wood fills his lungs, choking him like a strong, crooked hand around his neck.
“Shit, shit, shit!” Katsuki darts to the well, grabs a bucket of water, and dowses the smoldering hole. “Deku, I’m sorry. Fuck, I’m so sorry!” He collapses to his knees, bowing deeply in submission and devotion to his god. The waterlogged soil soaks into his hakama, chilling his sensitive flesh. He smothers the last of the embers with his rough, calloused hands, making sure to thank Deku for blessing him with the quirk that gives his palms resistance to heat.
When he’s put the fire out, Katsuki stalks to the entryway of the tiny shrine with heavy, sopping footsteps. He lets himself in and lights incense before kneeling on the unforgiving wooden floor.
Katsuki bows to the rounded, clay Hinnagami doll at the center of the altar. “Deku, I’m sorry,” he repeats, touching his forehead to the floor. “I’m sorry for everything.”
He lifts his head, palms grasping at the splintered wood as he looks into the Hinnagami’s painted green eyes. “I didn’t mean for my rage to damage your shrine. I would never intentionally do that. I just—fuck, I can’t marry her!”
Tears build behind Katsuki’s eyes, his throat tightening. He’s a samurai—a lowly one at that—only recently raised from the ranks of peasantry. If his lord wants him to marry a woman he’s never met, Katsuki has no choice but to obey.
Katsuki’s tears fall to the floor with soft plops. “I’m grateful to you, always, for blessing me with the quirk of gunpowder.”
His parents told him the story up until the day smallpox choked out their life force. How they’d gone to the grave of seven ancient and revered samurai and gathered clay-heavy earth from their burial spots. How they’d shaped it with their calloused farmers’ hands into a lumpy, rounded figure and painted its eyes and hair with the color of bamboo shoots in the hopes of attracting a spirit who could grant Katsuki vitality and eternal praise.
They’d buried it under a busy road as tradition commanded, thinking it would never be seen again. But one morning when Katsuki woke up, there it was: that little clay doll sitting on top of his toy chest.
He was only five, so Katsuki had screamed, the misshapen little figure so out of place among his toy animals and soldiers. Its eyes seemed brighter—more real—than the rest of it, like they sparked with life and followed his every move.
His parents ran into his room and assured him the figure’s arrival was a blessing, and the fact that it had appeared in his room was a sign that he would be imbued with a god-given quirk.
And it was true. Soon, Katsuki was able to make sparks in his hands—sparks that never burned him. As he grew and honed his quirk, the sparks got bigger. By the time he was old enough to join the army as an ashigaru, he could create explosions as powerful as a crate of gunpowder.
The first night after the Hinnagami’s reappearance, Katsuki started dreaming of a little boy. Well, less of a little boy and more a specter—a black shadow in the shape of a child his age.
“Your quirk is amazing, Kacchan!” The shadow boy praised, his curls bouncing as he jumped up and down. “You’re sure to grow up into the greatest soldier of all time!”
Katsuki basked in the praise, allowing it to spread through his body just as the quirk had.
“I gave you such a nice gift, didn’t I?” the boy said. “It would be great if you could do something nice for me in return. That’s what friends do, and we are friends.”
The second part of the sentence sounded more like a command than a statement of camaraderie. The boy’s voice echoed through the misty, gray space of his dream, reverberating in Katsuki’s mind.
Katsuki’s skin prickled with unease. “Sure. What do you want?”
“Tanghulu!” The shadow boy’s voice took on its light, happy lilt once more. “You can set it next to me when you go to bed tomorrow night, and I’ll eat it up while you’re asleep!”
The next morning, Katsuki told his mother about the dream. He expected her to laugh it off, but she stopped darning the laundry and looked at Katsuki in grave seriousness, wiping the water off her hands and fishing a stash of coins out from under the floorboards.
“Then we’ll get the little boy some tanghulu.” She knelt down to Katsuki’s level and put a hand on his shoulder. “Every time you have a dream about this little boy, tell your father and me. We’ll help you procure whatever he requests. Never forget to tell us.”
That night, they set the skewered fruit on the table they’d set up for the clay doll, and when Katsuki woke up, the offering was gone.
The boy showed up in Katsuki’s dream the next night in that same misty, empty passageway. “Thanks, Kacchan! The fruit was so yummy! Now it’s my turn to do something for you!”
Katsuki thought about it for a moment. If this god had imbued Katsuki with his power and was going to be with him for the rest of his life, shouldn’t he know more about him?
“I wanna know your name,” Katsuki said.
The shadow boy giggled, turned on his heel, and ran away, his voice echoing through the empty space.
When Katsuki woke up the next morning, the Hinnagami was overturned.
Weird. They didn’t have a cat.
And Katsuki certainly didn’t do it—he knew better.
“I’m sorry!” Katsuki said. “I don’t know how you got knocked over, but I swear it wasn’t on purpose!”
As he placed it upright, Katsuki’s eye caught an inscription carved into the bottom of the doll.
出久
“Deku,” Katsuki said.
Like a dekunobou? That’d be strange, since this doll was clay and not wood. Still, Katsuki turns it upright and says, “Nice to meet you, Deku.”
A draft of air whistled through the house and prickled Katsuki’s skin with goosebumps.
Katsuki rises to his feet and picks up Deku, holding him to his chest. The pattering of rain and drop in temperature suggest an oncoming storm. He can’t leave Deku in his shrine—not when there’s a massive hole in it.
He had the shrine built so he didn’t have to keep Deku in his little one-room house. Katsuki didn’t mind being alone with the Hinnagami when he lived with other people, but with his parents dead and his elevation to the lowest level of samurai, it means he suffers both the privilege and the curse of living alone.
Deku was pleased with the shrine, but it would be the utmost disrespect for Katsuki to leave him there now, so he tucks Deku under his hitatare and trudges back towards the house, rain pattering his sandaled feet.
When he gets inside, he lights an oil lamp and kicks off his sandals, drying his feet and using the friction of the towel to warm his frigid, half-numb toes. By now, night has blanketed the earth. The rain picks up, pattering against the kaya roof.
Katsuki pulls Deku out from under his robe and looks into the glinting green eyes as he rubs the smattering of freckles on Deku’s cheeks. “I’ll fix your shrine as fast as possible. For now, I hope you’re happy being in the same space as me again?”
He carries Deku over to the small dining table so he’s facing the foot of Katsuki’s bed.
Katsuki was older now, in the gangly stage of early adolescence. Although nine years had passed since Deku first introduced himself in Katsuki’s dreams, he still showed up in that vast, foggy corridor every night without fail.
As Katsuki grew, so did Deku. During this time, he was a little shorter and a little more wiry than Katsuki.
“Every night before bed, I want you to pick me up and give me a kiss on the forehead,” Deku said. His shadow self had strengthened over the years. Where he once appeared as an opaque, intangible form, Deku was now a solid onyx. His voice had deepened at the same time as Katsuki’s, but it still held the same excited lilt of childhood.
“Kiss… you?” Katsuki said. Deku’s requests had increased in complexity since those early days, too. Where he once asked for sweets and trinkets in exchange for making Katsuki stronger, swifter, and flashier, he now asked for grander or more personal favors.
