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1, 2, 3
Katsuki comes to with people talking excitedly about cycles and, “What great timing! No way we could’ve gotten a stronger Omega on such short notice; he'll be perfect.”
His instinctual urge to rage is suppressed by the drugs he’s on and the restraints he’s in, as well as the quirk-suppressing cuffs he can feel around his wrists. The people swimming in and out of his hearing talk about heats and fertility and there’s a prick in his arm, and then the surface he’s lying on is moving – wheeling away somewhere. A long hallway, and then a quiet room, filled with soft, golden light.
“Sorry about this, Ground Zero, but we have to take the opportunity while we have it. You fell into our laps at the perfect time!”
And then the restraints are off, the cuffs still in place, but he’s too sedated to do anything besides weakly lift his head.
It wears off fast, though, and soon enough he’s levering himself up off the gurney and nearly falling to the floor on wobbly legs, catching himself on the edge of the mattress.
He’s in a disturbingly pleasant room, with golden-yellow walls and standard household furniture – far too normal for a villain’s lair. Stranger still are the paintings and drawings scattered around, at least partially covering every available surface. There’s a bed, with an open sketchbook atop it, a desk, which is more paper than wood, a little dining table with one chair, with a small easel holding a half-done painting perched on top, and a single-seater sofa beside a mostly-empty bookshelf, the spaces between the books littered with more drawings. The door does not match the homey feel of the rest of the room – it’s a thick, blast-proof behemoth, which could probably withstand at least a couple of Katsuki’s larger explosions. It doesn’t matter, though, because above the bed is a window, with semi-sheer curtains blocking out the view.
Katsuki stumbles to the window, and tears the curtains aside to make his escape.
Except it’s not a window, it’s a lightbox.
He curses, and barely resists the urge to punch it – more to avoid injuring himself than because he cares about damaging these psychos’ property. If he wants to get out, he needs to be in peak form, not picking glass out of his knuckles.
Once he realises he’s trapped, and his awareness of the room reasserts itself, the smell of it hits him like a freight train. The bed he’s kneeling on is saturated in Alpha pheromones, strong ones – rut pheromones. His own body is already a little loopy from them, and probably from whatever they’d injected him with – likely a heat inducer. Psychos. As if he’ll accept whatever fucking Alpha they try and set on him.
The door opens as if in response to his thoughts, and Katsuki springs off the bed and into a fighting stance with a snarl. The fluffy-haired man in the doorway stops short at the sight of him, alarmed, and is prodded into the room by the man in the lab coat at his back.
“Wait, what is this?” he asks, turning and trying to escape back outside. The door slams in his face, and he stares at the smooth metal blankly before turning back to Katsuki.
“If you come anywhere near me, I will tear your fucking dick off,” Katsuki hisses, fingers reflexively curling like claws, despite the lack of explosions the motion brings.
“Noted,” the man mutters, though his fear level is already reducing. Abruptly, he asks, “If I get those cuffs off, will you be well enough to fight? Which is to say, could you get us out of here?”
“… You’re a prisoner here,” Katsuki realises, relaxing slightly.
“Three months,” he confirms, “I wouldn’t wear these scrubs by choice. Can you fight?”
“Yeah, ‘course. I’ll need heat suppressants to counteract whatever inducer they gave me, though.”
“That’s fine, I know where the infirmary is,” he assures him, heading for the desk, “We can’t just blast out of here, though – they have kids downstairs.”
Katsuki goes cold, and then flares back up with incredible rage. “How many?”
“Six, they’re all between nine and thirteen,” the man rattles off as he shuffles through the drawers, “They’re apparently “researching” quirk development, but kids don’t normally run away from home until they’re older, so it’s harder to nab kids the right age. When I first got here I kept trying to escape, but when I realised it wasn’t just me, I knew I had to stay. Apparently when you behave, they give you a cushy room and let you have hobbies.”
He brandishes some sort of tool – something Katsuki vaguely recognises as a carving utensil – and holds his hands out in Katsuki’s direction. “Will you trust me to come near you?”
Katsuki makes a face, but knows he has no choice; if he stalls too long, the artificial heat will start to take hold, and then they’ll be in very deep shit. “Yeah, c’mere. Don’t stab my wrists or something.”
“Wasn’t going to. I’ve been practising with the older girls’ cuffs; they aren’t allowed the tools, but when we’re allowed to spend time together, I sometimes use it to practise my lockpicking.”
“Why aren’t you cuffed?” Katsuki wonders as he moves closer and takes one of his wrists in hand, getting to work immediately.
“I’m quirkless,” he shrugs, “Cuffs would just be jewellery on me.”
“Oh,” Katsuki says. “Well that works out pretty fucking great for us, so I guess it’s not all bad. Being underestimated, I mean.”
“My high school bullies would be thrilled to hear that,” the man mutters, popping off cuff number one with a satisfying ‘k-chink!’ sound.
“What’s your name?”
“Oh, sorry. It’s Midoriya.”
“Bakugou.”
“I know; I’m actually a huge fan,” Midoriya laughs awkwardly, “I’ve been following your career since the UA sports festival in your first year.”
“Huh,” Katsuki says as cuff number two follows the path of the first. He flexes his hands, and fireworks erupt from both palms. “We’re in business.”
“Okay. I’ll call one of the attendants in – I think we should try and be stealthy, at first, or else they’ll put the kids in lockdown or even try to relocate them,” Midoriya says, going back to his desk and pulling out a notebook from the very depths of the drawers. He flips it open, and within is a multi-storey map, apparently of the compound they’re in. “The top floor is where the exit is, we’re actually two floors underground right now. The kids are another two floors beneath us, and the infirmary is one floor up. I’ll call an attendant, and ask for some snacks or something, and you knock them out. We’ll head upstairs, get your meds, go downstairs for the kids, and take the fire stairs to the top floor. Hopefully we won’t run into too many people, but there aren’t that many of them anyway – maybe ten or fifteen at most.”
“If the kids had their quirks, they’d probably be able outmatch them,” Katsuki says, and Midoriya nods.
“They all have quirks that are good for offense, too. I think the goal is to understand why people develop the quirks they do, and I’m the control, obviously. I guess you were stage two – which is stupid, because as if they’d be able to keep the Number Two Hero in captivity for the minimum nine months they’d need.”
Katsuki goes cold again. “They were trying to breed us to use our child for experiments?” he hisses, prickling up and suddenly feeling borderline feral.
Midoriya’s expression matches his own – kinship, in the strangest place possible. “I would have killed them myself. It doesn’t matter – we’re not having a baby, and we’re getting out.”
Katsuki nods, and goes to take up position by the door. Midoriya calls an attendant via an intercom panel, asking for some heat-packs and painkillers, since “this Omega is getting some pretty bad cramps”, and an attendant promptly arrives to deliver his order.
“I’m glad you’re getting alo-hrrk!” he says as Katsuki grabs him up in a headlock and chokes him out. Once he’s down, Midoriya frisks him for an access key and his radio, and then they strap him down to the gurney and head out, quietly closing the door behind them.
They encounter no one on the way to the infirmary, and Midoriya knocks politely at the doorframe when they arrive, Katsuki staying in the hallway.
“Ah, Midoriya-san!” a pleasantly-voiced woman says, “How can I help you?”
“I was just wondering if you had some heat packs or something? Kujiro said you were leaving an Omega in heat in my care, and I know they tend to cramp up in the early stages.”
“Oh, you’re such a sweetheart,” the woman says, and Katsuki hears a chair move, “Such a good Alpha. I’m sort of sad I can’t have you for myself.”
Katsuki makes a face, and readies himself to jump in – possibly to defend Midoriya’s honour – but doesn’t get the chance, as he hears the distinctive sound of metal impacting skull, and a body hitting the floor. He pokes his head around the doorway, and there stands Midoriya, replacing a small oxygen tank in its holder on a trolley. His hands are shaking – he’s not battle-trained, that’s for sure – but when he looks up at Katsuki, he smiles a wobbly smile and offers him a thumbs up. “Coast is clear!”
“I see that. Good job,” Katsuki huffs, “Suppressants?”
“Cabinet labelled “Reproductive Health”,” Midoriya says, pointing over at a bank of cupboards as he checks the woman’s pockets, “Do you know how many to take?”
“Yeah, we get taught this stuff in training,” Katsuki says, pulling out a familiar bottle of pills, “And what d’ya know; they even have my brand.”
Midoriya chuckles awkwardly, and Katsuki pops four of the pills in rapid succession. “We need to be fast. These will counteract the inducer, but they’ll also fuck me up afterwards. We probably have forty-five minutes, max.”
