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Bakugo was furious, not that it's an unusual occurrence, but tonight was different.
The night air at Ground Beta had been crisp, charged with the scent of metal and dust, remnants of past battles lingering in the air. Bakugo had gone there expecting a fight—hell, he needed a fight. He was itching for a proper brawl, something to get his mind off the endless cycle of training, expectations, and the ever-present frustration that followed him like a damn shadow. Instead, somehow, he’d ended up spilling his guts to Deku of all people.
Now, back in his dorm room, trapped by Aizawa’s stupid punishment, he stewed in his own frustration. He couldn't believe he had to spend his entire weekend cleaning, hours of training completely wasted.
His palms still ached for a proper explosion, something to burn away the lingering embarrassment from earlier. The last thing he needed was pity—especially from him. Green-eyed, whiny, self-sacrificing, infuriating Deku. Bakugo huffed again, kicking at his desk in irritation, the sound echoing in the quiet room.
Still, he couldn’t stop thinking about the fight. How long it had taken for Deku to actually fight back, how much he had to push before he got something real. And damn, when he finally did… Bakugo exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. That moment—the raw energy, the weight beneath him, Deku struggling against his hold—
His eye twitched.
No.
No, no, no, no.
He was not going there again. Not with Deku. Not after all this time. He left all that far behind him in middle school.
He shook his head violently, planting his feet on the ground, forcing himself back to reality. It was just a fight. Nothing more. Just another step toward getting stronger. That was all.
The room felt too small, the walls pressing in as Bakugo paced back and forth, his movements restless and agitated. His fists clenched and unclenched at his sides, sparks threatening to ignite from sheer frustration—not just at Deku, but at himself. This was insane. He was insane. They fought all the time, so why the hell was tonight any different?
Because he’d said too much.
Because Deku had listened.
Because for once, he hadn’t just been some wide-eyed idiot, nodding along like a lost puppy. No, tonight, he had stood his ground, forced Bakugo to confront things he didn’t want to. And maybe that’s what pissed him off the most—that Deku had wormed his way into his head even more than usual.
Bakugo groaned, dragging his hands down his face before gripping the back of his neck. He needed to get a grip. But his thoughts kept drifting, circling back to the fight, to the way Deku moved—his strong arms, his powerful legs, the raw determination in his stupid freckled face. He could probably match Iida in speed now, and that was saying something. But strength? No matter how much Deku improved, Bakugo was still stronger. He proved it tonight.
And damn, it had felt good.
That moment—when he finally had Deku pinned, his weight pressing down, keeping him still—Bakugo had never felt so satisfied. Deku was relentless, always pushing forward, always trying to outdo himself, but Bakugo had won. For all his strength, Deku had been powerless beneath him.
The thought sent a sharp thrill through him, and Bakugo grinned.
His eye twitched again.
Nope. Nope. Absolutely the hell not.
He was losing it.
With a growl, he threw himself onto his bed, shoving his face into the pillow as if he could suffocate the thoughts out of his brain. This was just adrenaline, just the high of a good fight. Nothing more. It had to be.
But his stupid head wouldn't stop. All he could think about was Deku. Deku. Deku
“Deku” he found himself saying. Now, standing outside said male’s dorm, staring into his glossy green eyes, he had no idea what the hell he was doing. His heart hammered against his ribs, an annoying, traitorous thing that only seemed to get worse.
Deku blinked at him, clearly surprised. "Kacchan?" His voice was laced with confusion, eyes scanning Bakugo as if trying to piece together why he of all people was standing at his door at—what, nearly midnight? "You're not here to fight again, are you?" Deku pouted slightly, tilting his head.
And just like that, Bakugo was hit with an overwhelming, completely stupid urge to kiss him.
Fuck.
No.
Absolutely not.
His breath caught, and he forced himself to exhale sharply, grounding himself before his thoughts ran away again. "I, uh—" He glanced around wildly, searching for an excuse, any excuse, but his mind was still a scrambled mess. He hadn't even meant to come here, hadn't thought this far ahead. He’d just needed to do something, to stop thinking, and somehow, his best idea had been to go straight to the source of all his goddamn problems.
Bakugo groaned into his hands, his mind a chaotic mess. "Fuck," he muttered under his breath, frustration bleeding into every syllable. He needed to leave. Now. Before he did something stupid.