Deku scraped his foot nervously against the ground, kicking up a cloud of ethereal dust. “Kacchan starts his training to become an ashigaru tomorrow. I wanna make sure I have enough power to strengthen your quirk so you can shine on your first day.”
The reasoning behind the favor made sense. But…
“Why the hell would you want me to kiss you?” Katsuki snapped. “You’re a spirit!”
“Spirit,” Deku laughed. “Cute word. I like that. Kiss the doll, Kacchan. My vessel. Not me.”
Like he’s done every night for the past ten years, Katsuki kisses the Hinnagami on its bumpy forehead and bows in respect. Then, he strips down to his linens, blows out the oil lamp, and climbs into his futon.
Katsuki tosses and turns for a long while, trying to focus on the heavy rainfall rather than Deku’s unrelenting stare. He finds himself jolting up and snapping open his eyes to look at Deku.
But Deku just sits on the table, a black blob in a sea of darkness that Katsuki can only make out if he squints. A chill runs up his spine, turning the hairs on the back of his neck into a thousand tiny needles.
Katsuki may not be able to see Deku, but he knows beyond a doubt that Deku can see him.
Katsuki wakes up at the break of dawn like he does every morning, stretching the sleep out of his limbs. When he rolls over to climb out of the futon, his hip presses against something solid. Confused, he throws back the covers.
There, a mere hairsbreadth from his morning erection, is Deku.
Katsuki jolts, scrambling to the other side of the futon and pressing his back against the cold wall. “What the fuck,” he says, breathless. “What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck.” Katsuki takes grounding breaths to steady and settle himself.
As he presses his palms back against the wall, Katsuki tries to rationalize. Maybe he sleepwalked. Maybe he picked up Deku and took him to bed. But Katsuki’s never sleepwalked before—someone would have told him, and it would have been a danger given his position.
He looks into Deku’s eyes. At the little line of a smile on his bumpy face. “Deku. You can’t do that.” Katsuki forces strength into his voice. “Look, I’m sorry I blew a hole in your shrine. I’ll tell the carpenter as soon as I can.”
Deku, of course, doesn’t respond. But he stares at Katsuki with those wide, green eyes. And that line of a smile, once a comfort to Katsuki, now seeps through his body like the damp chill on an autumn day.
Heaving a breath, Katsuki picks Deku up and puts him back on the table, talking to him as he gets dressed for the day. “If you want a favor from me, you need to ask. I’m not a damn mindreader.”
With every nerve in his body on edge, it takes Katsuki longer to get dressed than usual. Before he leaves for the day, he takes one more look at Deku. “Seriously. Tell me what you want. Please.”
As he walks out the gates of his walled residence, Katsuki stops in his tracks.
For the first time since his quirk manifested nearly twenty years ago, Deku didn’t visit Katsuki in his dreams.
In fact, Katsuki didn’t dream at all.
Katsuki sets down his bokken and wipes the sweat from his brow, crossing the dimly lit dojo and making a beeline for the door.
“Bakugou, wait.”
The insistent concern in Kamihara’s voice makes Katsuki stop in his tracks. He turns around slowly as his mentor shakes out his silver hair before tying it in a high bun again.
“Tell me what’s wrong,” Kamihara says.
Katsuki clenches his jaw, letting the shame wash over him. He performed abysmally during today’s spars. “Just didn’t sleep well last night.”
There have been several occasions where Katsuki’s wanted to confide in a trusted confidante about Deku, but the pull has never been stronger than it is now.
Not that it matters. Deku is a secret Katsuki has to take to the grave; his parents made that clear to him very early on.
Kamihara nods. “Perhaps our meditation will do you well.”
Katsuki makes his way to the temple alone. He’s so distracted that he almost forgets to wash his hands and feet at the entrance. He really needs to get a grip—he hasn’t forgotten something that important since childhood.
Inside, his kumi is already taking meditation pillows and setting them on the floor. Though the eighteen other men in his regiment have had extensive training in remaining quiet and contemplative, even the soft steps of their bare feet make Katsuki want to bolt out of there and return to the sanctity of solitude.
He takes a pillow and settles between Todoroki and Monoma, focusing on quieting his mind and restoring his center.
Katsuki has never had a quiet mind, but he’s gotten better at training it over the years. He tries distancing himself from his thoughts and letting them pass through him without judgment.
His breaths come slow and easy. In and out. In and out. Light rain patters against the tile roof. Thunder rolls across the countryside from far away. His mind considers what it would be like to see it as a bird would, how it would feel if his quirk could propel him fast enough to dodge raindrops and outrun thunder.
A finger runs across Katsuki’s clavicle, warm and light. Monoma, probably, trying to get Katsuki to break his concentration and explode. But Katsuki won’t give him the satisfaction.
A hand tugs at the neckline of his hitare. Katsuki sets his jaw and regulates his breathing, trying to bring himself back to center.
“Your body for my shrine.”
Hot breath puffs against Katsuki’s ear.
He knows that voice.
Every muscle in Katsuki’s body seizes up. He snaps open his eyes, looking rapidly around the room to assess the threat.
But there’s nothing. The rest of his kumi sit on their pillows, deep in their own minds.
Maybe Monoma moved really fast and without making any sound, Katsuki rationalizes.
But he knows that’s not true.
Katsuki spends the rest of the session in tortured silence.
Katsuki’s never skipped out on his dedicated studies. As someone who worked his ass off to be elevated to the position of a samurai, he’s fortunate to have time allotted to the pursuit of higher learning.
But if Deku is somehow breaking through the spirit realm, then Katsuki needs to appease him by fixing his shrine as quickly as possible. There’s only one person who can complete the work to a level that Deku will approve of: Daiku, the village carpenter.
The rain lets up as Katsuki makes his way through the thatch-roofed minka homes, all squeezed closely together on either side of the deeply pitted road. In his haste, he splashes through puddles and muddies the legs of his hakama.
The chill of wet air seeps bone deep, and he wraps his thick jinbaori tighter and steps up to the nicest minka in the village.
He knocks at the door with a hard, insistent fist. “Daiku!”
No answer.
He knocks harder, tamping down on the panic spreading through his limbs. “Daiku! It’s Katsuki. Please—it’s an emergency!”
Finally, the door slides open.
Just a crack.
The woman on the other side presses her face against the sliver of an opening. “Katsuki.”
Her voice is heavy, strained, and one Katsuki would recognize anywhere—one he had heard since she was a little girl and they chased each other through the woods.
“Ame?” Katsuki says. “I need to see your father.”
“Did no one tell you?”
Katsuki tenses. He can’t move. Can’t think. He already knows what she’s going to say—he can tell by the shroud of grief pulsing outward from the house, from the swollen blood vessels in Ame’s eyes.
“He passed last night,” she says.
Time stands still.
Ame’s speaking. Katsuki can tell by the way her lips move, by the sounds his ears pick up. But he can’t make them out beyond the thrumming between his ears.
He shakes his head, trying to break himself out of the foggy dread that settles over him like a blanket of wet snow. “My deepest condolences to you and your family.”
He offers her a few more helpless platitudes, promising to attend his cremation and burial ceremonies before excusing himself so she can continue grieving with her family.