“We’ll be long gone,” Midoriya assures him, “Let’s go get the kids.”
The scuttle down the hallway like rats, making it down the fire stairs with no one the wiser. The first door that pops open to Midoriya’s pilfered key card reveals a little girl who immediately adheres herself to his side, eyes wide and awed at the sight of Ground Zero in scrubs standing behind him.
“We’re getting out,” he tells her, wiggling a little key, which he must have gotten from the doctor woman. He unlocks the cuffs and throws them into the room, shutting the door behind them.
“We’re going home, Izuku-nii?” an older girl asks as she’s freed, nails lengthening into claws as her cuffs are removed.
“Yup, we’re getting out,” Midoriya says, “Can you unlock everyone? I’ll open the doors.”
“Okay,” she says, smiling a teary smile, and Izuku hands her the key and makes for the other doors.
“You okay?” Katsuki asks, and she nods.
“I’ve been here for nearly a year,” she tells him, “I was the second person they got, after Daisuke. I gave up hope until nii-san got here. He kept telling us that he had a plan, and that we’d get out soon. I didn’t know it would be this soon!”
The girl – Hanako – unlocks each of her compatriots’ cuffs as they jog up to them, and once they’re all free and the cuffs are hidden in the rooms they’ve emptied, they make their way back to the stairwell to escape up the stairs.
An alarm starts blaring when they’re just about to open the door on the top floor.
“Ah, hell,” Katsuki mutters, “I hate fighting indoors. You guys stay back, I’ll take care of the villains.”
“We’ll follow at a safe distance,” Midoriya says, “I’ll walk behind you all – follow Ground Zero out, but don’t get too close.”
“What about you?” one of the boys asks.
“I’ll be right behind you,” he assures them, “Someone has to watch your back.”
“All ready?” Katsuki asks, and they all give the affirmative. Katsuki opens the door.
The hallway is empty.
“Run!” he barks, and leads the charge to the door. Midoriya’s map is seared into his mind like a HUD overlaying his vision, and he takes the turns he needs to reach the front door without direction. The damn thing is complete with a goddamn emergency exit sign, as if this is a totally normal fucking building and not an illegal genetics lab. He doesn’t even try for subtlety in getting through the thing, just blasts it wide open and leads his flock out into fresh air.
“We’re free!” the littlest girl exclaims, perched on Midoriya’s hip from where he’d grabbed her up to stop her falling behind.
“This is a fucking industrial area,” Katsuki hisses, eyes flying wildly about for a landmark.
“I don’t know where we are, just run!” Midoriya yells, “We need to get to a phone or something!”
In the end, it’s anti-climactic how quickly the whole thing is over. They get to a nearby building, are let into an office by a confused factory-worker, and Katsuki promptly calls the police and his Hero Agency to let them know that he’s alive and that they have illegal human experimenters to apprehend. Ambulances arrive to take them all to an actual hospital, and the kids all huddle around Midoriya like he’s the only adult in the world they trust – he probably is, after everything they’ve been through. They refuse to be separated, and none of them are injured, so they all pile into the same ambulance and are whisked away. Katsuki gets his own ambulance, and spends the whole trip being poked and prodded and asked if he feels okay, even as he succumbs to the side effects of suppressant overdose.
He doesn’t see any of the other prisoners again until after the incident is long over.
4, 5, 6, 7
“Missing Illustrator Found Alive!” reads the headline, and Katsuki clicks on the image to take him to the article.
Midoriya Izuku, it turns out, is an artist. He has a global following, a huge number of fans, and an Instagram account, which Katsuki follows with an absent-minded click.
The guy’s work is amazing, though, and worth adding to his feed; whimsical fantasy pieces, disturbing horror works – there’s a painting of a sunset river that actually brings tears to Katsuki’s eyes, it evokes such melancholy. Who the fuck even needs a quirk, when you can paint like that? He scrolls through liking almost every work, marvelling quietly as he goes.
Then he does his part as a cashed-up new fan, and goes to the online store to buy a print. The one he chooses is a dragon perched atop a horde of missiles and other explosives, and he mounts it on the wall above his shoe rack.
By then, it’s been three weeks since his kidnapping, and most of his life is back to normal. He’s been allowed to return to the field, so long as he keeps up with his appointments with the psychologist and the doctor monitoring him, and his friends aren’t hovering suspiciously around his patrol routes or his jogging path or his goddamn apartment, shitty Kirishima.
He’s on patrol one morning when he sees Midoriya for the first time since the incident. He’s in a cherry-picker, working on a mural on the side of a building. It’s one that Katsuki has seen a hundred times before, a half-finished portrait of the current top ten Heroes all in V formation under a twilight sky. Katsuki hadn’t even thought to wonder who was painting it until today, had simply thought it was a shame that it had been abandoned.
“Midoriya!” he calls up at the man, who startles and looks down over the bars of his little basket.
“Ground Zero!” he exclaims, hitting a button on the control panel beside him. The picker quickly descends to the ground, and Midoriya climbs out with a smile, “It’s good to see you again. How’re you doing?”
“I’m fine, I’ve had worse,” Katsuki says, which is a borderline lie (why do people like kidnapping him so much, jeeze?), and asks, “How about you? You were in there a while, after all.”
“Ah, yeah, I’m okay. I’m seeing a psychologist that specialises in trauma, but she mostly just annoys me,” he shrugs, “I’m not really cut out for talking about my problems with people who’ve been assigned to listen to them.”
“Yeah, same, it’s a pain in the ass,” Katsuki agrees, and Midoriya makes a commiserating face. “I bought one of your things,” he continues, nodding at the wall, “I didn’t even realise this was you until just now.”
“Ah, yeah, this is me,” Midoriya says shyly, “I got commissioned by the city a few months back, since Hero Day was coming up. I missed the deadline, obviously. People actually left flowers here, if you can believe it, and lit candles and stuff – like a memorial. It was weird, coming back and seeing that so many people cared enough to add their tokens.”
“You have a lot of fans,” Katsuki shrugs.
Midoriya smiles, a jarringly bittersweet twist of his lips, and then his eyes widen; “Wait, you bought a print? Which one?”
“The dragon with the bombs,” Katsuki replies, and Midoriya laughs again.
“I like that one a lot actually; I think originally I thought it up as a metaphor, but in the end I just liked the idea of a dragon flying around snatching nukes from armouries and taking them to it’s lair.”
Katsuki snorts, agreeing with the sentiment. “Everyone who walks in my front door sees that fucker sitting on his pile of WMDs and has to ask about him – it’s been fun having him.”
“I’m glad,” Midoriya tells him, “I love making people happy with my art. Well, I like making people happy in general, but it usually happens when I make art, so that’s what I do.”
“Pretty sure you make people happy just by being around,” Katsuki tells him, “The internet’s fucking thrilled you’re back, the kids all loved you, and you’re getting that medal, right?”
“Ah, yeah,” he murmurs, “I don’t really want it, though. I don’t think I deserve all the praise, actually. I just did what anyone would do, right?”
Katsuki stares, dumbfounded, and says, “No the fuck they wouldn't. Most civilians freeze up when someone steals their wallet, let alone their entire fucking person. So what if you had to wait for backup before you could break out? You were the lead in that operation; I was just the muscle.”
Midoriya shrugs. “If you say, I guess.”
And with that, awkwardness descends upon them like a physical weight. Midoriya fidgets, Katsuki shuffles his feet, and eventually he huffs and says his farewells.
“Take care, okay? Don’t get kidnapped again.”
“Same to you,” Midoriya smiles.
Katsuki walks off, listening to the cherry picker ascending once more, and tries very hard not to give a shit about the sad-eyed man painting away all alone.
He comes back two days later with lunch in a bag, and they eat together, chatting quietly. Midoriya’s whole life revolves around his art, and Katsuki’s whole life revolves around his work, but Midoriya is a Hero fan and Katsuki knows a little bit about painting from his dad, so they have enough crossovers in knowledge to let them have an actual conversation.
They learn by the third time that Katsuki arrives bearing food that neither of them can take a fucking compliment, so they stop trying to assure each other that they’re good at anything, and end up skirting around their virtues like they’ll burn them if touched upon.
“You updated your patrol route?” Kirishima asks one day, peering over his shoulder at all the godforsaken paperwork he’s collating to take home to do on his couch. The notice of his updated route is atop the pile, and Katsuki grunts an affirmative. “Why? Did you have a concern along this one?”
“Nah, just taking a different path,” Katsuki assures him, “Change of scene.”
“You hate change.”
“Shut the fuck up, shithead.”