But then Deku sighed, those damn soft, green eyes locking onto him with something way too close to understanding. "C'mon in, Kacchan," he said, smiling like this was normal, like Bakugo standing at his door in the middle of the night, only an hour or so after a huge fight, wasn’t completely unhinged.
No.
Bakugo knew this was a terrible idea.
His head was not in the right space. He felt restless, unstable—like a grenade with the pin barely holding.
But his body betrayed him.
His feet moved before his brain could stop them, carrying him into the room of his childhood friend turned rival—turned what, exactly? He didn’t know. And he sure as hell didn’t want to think about it.
The moment he stepped inside, he took in his surroundings and immediately felt the urge to roll his eyes. "Shit," he muttered under his breath. Of course it looked like this.
All Might was everywhere. Posters covered the walls, shelves lined with action figures, a limited-edition All Might lamp sat on the desk—hell, even the damn bedspread had his stupid grin plastered across it.
"Deku, you have a serious problem," Bakugo deadpanned, standing stiffly in the doorway like crossing the threshold would be a point of no return.
Izuku just grinned, completely unbothered. "I hope you’re not expecting an apology," he said, ignoring Bakugo's comment, tilting his head as he met his glare with an infuriatingly relaxed expression.
Bakugo scoffed, rolling his eyes. "As if either of us has anything to apologize for," he shot back. "I have nothing to say sorry for, and the only thing you should be apologizing for is being a weak little bitch."
Izuku let out an exaggerated scoff, crossing his arms. "I am not weak," he stated firmly, his tone edged with something dangerous. "And I’ll kick your ass again to prove it."
Bakugo barked out a laugh, sharp and taunting, the rush of adrenaline already creeping under his skin. He took a step forward, his body moving before his mind could keep up. "I’m pretty sure I remember you getting your ass kicked, not me," he sneered, watching for the reaction.
Izuku’s lips curled into something almost wicked—mischief laced with challenge. "Oh please," he huffed, taking a step of his own, closing the distance just slightly. "I let you win."
Bakugo’s fingers twitched, his pulse thrumming in his ears. His mind blurred at the edges, the teasing heat between them burning hotter.
"Sure didn’t feel that way when you were writhing under me," he growled, his voice dropping lower, thick with something he didn’t dare name.
That did something.
Izuku’s breath caught, and for the briefest second, Bakugo saw it—the flicker of something in those damn green eyes. Not fear. Not anger. Something else.
His freckled cheeks dusted pink, and Bakugo felt a sick sort of satisfaction curl in his stomach at the sight.
They were chest to chest now, the tension between them wound so tight it might snap at any second.
And neither of them moved away.
"Well…" Izuku started, but the words died on his tongue, hanging heavy in the space between them, he quickly glanced down, eyeing Bakugo's mouth.
He licked his lips.
Bakugo’s smirk twitched, his control wavering. "Well, what, nerd?" he asked, tilting his head just slightly—just enough to bring their faces dangerously close.
Shit.
Too close.
His brain screamed at him to back off, to break the moment before it could become something else. But his body? His body had other plans.
Izuku's eyes flickered, darting up and down his face, searching for something—something Bakugo didn’t understand, something he wasn’t sure he wanted to understand.
The silence between them stretched, thick and suffocating. Red eyes burned into green, wildfire meeting an open meadow, and neither of them looked away.
"Kacchan," Izuku whispered, his voice soft but unwavering.
Bakugo's breath hitched.
"Deku," he rasped, the name rolling off his tongue lower than intended, rough and raw and laced with something he couldn’t name—wouldn’t name.
Desire.
For what? For a fight? For control? For Deku?
No. No way in hell.
He needed to move. Needed to step away and clear his fucking head. But he couldn't. Not when Izuku was right there, so close, his breath fanning across Bakugo’s lips like a dare.
Bakugo clenched his fists. "Fuck," he muttered under his breath, pulse hammering in his throat, chest tight, nerves shot to hell.
This was bad.
This was really, really bad.
"Kacchan…" Izuku repeated quietly, his voice barely audible over the pounding in Bakugo’s ears. His gaze flickered downward again, lingering on Bakugo’s lips for just a second too long.