Katsuki’s reason for his quick departure, however, is entirely selfish. He sprints home, muddy water seeping into his hakama and spreading up to his knees.
His hands shake as he lets himself into his house. Deku’s still sitting on the table where Katsuki left him that morning.
Relief should wash over Katsuki. It does not.
Without removing his muddy boots, Katsuki lunges for the Hinnagami, squeezing it tight like he can strangle it. Like it’s human.
“Did you kill him?” Katsuki demands, spit flying from his mouth and landing on Deku’s freckles. “You did; didn’t you? The only man in this village who could properly fix your shrine. Because you like being in here with me, you freak? You’re gonna murder someone just to get closer to me, like you don’t already rule every aspect of my life?”
He slams Deku back onto the table as a mad plan forms in his mind. He grabs his tanto knife from its spot by the bed. The blade is strong, sleek, and perfect for the job he needs to do—a job his esteemed weapons should never do.
Katsuki stomps back outside. It’s raining again, but he pays it no heed as he kneels next to the side of his house and sticks the blade between two pieces of jointed wood. He twists the knife and pulls, trying to dislodge it from the house. Its build is a lot more solid than the house he grew up in, and it won’t budge. So Katsuki tries a different angle, a different technique to get it out.
One way or another, Katsuki will rebuild this shrine. Deku will not spend another night in the same room as him.
As his muscles fatigue, Katsuki feels the first piece of wood begin to loosen. He wedges the knife in further, twisting and pulling, using all his strength to pry it from the wall.
He rips and tugs, his hand slipping from the blade as he falls on his ass, the sodden ground drenching his clothes further.
But that doesn’t matter.
Katsuki grins wickedly at the dislodged piece of wood lying in the grass beside him, his deep, crazed laugh cutting through the quiet, darkening evening. “No one wins against Bakugou Katsuki! Not even you, Deku!”
Just because he managed to get one board out doesn’t mean the rest come easily. Katsuki had no idea how difficult carpentry was, and he’s gaining an appreciation and hatred for the skill as he slowly pries pieces of wood out of his house like healthy teeth.
His fingers slip, and he cuts himself on the knife sometimes, but he barely feels it. Night falls around him, and with it, the cold. So Katsuki lets the rain wash away the blood. He can’t see it, anyway.
When his eyes fully fail him, Katsuki goes inside briefly to grab an oil lamp, avoiding looking at Deku completely. He doesn’t want to know if Deku’s moved. Katsuki dries his hands on a towel, ignoring the fine cuts in his palms. Creating sparks in his palms, Katsuki lights the wick.
He’s wasted so much damn time.
The lamp illuminates his small home in a wash of warm yellow light that casts Katsuki’s dark shadow on the opposite wall.
Wait.
Katsuki freezes.
Because that’s not his shadow.
His shadow falls over the lamp and floor.
Katsuki’s squatting. This shadow is standing.
This shadow has curly hair.
Katsuki can’t breathe. Can’t move. It’s like his feet are fixed to the floor with stones.
He focuses on the calm flicker of the oil wick as he gathers the constitution to go back outside. Deliberately, Katsuki doesn’t afford the shadow a second glance.
He shouldn’t have spoken to Deku like that earlier. Katsuki’s never shown him such disrespect. A chill runs across his skin, but whether from the dank weather or the unsettling suspicion that Deku’s closing in on him, he doesn’t know.
Gathering up the wood he tore from his home, Katsuki lugs it over to the shrine. First, he tries working on it from the inside so he has shelter, but he feels Deku’s presence more strongly there, so he opts to fix it from the outside. Frigid raindrops soak into his waterlogged clothes.
They grow heavier, sharper, as he tries to force the wood slats into the gaping wall of the shrine. It’s sleeting now. Great.
Katsuki’s fingers slip across the wood, and no matter how much strength he uses, he can’t get them to stay in place.
He examines the notching under the lantern light. Of course they don’t fit—the lattices are a different size.
“FUCK!” Katsuki unsheaths his knife and starts whittling down the notches on the pieces he intends to put in the shrine.
When Katsuki goes to put it together again, it’s not a perfect fit, but it works. He takes the next piece, whittles it down, and nudges the ill-fitting board into place, again and again and again.
Finally, Katsuki whittles the last one. This is it: just one more board. And maybe the shrine won’t be perfect, but it’ll have to do. Hopefully, Deku will recognize how much time and effort Katsuki put into the reconstruction.
Deku has to appreciate it. Katsuki doesn’t want to know what’ll happen otherwise.
Standing on his toes, Katsuki tries to fit the last slat into place. He’s numb up to his thighs, and he long ago lost much of the feeling in his arms.
This time, however, it’s not the size of the notches that’s the problem. The board itself is a hairsbreadth too big to fit in the hole. Gritting his teeth, Katsuki pushes at it with more force, determined to make it work. After several unsuccessful attempts, he wedges the corner of the board into the slot. He pushes it harder, making the wood creak and moan from the force.
When it stops going in about halfway through, Katsuki hits it with the blunt end of the knife, hoping it will act as a makeshift hammer. He pounds it in, in, in…
Until all his work collapses like an abandoned shanty, the wood clattering to the floor on the inside of the shrine.
Katsuki drops his knife. Looks at the gaping hole. At the poorly whittled boards.
And he breaks.
Katsuki falls to his knees.
Pointless. It was all—
Pointless.
He buries his head in his hands and sobs. All that work to appease Deku. All for naught. Distantly, he realizes he should go back inside and take off his wet clothes. Dry off. Climb into bed.
But he can’t bear being in the same room as Deku. If that means staying out here all night, maybe freezing to death? So be it. It’s not like Katsuki can go to a colleague's or a friend’s house. He would have to explain too much—and he’s not allowed to explain.
A hand rests on his shoulder. Katsuki jumps up, instinctively reaching for a sword that isn’t there.
His eyes strain to make out the shadowy head of curly hair, unmussed by the rain and sleet.
Katsuki scrambles to pick up the wood, pretending he saw nothing. If he just carries on, maybe he can put everything back into place without it collapsing this time.
“Kacchan.”
Katsuki drops the wood. His heart pounds hard in his head, louder than the boom of gunpowder.
He squeezes his eyes shut. If Katsuki doesn’t acknowledge Deku, maybe he’ll go away.
Two big, strong hands rest atop his shoulders. Despite all his training and battle readiness, Katsuki whimpers.
The hands are warm, even through layers of soaked fabric.
“Why won’t you stop torturing me?” Katsuki means to scream it, but it comes out small, hoarse.
“Turn around. Please.” Deku’s voice is clear, warm, soothing.
Katsuki snaps open his eyes. That’s the first time Deku’s ever said ‘please.’
“I want to show you something.”
But no matter how nice it sounds, what comes out of Deku’s mouth is never a request. It’s a demand.
Katsuki thinks of the carpenter, struck dead by a god indifferent to everything human except Katsuki.
Slowly, Katsuki turns.
There, reflected in the light of the lantern, is Deku.
Katsuki’s only known him by silhouette and voice. But now, seeing his bright face, freckled cheeks, and wide, inviting eyes, it’s almost like Katsuki’s walked with him across lifetimes.
Deku gives him a shy, crooked smile and holds out his hand. “You’ll catch your death out here.”