Katsuki attends the medal-giving ceremony, and endures the painful experience of watching Midoriya smile for the crowd and the press and visibly wish that he was literally anywhere else in the world – possibly even back in the lab. There’s a dinner, afterwards, for all the attendees, and Katsuki has the much more enjoyable experience of watching six kids descend upon Midoriya like a pack of enthusiastic puppies.
“Nii-san, nii-san, I drew you something!”
“Nii-san, you’re nearly done your Hero painting, right?”
“Nii-san, I learned to do something new with my quirk, watch me! Watch meeee!”
Midoriya watches, and listens, and accepts their gifts and their attention with an ease that Katsuki finds a little enviable – he’s never been great with kids, even when he was one.
“Ground Zero?” Hanako says, approaching him cautiously. He’s kept his distance, letting their reunion go on unimpeded, and tilts his head at her to continue, “Nii-san was wondering if he should ask if you wanted to sit at our table. But then he got shy and said, “never mind!”, so I decided to come get you for him. Will you come sit with us?”
“Sure,” he says, collecting his jacket and following along, “Are you all back with your families now?”
“Yeah,” she says, smiling, “It turns out that being stuck in a lab for so long makes your parents taking away your Xbox a lot less upsetting.”
“Please tell me that wasn’t you.”
“No, it was Hideki. I was mad at my mum for taking my brother’s side in a fight and went for a walk to calm down. Wrong place to go for a walk, I guess.”
“Not your fault though,” he reminds her.
“I know,” she says, seeming very wise for a thirteen-year-old. He’d still been a Class S Asshole by that age, though, so he supposes he doesn’t actually know what the average wisdom stat of a thirteen-year-old is.
Midoriya narrows his eyes at her when they arrive, but doesn’t say anything as she primly sits back down. Katsuki takes a seat beside the youngest girl – Riho – and settles in for a feed.
“Still stable. Your body is doing remarkably well at handling your hormonal upset, Bakugou-san,” his doctor tells him. “Usually by now you would have entered a heat to reset your levels, but in you – nothing.”
“You’re sure it won’t just come when it normally would?” he mutters, unhappy about the whole affair. His heats have always come reliably on schedule, whether he was on his usual suppressants or taking a break from them for his health. Knowing that he’ll have to get used to an entirely new cycle of dates grates on his nerves, since he hates changing his long-held patterns. Kirishima had at least been right about that much.
“The chances are slim to none,” she confirms, “Your body will trip into a heat cycle sooner rather than later; it’s just a matter of when. I’ll see you again next week for another test; hopefully, that will be the one, and we’ll be able to put an end to these appointments.”
“Here, here,” he sighs, “See you next week, doc.”
“What made you want to be an illustrator?” Katsuki asks one afternoon, as Midoriya paints away and he sits in the cherry-picker at his feet, sipping a post-patrol soda.
“I was always drawing, I guess,” Midoriya says, “But I sort of fell into the job. Really, I wanted to be a Hero. I mean, doesn’t everyone? But someone I looked up to told me that I should think about my life more realistically – I’m quirkless, after all. Become a police officer, he said. But… It would’ve been like knowingly taking second-best, and having it waved in your face for the rest of your life. I couldn’t be in an industry that was so close to Heroics but not. So, I just drifted; I couldn’t decide what I wanted to do with myself. And then in high school I started getting commissions for my art, and I realised that I could do it as a job. And now I’m here. And I just told you all that, oh god.”
“The fuck kind of asshole crushes a kid’s dreams like that?” Katsuki grumbles, mostly annoyed because if he hadn’t met Midoriya the way he had, it probably would’ve been him say that, “How old are you, anyway?”
“How old? Twenty-two,” he says, thrown for a loop by the question.
“So, get training,” Katsuki says, “Go to night classes or whatever. There’re people that become Heroes as adults, too, you know, older than you. You don’t have to go to high school for it.”
Midoriya shakes his head. “I couldn’t. I’m not cut out for it.”
“Midoriya, you already are a Hero,” Katsuki tells him bluntly, “Anyone who says otherwise hasn’t seen you in action, and all you have to do to prove them wrong is get a license that confirms what’s already true.”
The tears that come next are alarming, but Katsuki has seen their ilk before; finally being told that you’re good enough has that effect on people. Lord knows even Shinsou had shed a couple of tears on his first day in 2-A.
“If you really want to, you can change your life,” Katsuki tells him, “You can be a Hero.”
And Midoriya falls to his knees, in a little basket atop a cherry-picker, and wails.
They go to Midoriya’s apartment afterwards, because Katsuki is set on taking him out for dinner as an apology for making him bawl his eyes out in public, and he needs to change out of paint-spattered clothes.
The place is warmly lit and bright, and Katsuki realises with a sick feeling that his cell in the facility had been a cheap facsimile of his own home.
“You still going to live here?” he wonders, as his eyes trail around the messy living space, strewn with art supplies and books and a sizeable army of Hero figurines.
“I’m looking for a new place, just haven’t decided what neighbourhood I want to move to,” Midoriya says, “I’m going to get changed; feel free to look around.”
He does, digging through piles of drawings and painting and sketches and marvelling at the skill with which Midoriya puts his imaginings to paper. One in particular makes him laugh; a printed motivational poster reading “Science is good, until it’s conducted by Mad Scientists”, the words ringed by flasks and beakers with multi-coloured liquids bubbling up.
“That was one of the first things I made once I got back,” Midoriya says from the doorway, in a button-down and slacks, “That’s just a test print. I was going to put it up on the store, but it seemed a little on the nose.”
“Please put this up on the store so I can buy it,” Katsuki says, “I need this in my living room.”
Midoriya smiles. “I’ll get it up soon, then. Maybe a limited stock item.”
“Reserve me one.”
“I will.”
They eat dinner, and talk shit for hours afterwards, heading to a sake bar to add a little bit of buzz to their night out. Katsuki watches a group of people walk out talking about a club, and makes a face. “Who goes clubbing on a Thursday? What clubs are even fucking open on a Thursday?”
“I wouldn’t know, I’ve never been to one,” Midoriya shrugs, and Katsuki rounds on him incredulously. “What? It’s not something I’m interested in.”
“Neither am I, but my friends don’t give a shit. I’ve been to more clubs than I want to remember thanks to those fuckers.”
“I don’t really have any friends, Bakugou-san,” Midoriya sighs, “You’re the closest thing I have to one, actually.”
“You don’t think we’re friends?” Katsuki asks, a little hurt.
“I think you pity me, and I’m pathetic enough to accept that.”
Katsuki stares, and shakes his head slowly. “You’re an asshole. The only person pitying you is yourself.”
“Liar.”
“No more drinks for you,” Katsuki declares, “Clearly you’re depressing as shit when drunk. Come on, let’s go clubbing on a Thursday.”
“What? But you said-”
“I know what I said, but apparently I’m now the sort of goddamn person that goes to clubs on Thursday. Up! Move your sad-sack self and let’s fucking go.”
They go, following the other Thursday revellers to a club which is surprisingly full of people, most of them in business attire.
“Oh, they’ve got a pole,” Midoriya says, brightening from his sulk immediately.
“What, you hoping for a show?” Katsuki snorts.
“Ah, no- I take lessons. Or, rather, I’ve been taking lessons for a while now; I’m at the fourth level of my studio’s classes.”
Katsuki stares, dumbstruck. “You’ve never been to a club but you pole dance?”
“I needed a hobby!” he defends, “And I wanted to keep up my flexibility. Bending over a tablet all day is no good for your back or neck.”
“Most people do yoga.”
“Yoga makes me go to sleep.”
“… Okay, same.”
Katsuki has to drag him out to the floor, but he ultimately bypasses it and heads to the DJ booth.
“What songs can you dance to?”
“Eh?”
“I want proof of fucking skills, Midoriya; what songs do you know?”
“I only just started again after three months in captivity and you want me to dance in public?”
“Can you still do it?”
“Of course I can!”
“Then what songs?”
Midoriya makes a face, and very nearly looks like he won’t say. And then he mutters, “Alicia Keys, Fallin’. That was the last routine I finished before I got locked up.”
“Excuse me!” Katsuki immediately yells at the DJ, “Could you do a request?”
Katsuki is blessed with a remarkably recognisable face, and Ground Zero’s song request is chucked into the queue, next song to be played.
“Up you go,” he says, gesturing grandly at the platform holding the pole grandly, “All yours.”
“Oh, god, the floor’s going to be all sticky,” Midoriya whines.
“Why the fuck does that matter?”
“If you think pole dancing is all pole and no dance, then you have not seen pole dancing.”
“Then show me.”