Bakugo’s breath hitched. His own eyes dropped in turn, tracing the way Izuku’s lips parted, the way his breath came in short, fluttery gasps, uneven and unsure.
"D-do you…" Izuku started, voice trembling, hands twitching at his sides like he wanted to reach out but didn’t dare. He swallowed hard, then forced the words out. "Do you hate me?"
The question hit harder than it should have.
Izuku’s eyes shot back up, searching, desperate for an answer.
For a moment, Bakugo said nothing. Just watched. Just felt. The weight of the air between them, the heat rolling off their bodies, the way Izuku looked at him—like he was bracing for something, like he was hoping for something.
A slow, wicked smile curled onto Bakugo’s lips.
Then, without a word, he stepped forward.
Izuku barely had time to react before his back hit the wall, a soft gasp escaping his lips as Bakugo crowded into his space, heat radiating between them.
"I fucking hate you," Bakugo growled, his voice rough, dark, dripping with something far more dangerous than anger. "With every ounce of my fucking being."
Izuku gasped, his pupils blown wide, chest rising and falling in sharp, shallow movements.
Bakugo didn’t think. Didn’t hesitate.
He lunged, closing the minuscule gap between them, his lips crashing into Izuku’s, rough and reckless and way too much, his hands restraining Izuku's, keeping him still.
But Izuku didn’t pull away.
He melted into it.
Bakugo’s grip on Izuku’s wrists was firm, unyielding, but Izuku didn’t cower—he fought. He strained against Bakugo’s hold, testing his strength, and it only made Bakugo tighten his grasp in response, fingers digging into warm skin.
Izuku's lips were just as defiant, pushing back against Bakugo’s with equal force, a silent challenge that sent a sharp thrill down his spine. A low growl rumbled from Bakugo’s chest before he bit down on Izuku’s lower lip, sharp and demanding.
But Izuku? He didn’t pull away.
He bit back.
Bakugo’s head was spinning, the heat between them burning too hot, too fast. He needed to get out of here. Needed to clear his head before he drowned in whatever this was.
He started to pull away, breaking the contact, forcing himself to regain control—
And then Izuku moaned.
A soft, desperate sound, escaping from the back of his throat, raw and needy, vibrating against Bakugo’s lips and shooting straight through his skull.
"Shit," he whispered into the kiss, but Izuku took it as an invitation.
Before Bakugo could react, a slick, hot tongue pushed past his lips, and the sudden intrusion nearly dragged a groan from his throat.
Izuku took his time, exploring, teasing, his tongue moving with a newfound confidence that sent fire straight to Bakugo’s core.
It took him a second—a full fucking second—before he snapped out of it, regaining his senses enough to fight back. With a quick movement, he flipped the dynamic, pushing Izuku’s wrists above his head, pinning him against the wall.
Izuku gasped at the shift, and Bakugo smirked into the kiss.
Teeth clashed, breath tangled between them, the heat building too fast, too much. Bakugo felt like he was suffocating, burning alive in the intensity of it all—
And some fucked-up part of him didn’t mind one bit.
Then, suddenly, Izuku broke away, his lips leaving Bakugo’s with a wet sound that made his head spin. For a brief second, Bakugo felt the loss like a gaping wound, a deep, hungry ache—
And then Izuku’s mouth was on his jaw, his tongue trailing along the sharp angle before his teeth nipped, sending a sharp jolt of pleasure through Bakugo’s nerves.
"Fuck," Bakugo groaned, his body pressing harder against Izuku’s, like he could fuse them together.
Izuku didn’t stop—didn’t hesitate. He dragged his lips down, working along Bakugo’s jawline, teasing, biting, sucking along sensitive skin until he reached his neck.
That was dangerous.
That was so fucking dangerous.
But Bakugo didn’t stop him. Didn’t want to stop him.
The second Izuku’s mouth latched onto the sensitive spot just beneath his ear, sucking slow and deep, Bakugo broke.
He let go of Izuku’s wrists—not to retreat, but to touch.
His hands moved on their own, one threading into Izuku’s soft curls, tugging hard enough to earn a sharp gasp against his neck. The other slid down, exploring Izuku’s body, tracing the lean lines of muscle with slow, heated intent.
His fingers burned into Izuku’s skin, leaving invisible trails of fire, branding the moment into both of them.