He takes Deku’s hand and lets him lead him inside. Katsuki’s movements are automatic, like he has no will of his own. Perhaps he never did.
“Your fire went out.” Deku kneels over the iori and splays his hands above it, lighting a fire that dances vibrantly across the ash and charcoal.
The sudden heat reminds Katsuki’s body what it’s like to be warm again, and he has to clench his teeth to stop them from chattering.
Deku approaches him with sympathy carved into his brow. “Let me help you out of those wet clothes.”
Katsuki bats him away. “I can take off my own damn clothes. I’ve been doing it my whole life.”
There’s a flicker of change in Deku’s emotions. Just a simple twitch of his mouth. But Katsuki sees it.
“Let me help you, Kacchan. As a favor.”
The word favor grates against Katsuki’s ears. He stands rigid as Deku unties the belt of Katsuki’s overcoat and slips it off, revealing the equally drenched garments underneath.
Deku takes Katsuki’s freezing hand in his warm one, rubbing his thumb over Katsuki’s palm. His hands are big, crooked, scarred—like a warrior who’s survived hundreds of battles.
Katsuki should pull away. But whether he can’t or won’t, he’s not sure.
Next, Deku unfastens Katsuki’s hitoe and pushes it off his shoulders, letting it fall to the ground with a waterlogged thud.
The hakama pants come next. Deku’s fingers trace the intricate straps that secure them to Katsuki’s waist. “So small,” he whispers as he dextrously and gently undoes them, letting Katsuki’s pants pool at his feet.
Though he’s still covered in a thin hemp underlayer, Katsuki’s never felt more naked. More exposed.
Deku’s eyes darken as they trace over the soaked fabric that clings to Katsuki’s frame.
As Deku goes to pull off the last remaining shirt, Katsuki finds his voice. “I can do it.”
Deku places a single finger over Katsuki’s lips. The contact shoots through him like a bolt of lightning, and he has to stop himself from taking Deku’s finger into his mouth. Whether to suck or bite, he doesn’t know.
Maybe both.
“Let me take care of you, Kacchan.” Deku’s voice, like warm honey, pours over Katsuki as he removes what remains of Katsuki’s clothes. “You’ve been working so hard. Putting so much strain on your body. Kacchan should be more careful. He doesn’t wanna get sick because of a silly blunder.”
When Katsuki’s fully nude, Katsuki still keeps eye contact, even when he reaches for a thick blanket and wraps it tight around Katsuki’s frigid body.
“Kacchan should get warm in front of the fire,” Deku says.
A command or a request? Katsuki can’t tell the difference anymore. All he knows is that his numb feet carry him to the pitted fireplace.
As soon as he sits down, Deku hands him a hot cup of tea. Katsuki flinches. It burns his frozen skin and scorches the knife cuts.
“Your poor hands.” Deku sits down next to him. He pushes Katsuki’s hands together and brings them up to his mouth, blowing warm air onto them, bringing back their feeling and function. Then, he swipes his clever pink tongue over one of the cuts, sealing the skin back together instantly.
He repeats the motion with the rest of Katsuki’s cuts, and Katsuki tries to repeatedly ignore the sensation building deep in his belly.
Katsuki has to stop this. Whatever it is. He needs to tell Deku to go back inside the doll where he belongs.
But all that comes out is, “What do you want from me, Deku?”
Clasping Katsuki’s newly healed hands, Deku says, “Izuku.”
Katsuki blinks. He itches both to rip his hands away and run them all over the muscles of the sculpted chest peeking out from under Deku’s kimono.
“My name,” Deku says. “You read it incorrectly when you were a child. It’s Izuku.”
“Izuku?” Katsuki’s voice echoes in his head. Betrayal buds in his chest. “You never corrected me.”
Deku—Izuku—flashes him a carefree smile. “I thought it was cute that you thought of me as a limp, little dekunobou.”
Katsuki’s cheeks heat, and he looks down at the fire to avoid Izuku’s prying stare. It’s uncomfortable seeing Deku’s full, true form—or at least, the form he chooses to show Katsuki. Izuku’s face is one of unnerving familiarity—a face Katsuki’s never seen before yet feels like he’s known since childhood.
“Why.” Katsuki keeps his voice flat and controlled despite the fear and discomfort creeping across his warming skin.
“Why what?”
Why are you tormenting me? Why am I letting my guard down? Why did I let you strip every shred of clothing off my body without protest?
“Why’d you come here?” Katsuki settles on the safest question. He still can’t bring himself to look at Izuku again, no matter how much of a coward that makes him.
“Here. I think this has cooled down enough.” Izuku hands Katsuki the teacup.
He uses it to warm his hands but doesn’t dare drink.
“It’s safe,” Izuku says. “If I wanted to put something nefarious in your body, I wouldn’t need a drink to do it.”
Katsuki shivers, telling himself it’s just the effect of his body warming itself after so long in the rain and sleet. He slams the cup down in defiance. “Answer my damn question.”
Izuku raises an eyebrow, a small smirk twitching in the corners of his mouth. “Are you asking for a favor?”
“I’m asking you a question,” Katsuki grits. “Fuck, why does everything have to be a favor with you? Can’t you do a single thing without trying to get something from me?”
“Ah, sorry, old habit. I had no choice after your parents trapped me inside that thing.” Izuku hikes a thumb over his shoulder.
Katsuki’s eyes dart to the place where the Hinnagami sits.
Where it sat.
Katsuki’s heart beats wildly, pounding in his arms, his legs, his head. His chest tightens; his breaths come stymied and shallow.
Because the little clay doll is no more. All that’s left is a crumbled pile of paint-flecked clay.
“No.” Katsuki jumps up, knocking the teacup into the fire. The blanket slips down to his hips as he dashes to the table.
Water. He needs water. If he moistens the clay, he can reshape it, and—
Izuku rests his warm, calloused hand on Katsuki’s naked shoulder. “It’s over, Kacchan. I’m free.”
“N—no, Katsuki repeats, hating the desperation in his voice. There has to be a way to deal with Izuku. Everything has a weakness. He looks and feels like flesh and bone, so maybe…
Katsuki darts for his katana, unsheathing it and pointing it straight at Izuku before he can even make a step towards Katsuki. Sparks crackle to life in his free hand. “I don’t know why the fuck you’re here, but you need to leave. Get out of my house. Now.”
There’s that annoying, taunting laugh Katsuki’s heard so many times in his dreams. Izuku snaps his fingers, and the katana crumbles into dust in his grip. The spark of his quirk fizzles and dies. He tries to summon it forth again. Nothing.
Frozen, Katsuki looks at the gray powder in his hand. On the floor. It’s all that remains of his cherished weapon, the mark of the station Izuku was forced to help him reach.
“Using the quirk I gave you against me? That’s bold.” With a crazed smile, Izuku takes slow, deliberate steps forward. Katsuki doesn’t dare move as he comes closer, closer, until Izuku’s warm breath wafts across his face.
Katsuki pulls the blanket tighter around his hips.
“The doll is gone. So kiss me, Kacchan. Not my vessel. Me.”
Katsuki’s breaths are stilted, shaky. He arches up and presses his lips against Izuku’s forehead.
His skin is warm. Soft. Almost… human.