Midoriya’s chin goes up at the challenge, one of the few times Katsuki has seen his Alpha rear its head, and he strides over to the platform as the song transitions. It’s a big change in pace from the bassy club beat that had been on previously, and a few people yell complaints. They swiftly shut the fuck up when Midoriya immediately pulls himself up onto the pole and leans back, pulling his legs clean up over his head.
Katsuki can only watch, flabbergasted, as Midoriya twirls around the thing more like a prop than the actual centrepiece. He does, indeed, spend a fair amount of his time writhing around on the floor. Even so, the skill he demonstrates in keeping himself suspended on the pole – whilst wearing jeans that should by all rights be leaving him slipping straight off – is admirable.
Katsuki is hopelessly turned on almost from the start.
That’s an Alpha up there, moving silkily through forms with as much grace as any martial artist, eye-fucking the crowd (though Katsuki suspects he’s actually just staring into middle distance for his own sanity, the awkward fuck), for nearly four minutes before the song slides into the next one, and Midoriya slinks away amid applause and hoots from the crowd.
“You can’t dance,” Katsuki scoffs, “That was fucking amazing!”
“It’s not club dancing, though,” Midoriya shrugs.
“It’s better!”
“I agree!” a new voice pipes up, a visibly tipsy woman with pale hair and a raunchy smile, “That was hot! Are you two together?”
“Ah, yeah, why?” Midoriya asks, and Katsuki wonders if he hit his head on the floor doing one of those moves, because what?
“Oh,” she says, looking disappointed. Then she perks up; “Threesome?”
“Th-thr-three?” Midoriya squeaks, flushing so dark it’s visible even in the dim club lighting.
“Sorry, we’re just leaving,” Katsuki says, grabbing his shoulders, “I just wanted to see him dance, glad you enjoyed. Have a nice night!”
And with that, he steers Midoriya out of the club.
“Together, huh?” he asks once they’re outside.
“I thought she meant are we out together, not are we going out together,” Midoriya flails, “I’m so sorry, this is so awful, oh my god.”
“What, dating me is that bad a prospect?”
“Of course not, it’s just embarrassing!”
“Ah, so I’m embarrassing.”
“No, I’m embarrassing. You’re just being obtuse!”
“Yeah, I’m like that. You need a taxi?”
“Please.”
Katsuki gets a text on his next day off inviting him to watch Midoriya put down the last few touches on the mural, and reports at the scene as requested. It’s a huge thing, hence the cherry-picker, and Midoriya gets him into the basket and offers him a brush.
“We’re painting in the stars,” he says, “Lots of them!”
So that’s what they do, and when they’re done, and the mural is all finished, they cross the street to observe Midoriya’s work.
Katsuki’s face, to the right of Togata’s, has changed since the first time he saw the thing. Where once had been a scowl is now a challenging grin, and he asks about the change.
“I didn’t know what you looked like smiling,” Midoriya admits, “All the photos on Google are you frowning, so I drew that initially. But now I know what your face looks like, so I was able to fix it.”
“You know what that means, right?”
“What?”
“If you know my face that well, we’re friends. Full stop. Don’t fucking doubt that again.”
Midoriya laughs, and Katsuki pretends like he doesn’t see the wetness of his eyes when he says, “Okay. I promise.”
“Here we go,” the doctor says, sighing with apparent relief, “Your heat cycle is finally kicking in. Given these levels, you should go into heat in the next couple of days. I’ll let HR know to take you off duty.”
“Wait, what? Just like that?”
“Unfortunately, you could dip at any point; it won’t be the gradual and controlled lowering into a heat that you’re used to, more like the drop off that you would’ve experienced during your very first heat. Additionally, you can’t take suppressants, since that’s what started the issue, so you’ll need to stay home. I’d recommend going straight there from here, maybe stocking up on food and essentials on the way if you have to. Call someone, if you have a heat partner, and if not, just lock yourself in and ride it out. And call me if anything goes wrong.”
Katsuki trudges back to the lockers, gets changed out of his gear, and stomps out of the Agency in a huff.
Stupid hormones. Stupid heats. Stupid kidnappers.
8, 9
Katsuki has a couple of people on the line for heats, when he needs to have them. There’s always Kirishima, and Uraraka’s helped him out once or twice. But this time, he knows that’s not going to be an option. As his brain fogs up and his libido starts spiralling, his head is increasingly filled with a singular pole dancing Alpha, with staggering confidence issues and a bucketload of repressed childhood trauma that he refuses to deal with.
He texts him his address, and a semi-polite request.
Midoriya is at his door half an hour later with a duffle, a plastic pharmacy bag, and an expression of borderline terror.
Katsuki lets him in, resisting the urge to jump him right there in the doorway, and escorts him to the living room before taking a turn to get them some water.
“Are you sure you want me, Bakugou-san?” he asks, fidgeting nervously on Katsuki’s couch. Katsuki’s Omega purrs pleasantly at finally having his chosen Alpha in his den, even if he is nervous enough that the sour smell of his fear is cutting through Katsuki’s heat-haze and making him more alert. Probably for the best.
“I’ve wanted to get into your pants since three weeks ago at that Thursday club with the pole,” Katsuki informs him bluntly, returning to set their glasses on the table before them. “Your very loose pants, by the way, which I suspect hide some very strong legs, to match your very nice arms.”
Midoriya blushes bright red, and rubs the back of his neck, his free hand grasping spasmodically at the floppy fabric on his thigh.
“And I trust you, anyway,” Katsuki continues, “You’re a good guy, even if you’re a little neurotic. I wouldn’t have asked for you otherwise.”
Midoriya takes a breath, sets his shoulders, and nods. “Okay. I’ll do it. It’s an honour, Bakugou-san.”
“While you’re here, you call me Katsuki,” he orders, and Midoriya nods.
“Then, I’m Izuku.”
“I can do that,” Katsuki agrees. “Have you ever been with an Omega in heat before?”
“No.”
Katsuki squints, “Have you been with anyone at all?”
“… No.”
‘Mine, mine mine!’ shrieks his Omega.
“That’s perfect,” he rumbles, and Izuku’s pupils dilate slightly at the new timbre of his voice, “I’m not the best teacher, but I can be picky. You won’t have any bad habits I’ll need to break you out of.”
“I guess not,” Izuku says faintly.
Katsuki gives up on any pretence of civility at that point and climbs into his lap right then and there. Their first kiss in a barely-coordinated mess of skin and lips, but it’s not hard to find a pace that suits them both. Katsuki is grinding down on Izuku’s cock through his pants soon enough, the layers of fabric frustrating his efforts to get any sort of satisfaction, and he whines unhappily into the Alpha’s mouth.
“Bed?” Izuku pants, fingers digging into Katsuki’s ass and making his breath catch.
“Down the hall, door’s open,” he murmurs, yelping when Izuku lifts him with ease and strides down the hall. He’s placed onto his bed gently, a hand cradling his head, and he strips haphazardly once he’s been released, getting naked in record time. “Here, come here,” he orders, and Izuku returns to him. “You’re not naked,” he hisses unhappily.
“I only had time to take off my shirt.”
“And it’s a nice chest, but I want the rest, too. Strip.”
He levers himself up on his elbows to watch the show, as Izuku fumbles with his belt and tugs his pants and briefs off. His socks get lost somewhere in the pile of clothes on the floor, and there stands before Katsuki the very image of freckled perfection – from fluffy hair, to hungry eyes, to his toned body and thick cock, Katsuki is well-pleased with his choice.
“Fuck me,” he says, and Izuku turns tail and runs out of the room. Katsuki is momentarily stunned by this turn of events, but snorts at his own stupidity when Izuku bolts back inside with the box of condoms he’d brought over. He rolls one over the head of his cock, and crowds Katsuki into the middle of his bed.
“Do you need me to-”
“I’m so wet for you, I don't need any prep,” Katsuki growls, gripping at Izuku’s neck to drag him down into a searing kiss, “Just get in. Fuck me, Alpha. Give me your knot. Mate me.”
It’s an effective combination of phrases, and Izuku does as he’s told, guiding himself into Katsuki’s pussy with only minimal fumbling. They both groan as he pushes into his wet heat, slowly seating himself as far inside Katsuki as he can without pounding into him.
“Fuck me,” Katsuki orders one last time, and Izuku gets to work. His hips pull slowly back away, and he experimentally thrusts shallowly back in. Katsuki bucks his hips to get him deeper, and Izuku quickly gets the message; this is no time for a slow, thoughtful exploration of Katsuki’s body. He needs to fuck him. Now.
He learns quickly, and Katsuki is soon reduced to a panting mess of cuss words and praise, kissing and licking at any skin he can reach, pulling at Izuku’s hair and calling his name like a broken record.