Izuku moaned again, muffled against Bakugo’s marked shoulder, and fuck.
Bakugo was so absolutely fucked.
He should stop. He knew he should stop. But he couldn’t.
Didn’t want to.
The heat was growing addictive, thrumming under his skin like an unrelenting pulse, his every action fueled by the way Izuku moaned and clung to him, the way he left marks like he was claiming him.
Fuck.
Bakugo slid his hands under Izuku’s shirt, fingers tracing the tense muscles of his abdomen. He activated his quirk just slightly, just enough for warmth to spark against Izuku’s skin but not enough to fully ignite.
The reaction was instant.
Izuku gasped, body jolting, and before Bakugo could revel in it, sharp teeth sank into his shoulder.
"Tch— Fuck," Bakugo hissed, tilting his head to the side, returning the favor by biting into Izuku’s neck, pressing his now-heated hand into the curve of his side.
Izuku shuddered, his breath hitching before he dug his fingers into Bakugo’s back, no doubt leaving crescent-shaped welts behind. His grip was tight, his nails dragging against fabric, against skin, as he threw his head back and—
"Fuck, Kacchan," he moaned, voice wrecked and breathless.
Bakugo twitched.
He liked that.
Really liked that.
His grip on Izuku’s waist tightened, his pulse hammering in his ears, drowning out the logical part of his brain that still tried to tell him to slow down, to get a grip.
Instead, he shifted, leaning in, his teeth sinking into Izuku’s neck again, harder this time.
Izuku gasped, body tensing before melting into it, and Bakugo barely noticed the faint taste of iron coating his tongue before he pulled back, eyes dark and hungry.
Izuku was panting, chest rising and falling rapidly, sweat beading along his hairline, his lips red and swollen.
Bakugo smirked, licking his teeth as his gaze trailed over Izuku’s wrecked state.
"Damn, nerd," he muttered, voice thick with something dangerous. "Look at you."
Izuku shuddered under his gaze, his body trembling with every ragged breath he took. He was a mess—his lips were swollen, a faint trace of blood smeared along the curve of his mouth, his face flushed a deep, intoxicating red.
Bakugo smirked, satisfied, and reached out, dragging a single heated finger down the length of Izuku’s spine, just enough to make the skin beneath it tingle and spark.
Izuku’s entire body arched, his head tipping back against the wall, a sharp gasp escaping his lips as his eyes fluttered, rolling slightly before squeezing shut. His muscles twitched beneath Bakugo’s touch, his body writhing like it didn’t know whether to chase or escape the heat.
Bakugo loved it.
Reveling in the way Izuku squirmed, how every touch pulled another delicious reaction from him, how his soft, labored breaths filled the charged space between them.
"Deku," Bakugo murmured, voice low and teasing, his finger still trailing over Izuku’s spine, pressing just enough to feel the way he trembled. "You really are fucked, aren’t you?"
"Only for you," Izuku moaned, his voice breathy and wrecked.
Bakugo froze.
His fingers stilled against Izuku’s trembling body, his mind catching on those three words and refusing to let them go. Echoing around in his head, knocking out whatever sense he had left.
Only for me.
Hah.
Something wicked burned inside of him at the thought, twisting and curling like fire licking at his ribs. The idea of Izuku like this—because of him, for him, no one else—sent a dangerous kind of thrill rushing through his veins.
His grip on Izuku’s waist tightened, grounding himself, but it did nothing to stop the heat consuming him.
"Yeah?" Bakugo asked, his voice coming out breathier than he intended, betraying the growing hunger creeping up his spine.
Get a fucking grip, he scolded himself.
But he couldn’t stop grinning.
Because Izuku was squirming, his body pressing closer despite his own trembling, his breaths coming in soft, desperate pants, like he needed this as much as Bakugo did.
He was feeding off it like some kind of monster.
He wanted to devour Izuku, consume him whole, mark every inch of him until there was no doubt who he belonged to.
But before he could drown in the thought, Izuku’s hips rolled against him, pulling him back to reality with a sharp inhale.
"Kacchan, please," Izuku whined, breathless and desperate. His hands clutched at Bakugo’s back, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt like he was trying to anchor himself.
Bakugo’s mind short-circuited.
Please?
Please what?