Almost.
Katsuki steps back, catching himself a moment before he stumbles. He can’t show any weakness.
Izuku gives him a shy little smile. “Not there.”
Katsuki swallows thickly, trying to push his heart down from where it’s taken residence in his throat. His instincts, normally sharp as his sword, swim through his muddied mind. “I… You want me to…”
When Izuku bites his lower lip, the action looks vulnerable. Inviting. “On the lips."
“Why?” It’s the only word Katsuki can force from his throat.
Izuku leans in until his lips brush against the tiny hairs on Katsuki’s ear. “You defiled my shrine, Kacchan. Now I get to defile your body.”
Katsuki’s next step puts his back against the wall. He braces himself against it with his free hand, the other clinging desperately to the blanket. “It was an accident!”
Izuku doesn’t move closer. But he doesn’t let Katsuki out, either. “You misunderstand me. I’m thanking you.”
“Thanking me?” Katsuki’s blood runs cold.
Izuku’s nod is stiff. Rigid. “If you hadn’t asked for such a powerful favor at the same time you blew a hole in the wall, I wouldn’t’ve had the strength to escape.”
“I tried to make it right! I tried to fix it!”
“And when your attempt collapsed, I finally burst through that stupid doll.”
“Did you kill the carpenter?”
Izuku pins Katsuki to the wall with his forearm. Katsuki grips it, trying to throw him off. He doesn’t budge. “I did you a favor. You know how it goes, Kacchan. It's my turn.”
“What favor?” Katsuki asks desperately. “I never—”
“You don’t remember pleading that you would do anything not to marry a woman?” Izuku leans in, brushing his lips against Katsuki’s neck. “How could I let that happen? I've been with you every night, haunting the corridors of your mind. She won’t have you.”
The possessive tone of Izuku’s ragged voice stokes a flame inside Katsuki. He imagines Izuku biting desperately at his neck while he ruts their cocks together, pulls the blanket down, gets on his knees—
“Can you really see yourself tethered to a woman? That sounds even worse than being tethered to a doll.” Izuku releases Katsuki, stepping back just enough to let him breathe. “I’ll say it again: Kiss me, Kacchan. On the lips.”
Katsuki gulps. Stares at Izuku’s lips: plump, pink, soft.
Expectant.
Izuku’s words hang heavy in the air between them. He smirks. “Are you shy because you’ve never kissed anyone before?”
There’s no point in lying to Izuku—he knows Katsuki better than anyone. He knows he’s never shared a passionate embrace with another or brought anyone to bed.
Izuku moves ever closer, his fingers tracing Katsuki’s clavicle. He puts his face right up to Katsuki’s, and when he speaks again, Izuku’s breath washes over his lips. “You don’t have to be nervous. It’s just me.”
Even if Izuku weren’t holding him against the wall, Katsuki doesn’t know if he’d push him away. So Katsuki stands there, frozen.
Katsuki finally moves his lips, but not against Izuku’s. “If you want a kiss, you’re gonna have to do it yourse—”
Izuku’s lips crash into his: hard, demanding, hungry. It’s like he’s trying to suck out Katsuki's soul, to feast on him until there’s nothing left. Izuku wedges his tongue into Katsuki’s shy, reluctant mouth, and it stokes the embers in Katsuki’s body into a wildfire.
Izuku rips his lips from Katsuki’s, leaving him breathless and panting, his mind reeling as Izuku sucks bruising kisses along his neck.
Katsuki should at least struggle. Should tell Izuku to stop. Instead, he finds himself pushing Izuku’s head harder into his neck. Izuku bites down—hard—on the sinewy muscle of Katsuki’s shoulder. Katsuki yelps, startled by the pleasure-pain. The sound makes Izuku growl, and he repeats the action, his dull teeth marking Katsuki with deep divots.
His mouth finds Katsuki’s neck again, champing down right on his pulse point. The hurt is deliciously wrong, traveling down Katsuki’s spine like an exposed nerve.
Not once does Izuku slow down. Not once does he soothe the bites with kisses. Not once does he ask Katsuki if he’s okay.
As he moves to Katsuki’s chest, Izuku pushes his generous pecs together, his eyes wide with wonder. “Your tits are insane. You could have cleavage if you wanted to.”
“Sh—shut the fuck up,” Katsuki whimpers.
Izuku does shut up, but only to latch onto Katsuki’s nipple. Pain blooms at the spot as Katsuki muffles his own pathetic sounds with his hand. By the time he pops off, the areola is an angry, spit-coated red.
Izuku looks at Katsuki with lust-filled eyes as he flicks his tongue rapidly over the pebbled bud. Something about his expression, or maybe the lewd movement of his tongue, has Katsuki biting hard at his fist to keep from screaming.
With one hand in Izuku’s hair and the other preserving his last strand of dignity, the blanket around Katsuki’s waist pools to the floor when he arches into Izuku’s skilled mouth, to seek more of those intoxicating bites.
Panic jolts Katsuki out of his temporary insanity. He has to get the blanket.
Izuku stops him, pinning Katsuki’s wrists to the wall as he straightens back to his full height.
“No need to be modest,” Izuku says, his crooked hands still kneading Katsuki’s pecs. “I’ve been looking at your beautiful body for years.” He ruts his clothed hips against Katsuki’s nude ones.
And that’s when Katsuki feels it: a solid, thick cock rubbing against his own equally hard length.
Katsuki’s cheeks heat with shame and desire as Izuku presses their foreheads together and grinds his dick against Katsuki’s.
Izuku makes a sound like he’s just tasted the most exquisite honey.
Katsuki squeezes his eyes shut, trying to hold strong, trying not to give in to the off-putting and intoxicating sensation. “S—stop. Get off me.”
“Is that really what you want?” Izuku asks, thrusting feverishly against Katsuki. “For me to preserve your precious celibacy?”
Katsuki is overwhelmed with thought and sensation, waging a war between the newly awakened desires of his body and the rigid discipline of his mind.
“I can't think!” Katsuki hates how thin and desperate it comes out. “Not when you touch me like this!”
Izuku licks the shell of Katsuki's ear, his hand moving to wrap around Katsuki's cock. “You're not supposed to think.”
A humiliating, high-pitched whine escapes Katsuki's throat as Izuku pumps his cock with languid precision.
“I get it,” Izuku whispers gruffly. “My brain wouldn’t shut up when I was alive, either. But you won’t have to worry about that anymore.”
“What, you gonna kill me?” Katsuki chokes, fighting the overwhelming need to rut into Izuku’s hand.
“Of course not!” Izuku says it like the accusation stabbed him through the heart. His hand stops moving, and he squeezes Katsuki’s cock, forcing another pathetic, needy sound from Katsuki. “Death is incomprehensible to immortals.”
Before Katsuki can ask what he means, Izuku grabs him by the shoulders, turns him around, and shoves him hard onto the mattress. Izuku looms over the futon, casting a long shadow over Katsuki’s prone form.
Before Katsuki can even move, Izuku puts a hand up. “Don’t.”
With a single word, Izuku traps Katsuki to the futon. But his limbs don’t feel any heavier. His muscles still work. There are no invisible ropes. Instead, it’s as though Izuku put up a barrier in his mind and not his body.