“I want your knot,” he pants once he can’t handle it anymore, need this wave of the heat to be done, needs to come, god damnit, “Let me turn over. Want you to mount me.”
“Fuck,” Izuku snarls, and it’s the first time Katsuki has heard a curse pass those lips. It’s alarmingly sexy.
Katsuki turns, resting his head on his forearms and displaying his ass in the most classical show of presentation an Omega can achieve. “Knot me, Alpha,” he says, like a spell, and Izuku is on him, mounting him with a single smooth thrust and grabbing onto his hips with fingers like vices, dragging Katsuki on and off of his cock with a great show of control and strength.
Katsuki doesn’t need to be in this position to come, but during a heat, knowing that a knot can take up to an hour to go down, it’s what he wants – it’s what he gets. Izuku’s knot locks into place and his body just immediately goes from ‘nearly there’ to orgasm instantly – it’s so shocking that he actually yells, because that’s never happened before. It’s possibly because he’s never had a knot so large before, stretching him until he’s on a knife’s edge of pleasure and pain. He’s barely started coming down when his Omega starts demanding, ‘Again, more, more!’
Izuku guides them down to the bed, on their sides, and runs the hand not under Katsuki’s head up and down his side, around his front, plays with his nipples. Katsuki whines, pleased, and tries his best to fuck back onto the knot still in place.
“Ffuck,” Izuku moans, hips moving restlessly. Katsuki can feel the condom inside of him still filling with cum, and has a momentary flash of righteous fury, because that should be his.
“Don’t bite,” he murmurs, feeling Izuku’s teeth graze his neck, “Not yet.”
“Promise,” Izuku says, ever-so-gently mouthing over the scent gland that could bind them together as actual mates, “No biting. You taste good.”
“I’m never letting you leave,” Katsuki says, rolling his hips again. Izuku growls, and lays his hand flat on Katsuki’s stomach to get the leverage he needs to pump his hips against Katsuki’s, the two of them moaning as his knot shifts minutely and sends rushes of prickling heat through them.
“Mine,” Izuku murmurs, licking away at his neck, “My Omega.”
And Katsuki, for the first time in his life, thinks he really wouldn’t mind being claimed that way.
The six days of Katsuki’s heat are spent making a mess of Katsuki’s whole damn house. They fuck on every available surface, and by day two Izuku has been kicked into a rut that puts the one he’d been in on the day they met to shame. He bends Katsuki into shapes he hadn’t been aware his body is capable of forming, and he makes sure that Katsuki enjoys being in every single one of them.
Katsuki is glad that Izuku’d thought to buy a bulk pack of condoms, because he’s never had this much heat sex ever before in his life. He’s never been so thirsty for a knot before. He’s not sure if it’s the severity of the heat or the particular Alpha he’s got at his beck and call this time, but either way, it’s probably the most enjoyable fuckfest he’s experienced – and he’s had some good ones.
By the time it’s winding down, neither one of them is ready for it to be over. Izuku is very much no longer a virgin, and Katsuki is a very sated Omega, but on the seventh day, free of their heat and rut respectively, Katsuki still wakes up, rolls over, slides a condom on Izuku’s morning wood and rides him until he knots them together, face to face in the mess of sheets that was once his immaculately neat bed.
“Hey,” he says once he’s started to come down, still revelling at the feeling of Izuku’s cock pulsing inside of him, trying so hard to fill him up with cum.
“Hi,” Izuku says, smiling up at him like he’s some wonderful thing that just stumbled into his life. It’s very gratifying.
“Do you want to have dinner sometime?” he asks, leaning over to press a kiss against Izuku’s chin, and then to suck lightly at the scent gland at his neck, bringing more of that quintessential Izuku taste to the surface.
His breath stutters as he replies. “Doesn’t dinner normally come first?”
“Yeah, but I’m not a traditionalist.”
“… Same. I know a nice place in Shibuya?”
It’s a very nice place, and they both agree that they should go out again soon.
10, 11, 12
Dating is strange.
Katsuki forgets that its something he should tell his folks about until a week after they’ve decided between themselves that they’re official, and only remembers because Izuku informs him that his mother has invited them for dinner.
He calls his own parents to let them know, and his mother shrieks so loudly that he’s surprised his ears don’t ring afterwards.
“Who is it? Do I know him? It has to be someone you’ve known for years or someone you picked up off the sidewalk, right?”
“You’re wrong,” he snaps, “I’ve known him for a couple of months, and I like him a lot.”
“What’s his secondary?”
“Alpha. He’s not typical, though, so don’t expect me to be bringing home some beefcake.”
“Kid, you’re not typical either,” Mitsuki scoffs, “I didn’t raise some shrinking violet, I raised a Hero. I fully expected whatever mate you got to be like your father. What’s his name?”
“Midoriya Izuku,” he says.
“Why do I know that name?”
“That poster I got for your birthday was by him.”
“Oh, that’s it. I like him already, he has a great eye for detail.”
His friends are less enthused.
“Is that healthy?” Uraraka asks, and recoils from the furious stink-eye he gives her, “I’m just saying, isn’t that like Stockholm Syndrome or something?”
“More like Florence Nightingale Syndrome,” Kaminari says.
“Transference,” Mina pipes up.
“Shut up, assholes, you don’t know shit,” Katsuki snarls, “Don’t know why I fucking told you.”
“Well, I’m happy for you,” Kirishima grins, “You deserve to have a relationship, Bakubro. When do we get to meet him?”
Katsuki eyes his best friend, grateful for his unquestioning support, and says, “You wanna come over on Friday night? I’ll make dinner. None of the rest of you are invited.”
“What?” Sero yelps, “I didn’t say anything!”
“Fine. Sero and Jirou can come, but you three can fuck off and die.”
“Bakugou!” they all whine, and eventually he has to give in or else resign himself to dealing with their misery for the foreseeable future.
Izuku is understandably nervous, unsure of having to meet so many of his friends in one go, and Katsuki has no idea how to reassure him. He’s not good with people either, but it’s an attitude problem; he’s not scared of them in the same way that Izuku seems to be. Funny how he can sex up a pole in front of dozens of strangers, but can’t bear the thought of having dinner with less than ten of Katsuki's friends.
Anxiety is a strange mistress.
“Think of it this way; if you meet them all in one go, it’ll be over sooner. Like pulling off a band aid.”
“There’s a horde of Heroes invading the den,” Izuku mutters, “I have figurines of these people, Katsuki.”
“So? So do I.”
“Yeah, but you know them already.”
“And now you will, too. They’re stupid motherfuckers, but they’re harmless. They’re good people.”
“Good people can still… It’s fine, I’m fine. Sorry for stressing you out.”
“You’re only stressing yourself out, Izuku,” he assures him, wrapping his arms around his middle and nuzzling into his hair, “It’ll be fine.”
It’s turns out to be very much not fine, though.
Introductions go well, and they’ve all been pre-warned of Izuku’s shyness, and so don’t take his lack of eye contact badly. He’s incredibly smart, and talkative when he gets going, so it doesn’t take long for something Jirou says to grab his interest and get his motor-mouth running. He’s arguing battle tactics with Sero when one of his triggers springs, and Katsuki very nearly throws the lot of them out on the street in response.
“Okay, admittedly you’re better at the planning stage, but I bet if we had a match I’d win,” Sero challenges, leaning back in his chair with a grin, “I’ve got the training to use my quirk in a fight, after all!”
“Oh, yeah, Midoriya, what is your quirk, anyway?” Uraraka asks, “It totally slipped my mind.”
Izuku freezes up then, and has to visibly wrench the words out; “I don’t have one.”
Uraraka looks startled, and her eyes turn questioningly to Katsuki, who watches as if in slow-motion as Izuku utterly misunderstands the way she’s looking at him. She’s wondering how Bakugou Katsuki, who had once thought everyone on the planet was beneath him, especially those with “crap” quirks, has managed to grow enough as a person to date someone quirkless. What Izuku sees is her wondering what he’s doing wasting his time on a quirkless loser, and Katsuki doesn’t have time to stop him from standing abruptly and pushing away from the table, stuttering an excuse, to disappear into the bathroom.
“Was it something I said?” she asks faintly.
“Get the fuck out of my house, you idiots,” he hisses.
“What- Bakugou!” Mina says, scandalised.
“You’re dating someone without a quirk, forgive me for being surprised!” Uraraka defends herself, “You were always the sort of person who looked down on anyone who’s quirk wasn’t as good as yours. You called all of us extras at one time or another!”
“So I grew up!” he bellows, “It fucking happens! God forbid any of you do the same!”