Shit.
His resolve was hanging by a thread. He couldn’t, he wouldn’t—but Izuku was pulling him in, and the worst part? Bakugo liked it.
No, he fucking loved it.
There was something magnetic about Izuku, about his strength, his determination, the way he fought for everything, even now. It was irresistible, like standing at the edge of an inferno and choosing to step in.
Bakugo leaned in, lips grazing the shell of Izuku’s ear, reveling in the way he shivered beneath him.
"Please what?" he asked, voice low, gravelly, dripping with teasing heat.
Izuku whimpered, pressing closer.
And Bakugo felt like he was about to fucking lose it.
He slowly reached a hand up to Izuku's neck.
Izuku’s breath hitched, his throat bobbing under Bakugo’s palm as those strong, calloused fingers curled around his neck—gentle, but there, a promise of control just waiting to be taken.
"Please what?" Bakugo demanded again, his voice a low, steady rumble against Izuku’s flushed skin.
Izuku shuddered, violently, his whole body reacting to the weight of that question. His green eyes, darkened with something dangerous, met Bakugo’s in silent challenge.
And fuck, if that didn’t make Bakugo’s heart slam against his ribs.
"Fuck," Izuku whispered, his voice wrecked, strained, and dripping with something needy. He moved again, trying to roll his hips, seeking friction, seeking more, but Bakugo’s other hand stopped him—fingers digging into his waist, rough and grounding.
"Tch—impatient little shit," Bakugo muttered, tightening his grip on Izuku’s throat just slightly, just enough to make his breath catch, but not enough to take it away.
Not yet.
He leaned in, his breath hot as he growled, "I asked you a fucking question."
A sharp, teasing nip to Izuku’s earlobe sent another shiver through him, followed by soft, deliberate kisses trailing down his quivering jaw.
Bakugo could feel Izuku’s pulse racing beneath his fingers, and with every ragged breath he took, every slight tremor in his frame, Bakugo’s control frayed—
Because fuck, he wanted to hear him beg.
Bakugo wanted to watch as Izuku turned into a shaking, quivering mess. He wanted to see that iron will bend—just enough—to him. He wanted to hear Izuku gasping his name, not in a battle, not in frustration, but in something raw and needy.
And the best part was, there was so much fight in him. Izuku was strong, not that Bakugo would ever admit it aloud.
They could do this all night.
The thought sent a dangerous thrill down Bakugo’s spine. His grip on Izuku tightened as he shifted, sliding his knee between Izuku’s legs, propping it under Izuku's obvious erection. He felt the sharp inhale against his cheek, the tension rolling through Izuku’s body like a taut wire.
“Kacchan—” Izuku’s voice was breathy, already laced with something desperate, as he rocked slightly against the pressure.
“What is it, Deku?” Bakugo’s voice dropped into something lower, something smug and teasing. “All you gotta do is ask.”
Izuku’s breath hitched as Bakugo’s fingers trailed up his neck, just barely ghosting against his pulse point. And then the heat flared—just enough to tingle, to make Izuku shudder. His green eyes widened, a spark of challenge flashing through them even as he trembled.
“Kacchan—” he tried again, his voice shaking but stubborn. He rolled his hips with more force, making Bakugo’s smirk falter for a split second. “I need—” he gasped, breathless, almost wrecked.
“Need what, Deku?” Bakugo taunted, fingers tightening ever so slightly.
Izuku groaned in frustration, his body twisting beneath Bakugo’s hold. “You know what I mean,” he huffed, and Bakugo could see it in his eyes—that fire, that determination. The same look he always had in a fight, the same damn stubbornness that drove Bakugo insane in the best way.
Bakugo leaned in until their lips were nearly brushing, his breath warm against Izuku’s skin. “Tch. Say it,” he murmured, voice gravelly, laced with something wicked.
Izuku’s eyes narrowed—challenging. His lips curled into a breathless, teasing smile, and in one swift movement, he surged forward, knocking Bakugo slightly off balance as their bodies pressed flush together.
“Make me,” Izuku whispered, and Bakugo felt himself teetering on the brink of insanity.
Bakugo growled, his fingers leaving Izuku's neck to grab a tuft of his messy green hair, yanking his head back just enough to test him. He expected a wince, maybe some resistance, but instead, he was met with that infuriating grin—Izuku’s bright eyes gleaming with challenge, as if to say, What now?