Izuku’s eyes never leave Katsuki’s as he undoes the belt of his regal, well-made kimono. Its deep green fabric glistens in the firelight. It speaks of his wealth, prestige, and power—all things Katsuki thought he could achieve with a few more years of discipline and hard work.
He slips the kimono from his shoulders and lets it fall to the floor.
Katsuki gasps. Izuku’s fully nude underneath it. His eyes trace the expanse of Izuku’s chest, his strong, corded arms and abs.
And then—
“Oh, fuck no. You’re not getting that thing anywhere near me.” Katsuki clasps his legs together like a vice.
Because Izuku is unreasonably well-endowed. His thick length stands at attention. The bulbous head drips with precum, and the angry, pronounced vein on the underside practically pulses—like it needs, desperately, to claim something.
But despite Katsuki’s trepidation—despite being shoved onto the mattress like a doll and forced to stay still—his own cock hasn’t flagged at all.
Izuku licks his lips as he approaches the bed. He kneels in front of Katsuki’s legs, resting his head on Katsuki’s knee like a familiar lover. “Relax,” he soothes. “Open up for me.”
As the barrier in Katsuki’s mind transforms, he finds his muscles slackening, his breathing becoming slower, steadier. Placing his hands between Katsuki’s knees, Izuku spreads his legs, exposing Katsuki’s own impressive length.
Izuku emits a low whistle. “What a waste.” He fists Katsuki’s cock once more, working the delicate skin of the shaft in a slow, steady rhythm.
“The fuck’s… that supposed to mean?” Katsuki grips the futon, biting his cheek as he resists the urge to move his hips with Izuku’s strokes.
“You never took the opportunity to fuck someone with this, and now you never will,” Izuku says, like it’s an actual reason his dick is a waste. “And honestly? It’s not my preference.”
“Then let go of it!”
Izuku shakes his head. “I can’t remake it to my liking if I don’t touch it.”
Katsuki’s heart drops into his stomach.
“You see, Kacchan, your body is my clay.”
Panic rages through Katsuki’s mind. Izuku can’t seriously have the power to change his body to his perverse specifications, right?
It’s wishful thinking. Izuku granted Katsuki a quirk. He’s impossibly strong and can stop Katsuki from moving with a single command. If anyone can reshape his body for their perverse pleasure, it’s Izuku.
As he works Katsuki’s cock, bright green flashes of lightning zip down Izuku’s arm and out of his palm. They buzz like static against the thin, sensitive skin. Katsuki gasps as the skin starts to tighten and transform. His cock, which once loomed over Izuku’s fist, starts to be swallowed up with every pump. It’s like his cock is retreating into his pelvis, becoming just another part of Katsuki’s body.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Katsuki says despite the precum leaking from his rapidly shrinking member. The head now barely peeks out from under Izuku’s hand, causing Izuku’s movements to become shorter, faster, and more concentrated.
And yet, some deep, masochistic part of Katsuki draws pleasure from watching Izuku change his body to his whims. He leaks more and more precum as his cock disappears into Izuku’s clenched palm, spurting over Izuku’s hand.
“You like this,” Izuku whispers.
Katsuki shakes his head, tears prickling his eyes. “Why the fuck would anyone like this, you freak?”
“Look at me.”
Katsuki’s eyes immediately snap up. Izuku’s eyes have transformed from their usual vibrant green to the electric color of the quirk he’s using to change Katsuki’s body.
“Breathe, Kacchan.” Izuku’s voice is soft, soothing. “Give in to your basest desires. Riches? Fame? Glory? All arrogant human concepts that mean nothing in the vast trenches of a universe you can’t yet sense. Your quirk, your lifepath, it was all decided when you were too young to understand. Everything you’ve become is because of me.”
Katsuki can’t move. But this time, it’s not because of Izuku. Snippets of memories flash in his mind’s eye. Finding the smiling Hinnagami on his toybox. Playing with the happy shadow child who chased after Katsuki in his dreams. Granting favor after favor—sweets, prayers, praise, shrines.
And now, his body.
“Cum, Kacchan,” Izuku says, working what’s left of Katsuki’s cock. “Do me the greatest favor so far, and cum for me.”
The pleasure crashes over Katsuki in quick, churning waves as Izuku moves his hand faster, the excessive pre making the short glide up and down wet, hot.
And so, Katsuki cums.
Hard.
He throws his head back, arms buckling, body shaking as he unloads into Izuku’s grip.
When Katsuki’s panting and spent, Izuku removes his hand and laps at the cum, moaning as he swallows it. “Well? What do you think?”
Katsuki looks down. All that remains of his tall, proud cock is the head, flagging atop his balls in defeat.
What does Katsuki think? How the fuck is he supposed to answer that?
“Where… how… is it inside me?” Katsuki demands.
“I’m not that mean. No, I just shrunk your shaft and concentrated its sensation into the glans so you feel more pleasure.” Izuku bends down and sucks the nub into his mouth.
Katsuki’s cock is alight with sensation. He falls back, banging his head on the wall as Izuku’s cheeks hollow around the head of his dick. When he pops off, Katsuki’s rock hard again. Or at least, it feels like it. There’s not much left to tell.
“You like it.” Izuku laps at the slit.
“Fuck you.” Katsuki digs his fingers into his leg, trying to stop the onslaught of pleasure Izuku seems determined to draw from him. He hides his head in the crook of his arm. He should be raging, screaming. Instead, he’s masking his furious blush from Izuku’s ever-watching eyes.
Katsuki refuses to look up—to give Izuku the satisfaction of knowing that maybe he’s right.
At least, until Izuku moves downward and licks across Katsuki’s hole.
“Whaaaa—at the fuck?” Katsuki tries, poorly, to recover.
Izuku holds his hips down with his strong, gnarled hands, prodding at Katsuki’s entrance with his tongue. The muscle slips inside, coating Katsuki with something thicker and more slippery than spit. Izuku juts his tongue in and out—slowly at first—before fully fucking his tongue into Katsuki.
Katsuki flops fully back onto the bed, biting his arm to keep from screaming.
Izuku slips his tongue out, grabs Katsuki’s arm, and yanks it away from his face. A clear, viscous liquid coats his lips. “Don’t hold back. Scream for me like you want to.”
“You’re gonna have to make me, freak,” Katsuki snaps, challenging Izuku with a sharp, crazed smile. Maybe it’s the orgasm. Maybe it’s his shrunken, oversensitized cock. Maybe it’s the tongue that breached his tight entrance for the first time.
Or maybe, it’s just… Izuku.
Izuku grins back, looking just as mad, riding the high of the sparks crackling between them. He licks around his finger, covering it in that same slippery substance as he settles back between Katsuki’s legs and slowly slips the digit inside.
Katsuki gasps at the intrusion. It’s so much more solid than Izuku’s tongue. And like this, Izuku can look at him, can watch as Katsuki holds back all his reactions, all his sounds.
Izuku spits on Katsuki’s tight, resistant hole and pushes a second finger against him. “Relax, Kacchan.”
Slowly, it slips inside as Katsuki fights to keep his lower body from clenching up. An involuntary moan rises from his throat.
“There you go,” Izuku soothes as the second finger slides in. “Look at you opening up for me, taking me so well.”