They recoil from his rage, and he storms after Izuku down the hall. He’s not in the bathroom, as Katsuki had first thought, but in his bedroom, shaking like a leaf. He’s not crying, but he still might, and Katsuki is careful as he goes to sit beside him on the floor.
“Why did you yell?” he asks quietly.
“’Cause the fuckers needed to be yelled at. They weren’t judging you for being quirkless, babe. They’re surprised that I…” he growls, “When I was a kid, I was a shitty person who probably would’ve been awful to you. They’re surprised that I’m dating you because I was like that, and they didn't know I’d changed. Or, at least, Round Face is surprised. I didn’t stick around to take a poll.”
“One of the bullies, huh?” Izuku murmurs, eyes dull. It’s horrible to see – because even when he’s sad, his eyes are bright with something. Glassy and empty are words that shouldn’t be spoken in regards to Midoriya Izuku’s eyes.
“Yeah,” Katsuki sighs, “Yeah, I guess I was. I was a fucking asshole. Never actually targeted anyone specific, and most people thought I was full of shit and didn’t pay me any mind, but you would’ve hated me.”
“Why?”
It’s so quiet that Katsuki almost doesn’t catch it, and he shrinks away from the question, ashamed.
“I thought I was better than everyone else I’d ever met. Everyone told me so when I was growing up – I have this great quirk, and I’m from a good neighbourhood, and I’m smart, I’ll be the greatest fucking Hero ever! But what they taught me alongside that was that everyone else wasn’t shit compared to me. It took way too long in high school to beat that out of me, and I coulda been someone totally fucking useless if my friends hadn’t kicked some sense into me. So, you know, they still expect that attitude from me. I still do, too, if I’m honest. It’s just that I know you don’t need a damn quirk – you’re so goddamn incredible without one, I don’t know what I’d do if you did have something.”
“You’re incredible, too,” Izuku mumbles, “They’re stupid if they can’t see that.”
“They can. I just exceeded expectations, I think.”
The merry band of morons is still puttering around his living space when he returns. They’ve cleaned the dishes and tidied the kitchen and the dining area, and are in the process of setting up a board game when he walks in, frowning at the lot of them.
“Why are you still here? And where did you even get this?”
“I brought it,” Kirishima says, worried expression firmly in place, “Is Midoriya okay?”
“He’s been better.”
“Is he going to come back out?” Jirou asks, “Ochako wanted to apologise, for freaking him out.”
“And to you, too,” Uraraka interrupts earnestly, “I didn’t mean to imply that you were still like that, Bakugou – I was just surprised. If I could go back in time and tell you what you’d be like at this age, younger you would deck me.”
“Yeah, and then you’d kick his ass I hope,” Katsuki snorts, “He’ll come out if he feels up to it, but don’t get your hopes up.”
He doesn’t, in the end, and Katsuki only puts up with them for another half an hour before he orders them to pack the damn game up and get the fuck out of his house – for real, this time. Izuku is drawing on his phone when he finally gets rid of them and comes to bed, and Katsuki worms into his arms, trying to get as close as he can.
“Sorry,” he says, “This was clearly a bad idea.”
“No, it’s my fault,” Izuku sighs, “I’m way too sensitive.”
“Nah,” Katsuki assures him, “You’re perfect.”
Izuku gets jumped the next time Uraraka happens to spot him on a patrol, and very nearly has an anxiety attack on the damn sidewalk for her attempt at apologising. Katsuki tells her to back the fuck off and shut the fuck up, for god’s sake – he’s a civilian – and only Kirishima is permitted to so much as think about Katsuki’s boyfriend for a solid month.
The ‘meet the parents’ is far less traumatic, on both sides, and they’re both accepted by their respective in-laws with open arms and great enthusiasm.
Katsuki asks if Izuku wants to move in with him in March, and experiences probably the brightest smile of his life as a result. For all that they make each other happy, Izuku isn’t the sort to beam for no reason, and seeing that much joy in him takes Katsuki’s breath away.
They house hunt for a few weeks, because between the alarming number of Hero figurines they both own and the sheer amount of art supplies that Izuku has, they’re going to need two, possibly three rooms. Ultimately, they find a decently-sized apartment that’s not too far from Katsuki’s agency and has good lighting for Izuku’s painting, and they somehow manage to throw out enough of their individual belongings to fit the remainder into the space. Marie Kondo knows her shit.
Even with their downsizing, Izuku’s supplies still spill over into parts of the house they shouldn’t, and Katsuki’s neat-freak habits inevitably rear their heads and demand order, but they make it work. Izuku creates piles of art on every available surface, but he keeps them neat and generally keeps the house tidy besides. There’s dinner waiting for Katsuki when he comes home from work, and they have date nights at least once a week. Katsuki gets to attend Izuku’s pole dancing showcase and maybe takes a couple of classes himself, just because. He ends up a little intimidated by the grace of the other dancers, though, and doesn’t go back after that.
He gets to share his comfy bed with his warm, soft Alpha.
The dragon, now named Bakudan-san, watches over their genkan and their shoes.
Life is good.
13, 14, 15, 16, 17
Disaster strikes once again at the Hero Gala Ball.
It’s a yearly function to celebrate the Pro Hero community, and also an excuse to put on a classier show for the paparazzi than they’d normally get from street candids or post-fight shots. Every year the Heroes that get to attend are shuffled around, to ensure that there aren’t too many Heroes from one region or with one area of expertise off the streets at one time, and this year it’s Katsuki’s turn to get an invitation in the mail.
“Will you come with?” he asks Izuku over dinner one night. They’re bypassing the table tonight and eating on the sofa, because Izuku wants to cuddle and Katsuki is a sucker for that sort of affection.
“Are you sure?” Izuku wonders, doubtful as ever, “I mean, I’d love to – I’d love to meet all those Heroes – but… I’m just thinking of when I first met your friends. I’m not good at people.”
“You’re fine,” Katsuki assures him, “You got past that, and besides, I’ll punch anyone who says shit to you. Don’t feel like you have to, though. I understand.”
They watch TV and Izuku wraps him up in his arms, carding his fingers through his hair as they chat about characters in awful dramas and crappy movies. It’s a very normal Wednesday night in their household, really.
“I’ll come to the Gala, I think,” Izuku says quietly, halfway through a fairly ridiculous Kung Fu movie about a delinquent orphan learning of his royal heritage and setting out to overthrow his evil older brother, “I want to be a good boyfriend; I can’t be a hermit.”
“It’s not like I go out that much,” Katsuki huffs into his chest, mostly limp from the attention being paid to his scalp.
“Exactly; so I should come out with you when you do,” Izuku declares, “And since it isn’t that often, I shouldn’t have as much of a problem with it.”
“I don’t think that’s how social anxiety works.”
“Well, staying at home knowing you’re out there all by yourself won’t make me feel great either.”
“I’d be out there wishing I was here.”
“Then we can both be miserable together.”
Like a curse, Izuku’s words are alarmingly accurate.
None of Katsuki’s classmates or acquaintances are invited this year – he should have checked before accepting, but he’s a fucking idiot – and so it’s mostly older or younger Heroes and people he’s never even met floating around the huge cushy function hall the event is being held in.
At least he has his Alpha at his side. It’s remarkably obvious, in a room full of tall, muscular people just how slender and small Izuku is, but Katsuki does not give one single fuck. He likes him exactly as he is.
The younger Heroes that approach him for a chat are mostly kids who were in school while Katsuki was blasting his way to the top of the ranks, and Izuku knows all of their stats remarkably well. The enthusiasm is like a feedback loop – fresh-faced Heroes straight out of school and a baby-faced Hero fan enthusing about classic Heroes and modern titans alike. The older Heroes keep trying to give him tips and advice, which is grating, but they mean well – and Izuku is collecting napkins with autographs at an alarming pace, so if it makes him happy, Katsuki can’t complain.
It turns out that there is at least one familiar face in the crowd though, his voice as ingrained in Katsuki’s memory as his own parents’.
“Young Bakugou!” All Might – Yagi, rather – calls, and Katsuki turns with a little grin to greet his high school Heroics teacher.
He stops dead halfway through, as he catches the scent of absolute terror that suddenly erupts from Izuku’s every pore. Their eyes meet, a silent plea of, ‘Please, no, anyone but that!’ but it’s too late, because Yagi is already right there before them, slowing to a cautious stop.
“Young Midoriya?” he asks, and Katsuki rises to his full height defensively. It’s nothing compared to Yagi’s seven-foot-tall figure, even stooped as it is, but he’s young, and All Might is very much not. He can take him on if he has to.
“You remember me?” Izuku asks incredulously, “Why?”