A low, heated breath escaped Bakugo’s lips. He had to hold himself back, had to keep control. Every instinct screamed at him to throw Deku down right there, to press him into the floor and fuck him until all that smug defiance melted away.
But no.
Patience.
Things like this take time.
His fingers twitched with anticipation, itching to act, to claim, to make Izuku react the way he wanted. He swallowed hard, steadying himself, keeping his voice firm despite the wildfire burning beneath his skin.
“Bed. Now.” His tone left no room for argument, red eyes dark with intent.
Izuku’s grin only widened, swollen lips parting over perfect teeth. He was enjoying this. Testing him. Pushing his limits.
“Make. me.” he breathed again, his words were a taunt, laced with defiance, his voice low and teasing. He leaned in, so close Bakugo could feel his breath against his lips.
Something inside Bakugo finally snapped.
A smirk curled at his lips. “You just don’t know when to quit, do you?” he murmured, voice dangerously low.
Izuku only grinned wider, his body already bracing for whatever came next.
Bakugo grabbed Izuku's thighs, hauling him up with a brutal grip, forcing him to straddle his sides. Izuku’s breath caught in his throat, his hands instinctively gripping Bakugo’s shoulders for balance. “Kacchan!” Izuku whined, half surprised, half aroused by the way Bakugo moved him so effortlessly. Without another word, Bakugo stomped toward the bed, dragging Izuku with him, and threw him onto the mattress like he weighed nothing.
Izuku gasped, bouncing slightly as he landed, but before he could process what just happened, Bakugo was over him, tearing off his shirt in one swift motion. The look in his eyes was dark, heavy, and Izuku couldn’t look away.
Izuku’s tongue flicked over his lips, eyes following the movement like a predator, hunger in them, but there was that spark of hesitation still. Bakugo grinned at that, savoring the moment, then leaned down quickly, his lips slamming into Izuku’s in a kiss that was anything but soft.
It was rough, hard, like Bakugo couldn’t get enough. He kissed Izuku like he was marking him, every touch impatient, desperate. Izuku’s lips parted under the pressure, and Bakugo took it, plunging his tongue in without any mercy. It was messy, unrefined, a battle for dominance that neither of them were willing to let go of.
Izuku’s body tensed at first, but then he was responding, fighting back, hands gripping Bakugo’s shoulders like they were the only thing keeping him from falling apart. Bakugo groaned, the kiss deepening, his fingers digging into Izuku’s waist, holding him still as he worked over him. He could feel Izuku’s breath hitching, those sweet little gasps that drove him crazy.
When Bakugo finally pulled back, both of them were breathless, their chests heaving in sync, but the air between them was thick, charged. Izuku lay sprawled on the bed, dazed and breathless, that goofy grin of his spreading across his face, the kind Bakugo usually hated—only now it looked fucking perfect.
He watched Izuku carefully, chest tight with an emotion that felt raw and overwhelming. It was more than just satisfaction. It was something darker. Something possessive.
“I wanna fucking devour you,” Bakugo growled, his voice low and raw, laced with frustration as he raked a hand through his hair. He was barely hanging on, his resolve slipping with every passing second. His thoughts were a jumbled mess, every part of him screaming to give in, but he knew, he had to fight it. He couldn’t lose control—not like this. Not with Izuku.
Izuku didn’t make it easy. His strong legs were wrapped around Bakugo’s waist, holding him close, a silent challenge that made it harder to breathe. “What’s stopping you?” Izuku asked, that same sly smirk on his face, his voice teasing. Then, like a taunt, he stretched his arms above his head, his shirt lifting just enough to expose the toned muscles of his stomach, reminding Bakugo of just how much he wanted—needed—to touch him.
Bakugo’s mouth went dry. His tongue darted out to lick his lips, but he still couldn’t find the focus he needed. His hands fisted in his hair, tugging at the strands in an attempt to keep his thoughts together. But it was getting harder.
He could leave.
That’s what he told himself. He could just walk out. Walk away before it all went too far.