Katsuki hates how the praise makes his chest swim, how his untouched cock aches with the need to please.
“I’m feeling impatient,” Izuku says, “So I’m gonna mold you a little bit here, too.”
“The fuck you are!” Despite his words, Katsuki makes no move to resist. As his walls open and relax with Izuku’s movements, the muddied line between what he wants to do and what Izuku’s making him do blurs further.
“There. That should be the perfect fit.” Izuku extracts his fingers and spits into his palm. He teases it slowly up his length, a cruel but not unwelcome mockery of the change he instilled upon Katsuki’s cock.
With that, Izuku heaves Katsuki’s legs back so they almost touch his ears, his throbbing cock rubbing against Katsuki’s slicked hole.
“You won’t have to marry her, Kacchan. Money, power, status—those stupid, human frivalties—will be things of the past. Just like I was yours for so long, you’ll be mine.” He pushes his lips against Katsuki’s, easing him into a deep, breathless kiss. “Give yourself to me so we can both start living.”
Izuku stills above him. Katsuki no longer hears the trickle of rain nor the crackle of fire. Like the world around him no longer exists. Like his world is—has always been—Izuku.
In that stillness, that silence, Katsuki’s chest starts to ache.
Or maybe it always has.
His life has never been his own. Not really. He would still be a peasant if his parents hadn’t taken the clay from graves and molded a Hinnagami.
Every victory—every triumph—is a farce.
As the realization hits him, something inside Katsuki breaks. His throat tightens. His tongue grows heavy.
A strategic marriage is just another blow to the farce of his existence.
But does that make it any less important? Any less real?
“If I refuse,” Katsuki says, “what happens?”
Izuku frowns, brushing hair away from Katsuki’s face. “You’ll be begging on the streets in a year and dead within five.”
Katsuki gulps shallow, panicked breaths. “You can’t just—”
“Shhh…” Izuku presses a finger to Katsuki’s kiss-plumped lips. “I don’t want that to happen, Kacchan. I’d never… but the doll is dust. I can’t stay here. I have to go home. For every gift I’ve given you, you’ll be hit with misfortune.”
Katsuki’s breath catches in his throat. “Why didn’t you tell me that before you were two fingers deep in my ass?”
Izuku laughs a little. Like it’s a joke. Fuck, maybe it is. Katsuki’s life has transformed from one of promising prestige to lewd absurdity at a dizzying speed.
“Would you have believed me?” Izuku says. “Do you even believe me now? Harnessing a god’s power has consequences, and your parents aren’t alive to reap them. It all falls on you.”
“If I say yes,” Katsuki says, “what happens to me?”
Izuku cups Katsuki’s face in his hand. It’s warm. Soothing. Gentle. “I can’t tell you. But it’s nothing bad. I promise.” The soft tug at his lips—the sincerity in his eyes—makes Katsuki want to believe him.
“‘Not bad’ doesn’t mean good,” Katsuki counters.
Izuku shifts his hips, making Katsuki increasingly aware of the cock rubbing insistently against his ass, reminding him of the decision hanging above him like a knife hanging on a silk thread.
“It also doesn’t mean horrific misfortune,” Izuku says.
Katsuki shivers. Because in all the years Izuku’s haunted Katsuki’s dreams, he’s never once lied. If Katsuki declines, what remains of his life will be cold, cruel, and lonely. And in the end, how is this any different from the fallacy of choice he’s been subjected to from the time he was five years old?
In his own twisted way, Izuku is trying to save him.
So Katsuki closes his eyes. Focuses on the silence. On the warm, solid body that surrounds him.
“Okay,” Katsuki whispers. “I’m yours.”
I’ve always been yours.
This time, it’s Izuku’s turn to be surprised. Katsuki hears it in his gasp. In the way his muscles jerk.
And when Katsuki musters up the courage to look again, Izuku’s eyes gleam with tears. “Really? You’re—you’re sure?” He asks it like he’s an inexperienced virgin and not an ancient god. It’s as endearing as it is pathetic.
“Just stick your dick in me, okay?”
“Okay.” Another little laugh that makes Katsuki’s chest stir with a terrifying new emotion. “Just try and relax for me.”
Izuku sits up a little, catching his cock on Katsuki’s entrance. With his hands grasping the backs of Katsuki’s thighs, he eases himself inside. Katsuki braces himself for pain but feels only a deep, satisfying stretch as Izuku slips into Katsuki. He brushes up against something that makes Katsuki’s eyes roll back in his head, makes him let out another noise that should be utterly humiliating. But Katsuki feels too good to care.
Once his pelvis comes flush with Katsuki’s ass, Izuku pauses. “When you imagined your first time, did you think of sinking your cock into a tight cunt? Or did you ever even think of sex at all? I’ll bet the thought of being bent in half never crossed your mind.”
Katsuki is so full. Of Izuku’s cock. Of Izuku’s strength. It surges through him like river rapids, enhancing Katsuki’s every sensation in body and soul.
And Katsuki knows, somehow, that this is what true, unbridled power feels like.
Izuku’s fingers sink hard into the backs of Katsuki’s thighs as he fucks into him slowly. He spreads Katsuki’s legs wider to hit that spot that makes him stifle another moan.
“Let it out,” Izuku says. “I already see and feel all of you. Now, let me hear all of you.”
As Izuku brushes his cock along whatever it is inside Katsuki that makes him want to lose himself, Katsuki spreads his legs more, seeking out the depth of feeling.
Izuku’s jaw slackens in shock. “The way you move your body… It’s amazing.”
“Yeah?” Katsuki says breathlessly, chasing the sensation as he rocks his hips to match Izuku’s rhythm.
“From the shadows, I’ve watched you train all these years.” Izuku falls forward, grasping desperately for Katsuki’s wrists as he pins them to the mattress.”I’ve never seen anyone so suited for a quirk. And you honed it to perfection—made it your own.”
As Izuku buries his face in Katsuki’s neck once more, kissing and nipping and biting, Katsuki keeps his legs open as wide as he can, his back arching off the mattress.
And so, Katsuki lets go. He lets go of the rigid expectations of his position. He lets go of his family’s demands that he be better, faster, and stronger than any samurai to have ever lived. Most importantly, he lets go of fear. And as he frees it from his chest, he sees Izuku not as a monster. Not as a man. Not as a god.
But as a soul. Brilliant and gleaming in the firelight with a spark in his eyes that matches Katsuki’s. He is nothing and everything all at once. He is Izuku.
That’s the first unbridled string of syllables that leaves Katsuki’s throat.
“Izuku.”
It comes out as a warbling mumble. Quiet, like thunder rolling across faraway hills.
“Izuku.”
Katsuki’s voice strengthens as Izuku fucks him harder, rocking Katsuki back and forth. His skin chafes against the mattress. His head knocks against the wall.
But Katsuki doesn’t care.
“IZUKU!” It comes out loud, broken. And as Katsuki screams, something inside his chest shatters, too.
Maybe it’s neither good nor bad, but necessary.
Katsuki wraps his arms around Izuku, digging stubbed fingernails into his back. His legs come up, too, and he presses his heels into Izuku’s ass, urging him deeper—needing Izuku to fill every alcove of his body.