“How do you know Izuku?” Katsuki asks lowly, and it’s clear in his tone that the answer better be a good one. He hadn’t been kidding when he’d said he’d punch anyone who made Izuku anxious, but he’d prefer not to punch the elderly and infirm Hero who’d spent a solid three years coaching him to be less of a fuckwit.
“I once rescued young Midoriya from a villain, years ago.” Yagi explained, “And of course I remember you, young man. I said some things to you that day that I have truly regretted ever since. It was not my place to tell you what you should aim to achieve with your life – in truth it was more a reflection of my own self-doubt, which I projected onto you.”
Katsuki feels a wave of cold horror wash over him from head to toe as he realises what Yagi is talking about.
“I read on the news the part you played in the illegal human genetics lab incident last year,” he continues, and Katsuki can only grab onto Izuku’s wrist and squeeze in mute comfort as he says, “It was very heroic of you.”
“You can’t,” Izuku breathes, and then, abruptly, he’s furious. “You can’t say that to me! You already took that away from me! You can’t just come back nearly ten years later to tell me you were wrong, that you’re sorry for taking a wrecking ball to my dreams! I already got rid of them; there’s no getting them back from a bonfire, All Might!”
Yagi shrinks away from the younger man’s rage, but doesn’t say anything. People are staring – Katsuki wouldn’t be surprised if someone is discreetly filming the alarmingly display – but for once Izuku doesn’t care. He’s crying, tears tracking unimpeded down his cheeks, but he’s not shaking now – he’s in full confrontation mode, and he’s strong, and confident, and he’s not backing down as he tears into the retired Pro.
He would’ve made a great Hero.
“Did you make that a habit at that time of your life, then? Did you run around saving people’s lives and telling them, “Don’t bother trying to follow your dreams, kids, you have to be the right kind of perfect to get on this ride!” Or were you really just that bitter about losing your own quirk that you had to put that on me, too? I spent my whole life striving to be like you, only for you to tear me to shreds in two minutes flat. There is no apology you could offer me that could fix that.”
And he turns and leaves, and Katsuki lets him go.
“How could you?” he asks quietly, shattered, “How could you do that to someone? He was a kid.”
Yagi can only avert his eyes, shamefaced, and Katsuki shakes his head and turns to follow his Alpha. “I thought you were one of the great ones, you know?”
And it’ll be all over the news tomorrow, but he can’t really bring himself to care. So what? Maybe it’s the curse of all Number One Heroes to be inherently terrible people. Maybe Togata is secretly a monster, too – maybe the system really is just as broken as Aizawa had always preached. Maybe Stain had had a point, and the whole thing was a goddamn mess that should be rebooted.
Katsuki catches up to Izuku in the hallway, and they head out onto the street to call their ride and go home. Izuku’s adrenalin is swiftly draining, and the rage will soon leave him, to be replaced with despair. Katsuki wants to be in their den, safely hidden from the world, when that happens.
It all comes out between wracking sobs as Katsuki holds him on their couch, wrapped in his arms, utterly ruining their suits; years of bullying and isolation, topped off with a little bow when All Might had told him to be more realistic with his goals. To be a police officer – “It’s just as rewarding.” – which said something about Yagi’s deep-down opinion of the police force and of his thoughts regarding people lacking quirks both. And how rich, coming from a man whose own quirk had been leaving him even as he said the words.
There really had been a bonfire, too – a decade’s worth of notes on Heroes and Izuku’s plans to be one himself, of Support gear and training regimes and dreams, burned on a beach that nobody visited, turned to ash by order of the Number One Hero himself.
“I just wanted to help people,” Izuku wails, “All I wanted was to make people feel safe, to make people smile, and I couldn’t. No one believed in me, no one ever believed in me. Why? Why?”
“I believe in you,” Katsuki murmurs into his hair, and Izuku just sobs, “And I don’t even need to believe in you – I know what you’re capable of.”
Katsuki’s own tears are dripping onto Izuku’s hair, in agony for his Alpha and recalling his own self-doubt, long-buried, and all he can do is hold him tighter. There’s nothing he can say that can make them both feel better, so he just holds him, and hopes he’ll be okay after this.
Katsuki takes a few days off of work, and uses them to stay by Izuku’s side. He tries not to hover, since he knows he himself wouldn’t appreciate it, but he stays home just to be nearby and available if Izuku needs him.
Izuku doesn’t draw or paint or even pick up a pencil the whole time. He watches a couple of gossip bulletins splashed all over with his own face – “Bravery Medal Recipient In All Might Showdown – Get The Whole Scoop Here!” – and then resolutely turns on their PlayStation and starts a new file on a game he’s already finished at least twice.
Katsuki cooks for them, and cleans up after them, and makes a nuisance of himself by shoving himself between Izuku and the couch so he can drape himself over Izuku’s back. It’s the first time he hears Izuku laugh since the Gala, and he’s desperate to know that he’s at least somewhat okay, so he gives up on trying not to hover and becomes as obnoxiously touchy-feely as he can. Izuku happily receives his attention, and they ultimately spend most of Katsuki’s self-imposed grace period mashed together on the couch in comfy house clothes.
Katsuki notices with some surprise, as he vacuums in Izuku’s studio, that, despite everything, he still has an All Might figurine in amongst all of the others. He has to ask why, and Izuku shrugs.
“I didn’t hate him,” he says, “He was just talking honestly, you know? I used to have way more than just a figurine; I was the biggest Hero nerd ever, especially about him. He’s still a good guy, after all. Just… not my Hero anymore.”
Katsuki cleans their dishes on the last night of his time off and wrestles with his own feelings on the matter. Neither one of them has an Endeavour figurine, he knows. That name is sullied forever by the revelation of his cruel treatment of his own family, such that his own wife had gone mad and his eldest son had become the most prolific killer on the League of Villains’ roster. So why does All Might still deserve their respect? Why does any Hero deserve the respect they’re given?
Why does Katsuki deserve the respect he’s been given? Didn’t he get to where he was by tearing other people down? Didn’t he tread all over others to achieve his position, and all the things it entails him?
“Do you think Heroism is like that CEO problem?” he asks aloud after he’s flicked the water off his hands.
“What problem?” Izuku calls back from the living room.
“Where most people that become CEOs are psychopaths, since you have to be ruthless to get to that point. I mean, how many Top Ten Heroes are there that aren’t a little bit awful under that veneer of goodness? How would we ever know if they hid it well enough?”
“Katsuki…?” Izuku asks cautiously, “Why are you asking that?”
“Should I be a Hero?” he finally chokes out, standing in the entryway to the kitchen and barely able to articulate himself, his thoughts are so tangled, “I mean I- there must be so many people that remember me being such a fucking shitful person when I was younger. I’m still no good with kids, I can’t comfort people worth a damn, and I have this history behind me. Why should I be allowed to be Number Two with a track record like that? How many horrible people have taken advantage of their powerful quirks to become Heroes when all they really care about is their own success?”
“Katsuki,” Izuku says, pulling himself off the couch and crossing the floor to hold his face in his palms, “You’re not like that.”
“I am, though,” Katsuki says, “I’m a fucking horrible person. I just wanted to be Number One to prove I was the best. What gives me the right to be angry at someone like All Might – or someone like Endeavour – when I’m exactly the same as he was?”
“You’re not,” Izuku says firmly, “You’re too self-aware now. You grew up, and you grew out of that way of thinking. You don’t do those things anymore, right? You’re better than that. And without Heroes like you, who realise how easy it is to exploit the system, it would only get worse. You can’t leave, even if it’s only because you have to use your position to raise awareness of the issues you think are there.”
“I’m the issue!”
“Then tell people that!” Izuku exclaims passionately, “Tell them that you were raised with this misplaced superiority complex, and that you had to recognise that to break free of it, to be the man you are today. My amazing, beautiful, wonderful Omega, who’s a Hero that people look to in times of crisis, who can recognise his own flaws and learn from them and grow from them. Be better than you were raised to be.”
His eyes are almost glowing, he’s so passionate, and Katsuki marvels at him, bowled over.
“You’re my Hero, did you know that?” he blurts. Izuku blinks, and Katsuki presses, “You save me from myself, which is half the battle when you’re as fucked in the head as I am. I fucking love you.”
Izuku’s mouth falls open, and he’s momentarily speechless. And then he drags Katsuki down into a kiss so full of emotion that Katsuki practically melts.
“I love you, too, Katsuki,” he says against his lips, “I love this person you became. Please don’t stop being a Hero because of what you see as your own failings – its proof that you’ve grown that you can recognise them. You’re perfect to me, but no one’s born perfect, you know.”