“Fuck, yes…” Izuku breathes into his ear. His sweat drips onto Katsuki, mixing with his own as their bodies slide together. “I’ve always been yours. And now, finally, you’re mine.”
Katsuki doesn’t ask what Izuku means because he doesn’t care. He just knows he’s never felt more real than he does in this moment—on his back while Izuku pounds into him relentlessly.
Izuku lifts himself up again, resting one hand on the back of Katsuki’s thigh and the other on his ass. He grips it possessively, that feral grin spreading across his face once more. “Say it, Kacchan. Say you’re mine.”
“Y—yours.” It’s quiet at first, like wind through bare branches. But as Katsuki looks into Izuku's eyes—looks through Izuku’s eyes and searches for everything Izuku is, everything Izuku will ever be—he knows he needs more. Needs to follow him into the depths of the earth, to swim in his essence, to learn Izuku’s every expression and idiosyncrasy.
To know Izuku beyond shadows and clay and painted eyes.
Katsuki’s voice comes in louder. “Yours. I’m yours.”
Izuku lifts his hand from Katsuki’s ass, letting it hover just above the right cheek. Sparks come to life in his palm. “Say it again.”
“Izuku,” Katsuki says. “I’m yours.”
Katsuki should fear the pain as Izuku uses his gunpowder quirk to carve into Katsuki’s skin. Hell, he should fear Izuku himself. Instead, he holds still, his hole clenching around Izuku’s cock like it’s begging to be taken deeper again.
“Hold still,” Izuku whispers.
The pain is sharp and hot like forged metal, and Katsuki struggles to keep from squirming. So instead, he lets his voice ring out: loud and true and whorish. Katsuki can’t form words, so he moans a joyous deathsong that rings out into the night.
When Izuku finishes whatever brand he’s etched into Katsuki’s ass, he licks his hand and rubs it on the raw skin. Just like Katsuki’s cuts, it heals instantly, and the pain subsides into warmth.
“Beautiful,” Izuku says as he admires his own work. When Katsuki cranes his neck to get a look, Izuku puts a single finger on Katsuki’s lip and gently pushes him back down. “Not yet.”
Katsuki doesn’t push the matter. For some reason, he trusts Izuku. Maybe he always has.
Izuku starts moving again, and this time, it’s with more purpose. This time when he pins down Katsuki’s arms, Izuku holds his hands. His lips crash against Katsuki’s, and Katsuki meets him with equal fervor. Their tongues twist and tangle together as Izuku pounds relentlessly into that spot in Katsuki’s core. He can feel himself getting close, and he grips Izuku’s hands as tightly as he can.
Izuku breaks the kiss and presses his forehead to Katsuki’s, not once slowing his rapid thrusts. “Cum with me,” he says against Katsuki’s mouth, “and come with me.”
And whether the command is molded intrinsically into Katsuki’s mind or simply the rough, graveled sound of Izuku’s voice when he’s on the edge, Katsuki doesn’t know. But he cums hard, his mind blank of everything but Izuku’s essence surrounding him, filling him, possessing him.
His small cock spurts between them as Izuku’s thrusts become sharper and less coordinated. Izuku cums deep inside Katsuki, flooding his body with a warmth he’s never known but can no longer live without.
Chest heaving, Izuku hovers over Katsuki, kissing him deeply as he pulls out his softening cock and flops down on the futon.
For a long moment, Katsuki stares at their shadows on the ceiling, the flickering firelight making them dance. Katsuki should be terrified—he told Izuku he belonged to him. He let Izuku brand his ass, for fuck’s sake. Instead, a sense of calm washes over him.
Katsuki turns over onto his stomach to get a look at his ass. This time, Izuku doesn’t stop him.
It’s script: a beautiful, bright red calligraphy branded deep into Katsuki’s skin.
出久
“Izuku.” Katsuki traces a finger over the intricate lines.
“Do you like it?” Izuku asks.
It’s Katsuki’s instinct to say no—to berate Izuku for being a freak and permanently scarring his skin in an intimate place. But the truth is, he likes it. It makes his tiny, useless cock twitch even so soon after cumming. So instead, he says, “It’s fine.”
Izuku grins, pulling Katsuki close as he shrouds them in a blanket and tangles their limbs together.
Somehow, Katsuki falls asleep like that: sweaty, sticky, and with an ass full of cum as Izuku mumbles love into his ear.
When Katsuki wakes up, his futon cradles his body like it’s made of the finest, densest cotton. Izuku’s light snores fill the air (gods can snore?), coaxing Katsuki to greet the morning. He sits up, stretches, opens his eyes—
And freezes in shock.
This isn’t his house. In fact, this is a proper bedroom with brightly painted red walls and a decadent mural of a landscape etched in gold.
This is a bedroom made for a king.
Or a god.
“D’you like it?”
Katsuki jumps at Izuku’s voice. “Where the fuck are we?”
“Huh?” Izuku props himself up on an elbow as he rubs the sleep from his eyes. “You said you were mine.”
Rolling out of bed, Katsuki darts to the door and swings it open, heedless of his own nudity. He spills out onto a wide balcony overlooking a vast expanse of mountainous terrain. Below them lies a village where people—just little pebbles from his vantage point—mill about.
The land is familiar, but there’s something strange about it. The air is completely still, and the moon—at least half as bright as the sun—bathes the earth in light.
Strong arms wrap around Katsuki’s middle. He should have heard Izuku come up behind him. He should shove him away and demand an explanation. Instead, Katsuki melts into the embrace and lets his head fall back to rest on Izuku’s shoulder.
“This is Yomi,” Izuku says. “Welcome home.”
Katsuki stiffens in Izuku’s arms. “You brought me to the fucking underworld?”
Izuku presses a kiss to Katsuki’s cheek. “You gave yourself to me. What was I supposed to do?”
Their passionate night flashes through Katsuki’s mind. The “yours, yours, yours,” that spilled from his lips in reverence and acceptance.
He observes the brand on his ass. Look, Katsuki can’t be expected to think clearly when he’s consumed with lust, despite what his training taught him. “I’m not… am I dead?”
Izuku laughs. “You’ll learn to stop thinking in human terms soon enough.”
Katsuki turns to face Izuku and takes a step back. It takes all his willpower not to look directly at Izuku’s massive, dangling cock. “Did you kill me?”
“What? No!” Izuku puts his hands up. “Kacchan, I swear I didn’t kill you. You offered yourself to me. You didn’t have to die in the traditional sense.”
The lilt of humor in Izuku’s voice eases Katsuki’s panic. What Izuku said last night was true: his life was nothing but a series of decisions other people made for him, which led to obligations that bound Katsuki to a life that was never his own.
Izuku steps next to Katsuki, takes his hand, and leads him to the edge of the balcony. Together, they look out at the green hills and snowcapped mountains and winding rivers.
Katsuki lets himself melt into Izuku’s touch. It’s already a relief not to worry about Deku the shadow creature and appeasing his precarious balance of favors anymore. This is Izuku: free and powerful and real.
“We can talk more about this later,” Izuku says, his voice warm and gentle. “Traveling through the underworld takes a lot out of a person. Let’s get you something to eat.”
When Izuku beckons him back inside, Katsuki can’t help but follow.