Katsuki takes another day off of work, to write a longform opinion piece and frantically edit the hell out of it. He sends it off to his mother, who returns it promptly with a few suggestions and grammatical nit-picks, and a reminder of how proud of him she is. He’s still warmed by her words of encouragement as he sends the thing to the Asahi Shimbun, hoping to get it in one of the most widely-read newspapers in the country.
Rather terrifyingly, it’s on the front page the next day.
He turns up to work as usual, having flown in from his apartment’s rooftop, and is immediately attacked by his media department, who are both ecstatic and despairing – ecstatic, because it’s a great fucking piece, and despairing because couldn’t he have run it by them first?
His friends accost him next, and Uraraka is literally in tears as she hugs him half to death.
“I’m so proud of you!” she shrieks in his ear, “Look at you, all grown up!”
Kirishima is at the front of the group that have elected not to physically assault him in the hallway, smiling broadly with tears of his own in his eyes. The others are just earnestly waiting their turn, letting Uraraka get it all out of her system. He gets it, he does, so he allows it; he just got an opinion piece published in a national newspaper that simultaneously tore the Hero industry a new asshole whilst also throwing himself under the bus along with it. The Katsuki of yester-year, who would’ve blamed everyone around him for his own problems or ignored them entirely, is officially dead.
He gets dozens of calls for interviews, and carefully selects the publications and news outlets that are least likely to twist his words. He goes on his patrol, as normal, and is a little stunned by how many people approach him with their support. Normally, the civilians he sees nod and wave, or ask for autographs, but he’s not a classically approachable Hero – a lot like Endeavour in that regard, much to his distaste. That day, he’s everybody’s favourite – he’s finally said something that a lot of people have apparently been thinking, from the point of view of an insider; something both incredibly reckless and incredibly brave. The long-standing issue of Heroes being placed on unrealistic pedestals has suddenly been addressed by someone in the biz, and it’s the conversation topic on everyone’s tongues.
Two days later, he gets a call – the latest popularity polls are in.
Stats-wise, he’s still Number Two. His arrest record and rescue tallies are, as always, just a little behind Togata’s, but on that day, he finally surpasses him in one stat.
So far as the people of Japan are concerned, Ground Zero is the Number One Hero.
Izuku practically tackles him when he comes home, and his friends get a firm “no” when they rowdily suggest they all go out drinking to celebrate. He stays home with his boyfriend, and they celebrate with an over-the-top dinner and Katsuki’s favourite movie. Izuku takes him to bed and fucks him long and slow, and Katsuki, despite all the turmoil of the past week, doesn’t think he’s ever been happier in his entire life.
18, 19
Two weeks later, still existing in a happy haze, Katsuki comes home to find Izuku fidgety and nervous in a way he hasn’t seen him for months.
Alarm bells start ringing in his mind immediately, but he does his best not to let it show – Izuku will tell him whatever it is in due time.
“Whatever it is” is a course handbook, shyly handed over the Katsuki after dinner. Katsuki barely reads the words on the cover before he tosses it aside to grab his Alpha up in an enthusiastic embrace.
“Are you really?” he asks, “Are you really going to do it?”
“Yeah,” Izuku says, “I took the entrance exam today. It was computerised, so I got the results back right away, and I only had to do a fitness test besides, which was easy. I got an exemption from the battle practical because I sent them designs for my Support gear, and they recognised that I wouldn’t be able to perform to my best level without it.”
“You have designs?” Katsuki says, “Show me! Show me the fucking designs!”
He ducks into his studio and comes back out with a notebook, “Hero Notes, Vol. 1” scrawled across the front in bold marker. The inside is chock full of notes on quirk analysis and statistics and, on the tenth page, the start of a detailed costume design for a quirkless Hero named “Hypocentre”.
Katsuki tentatively offers suggestions and possible alterations, and Izuku dashes off to get a pencil, so that he can write further notes around his sketches.
“We can take these to Hatsume,” Katsuki suggests, “She looks after all of my gear; she’d be happy to help make a whole new costume from scratch, especially one that she can pack full of Support equipment.”
“You wouldn’t happen to be looking for a sidekick, would you?” he asks, grinning brightly, a breathtaking expression of joy.
“No,” Katsuki murmurs, “But I wouldn’t say no to a partner.”
Izuku’s eyes shine, wonderingly, and Katsuki kisses him. They put away the notebook for the moment, and Katsuki tries to imprint this feeling on his memory, to remember for the rest of his life. Now he’s never been happier in his life.
The classes change Izuku, for the better. It’s like a light switch has been turned on in his very soul; rather than the ever-present, if frequently hidden, melancholy of before, his entire being just constantly vibrates with barely-supressed excitement.
His artwork changes, too – less of the landscapes and fantasy worlds, and more of the one they live in. There are cityscapes and Hero portraits, and a stylised poster of Katsuki in mid-flight in a blue sky, the words “Is this what the clouds feel like?” curling over his chest and arms.
A self-portrait follows, the silhouette of Izuku’s concept Hero costume taking a step off of the building that Katsuki recognises as his Agency, the space at his back framing the words, “Got nowhere to go and I’ve got no one to be.”
“It’s not suicidal,” Izuku assures him, “The shock-absorbers in the boots would break my fall. I just thought it was a cool picture.”
“It’s fucking great,” Katsuki says, “Can I get one of each? I want them in my office at work.”
They go up, on the wall beside his desk, and just like Bakudan-san, everyone who sees them has to comment on them. Katsuki just leans back in his chair, and tells them that they’re pictures from the future. Further questions are ignored.
It’s gonna take years, he knows. Getting a full Hero license takes three years education minimum, but once Izuku has a costume, he could very well have a provisionary license in less than six months.
In less than six months, Midoriya Izuku will be a provisionary Hero.
In less than three years, Midoriya Izuku will be a Pro.
In less than seven, he’ll be Number Two, right up there beside Katsuki, not that either of them knows it yet.
It’ll be the day that both of them are the happiest that either of them has ever been in their life.
Five Years Later
“Nii-san!”
Izuku and Katsuki both turn to look at the voice that calls out to them. It’s a face they know well, jogging up to them in her school uniform, her friends trailing behind looking a little awed to see the Number One and his partner/mate just wandering down the street.
“Hanako-chan!” Izuku exclaims, throwing his arms open to catch the girl and swing her around a couple of times, “How’ve you been, are you nearly done with your exams?”
“Almost!” she confirms, “I’ve got two more, and then I’m free!”
“Until Uni starts,” Katsuki reminds her, and she makes a face at him.
“Don’t remind me, I’m trying to pretend I’ll be on vacation for at least a year, first.”
“Um, Hana-chan?” one of the other girls asks, “Is- is Hypocentre really your older brother?”
“Yep!” Izuku grins.
“Not biologically,” Hanako adds, “But otherwise, yeah!”
“Not…?”
“Did Daisuke tell you guys that he got a recommendation for UA?” she asks, turning back to them excitedly as he friends exchange confused glances.
“Kid, who do you think recommended him?” Katsuki grins, “I’d’a recommended any of you, if you’d wanted.”
“Only Daisuke wants to be a Hero, anyway,” she waves him off, “And that’s nepotism, isn’t it?”
“Hey, he ain’t my damn brother.”
“You’re an only child, right? Would you only want one kid yourself?”
Katsuki shoots Izuku a look, which is returned with a brightly excited grin – he’s really too proud of himself, the asshole.
“Well, right now it’s looking more like two. I always sort of wanted three, but Izuku failed to deliver on the first try, I guess.”
“Hey, that’s as much your fault as mine!”
Hanako interrupts their banter to scream loudly, and drop down to hug Katsuki around his middle. “I’m going to be an auntie!”
“They’ll be born deaf if you keep screaming at them like that,” Katsuki huffs, pushing lightly at her to make her disengage, “Keep it quiet, kid; I don’t want some villain fuckhead getting ideas just yet.”
“Should you still be on duty?” she asks, righting herself and starting to look more concerned than excited as reality reasserts itself – he works a dangerous job, and is very much in the firing line.
“Don’t worry, Hanako,” Izuku says, “It’s his last week of fieldwork. Office duties only, unless a real emergency comes up, for the rest of it.”
“I’m going to die of boredom, but I guess you don’t get rewards unless you suffer,” Katsuki sighs dramatically, “And if any of you say anything before we announce it next week, I will find you and I will hurt you.”
“You wouldn’t,” Izuku says, to try and assuage the alarm of Hanako’s friends. Hanako herself is unfazed, used to his empty threats, and Katsuki scoffs.
“I would definitely consider it.”
“You wouldn’t even do that.”
“Well, yeah, I’m a fucking Hero.”
Izuku laughs, as bright as the fucking sun, and Katsuki can’t help but smile right back.