But when his gaze flicked to the door, it was only for a moment before it snapped back to Izuku—his eyes dark, sharp with tension. His body ached with the need to just... take him. The intensity in Izuku’s gaze, the way he was looking at him, like he knew exactly what Bakugo was struggling with, made it even worse.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
The thoughts hit him like a train, like he was losing the battle. Izuku’s body was pressed against him, his legs like a cage, locking him in. Every move, every shift, only made Bakugo’s mind spiral further out of control.
His hands twitched, aching for the touch, desperate to feel every inch of Izuku. He knew what he wanted, what they both wanted. But he was terrified of what would happen if he gave in. What would happen to him? To them? He didn’t know if he could handle it, if he could live with it after, if he let himself lose control.
“Fucking hell,” he muttered, his breath uneven as he rubbed his hands over his eyes, trying to push away the haze clouding his mind. He needed clarity. He needed to think.
But Izuku—Izuku wasn’t helping. He called Bakugo’s name softly, but it was like a siren’s song, pulling him in deeper. That voice, low and tempting, stirred something inside him. He looked at Izuku again, his body practically vibrating with need. Izuku arched his back, pushing against Bakugo’s strained erection, teasing him, knowing exactly what it was doing to him.
“Stop fucking with me,” Bakugo growled, but it was weak, barely a protest. His voice was hoarse, the words slipping from his mouth without any real conviction. He couldn’t stop himself from looking at Izuku’s face, the way his expression was full of teasing defiance, like he knew Bakugo was falling apart right in front of him.
Bakugo’s heart slammed in his chest, his pulse erratic. His entire body felt like it was on fire, burning for something, anything, but he couldn’t—couldn’t—let go.
Shit.
Izuku moved slowly, carefully raising himself so he was sitting up on the bed while Bakugo hovered above him. His movements were deliberate, purposeful, as if he was handling something fragile—dangerous. Without hesitation, he reached for Bakugo’s hands, guiding them until they rested on his hips. Bakugo felt the warmth of his skin through the fabric, his fingers twitching with the urge to grip tighter, to dig in, to leave a mark. But he held back—just barely.
Izuku didn’t pull away. Instead, he wrapped his arms around Bakugo’s neck, his fingers ghosting over the nape, playing with the short strands of hair there. The sensation sent a shiver down Bakugo’s spine, made his breath catch in his throat.
He exhaled in short, heavy bursts, but it didn’t feel like relief—it felt like he was suffocating, drowning in something he couldn’t control. His grip on Izuku’s hips tightened instinctively, nails pressing into the fabric of his shirt. Every muscle in his body was taut, coiled so tight he thought he might snap.
And then—
“Kacchan.”
Izuku’s voice cut through the thick haze in Bakugo’s mind, dragging him deeper, pulling him under. Did he even realize what he was doing? The way his voice wrapped around Bakugo like a vice, like he owned him? Or maybe—maybe he did know, and he just didn’t care. Maybe he wanted Bakugo like this—unraveled, wrecked, on the verge of losing himself.
Izuku pulled him in, so smoothly, so effortlessly, as if they had always belonged this close, as if there had never been years of fighting, of pushing and pulling and pretending they were anything but drawn to each other. And in that moment, Bakugo started to wonder—why had they ever fought at all?
“Deku,” he groaned, the name dragging out of his throat like it had been ripped from his very core—rough, raw, aching. It made something inside him crack wide open.
Izuku shivered beneath him, his breath coming out in short, uneven gasps, like he needed this just as badly as Bakugo did. The sound shot through him like electricity, made his entire body tense with the weight of it.
Bakugo clenched his jaw, trying—failing—to keep himself steady. But it was useless. He was slipping.
And Izuku was right there, pulling him down with him.
Izuku leaned in, his movements slow and deliberate, eyelids fluttering shut as his lips brushed against Bakugo’s. It was different this time—softer, calmer, lacking the usual fire and fight. It wasn’t a battle, it wasn’t a challenge. It was something else entirely, something that made Bakugo's stomach twist. He didn’t have to fight for control—Izuku was giving it to him freely.
And Bakugo melted.
The tension in his shoulders loosened, the ever-present fire in his chest dimming into something warm, something steady. For the first time in what felt like forever, he wasn’t being consumed by the storm raging inside him—Izuku was quieting it. Holding him together.
But just as Bakugo began to find his footing again, just as the world started to steady beneath him, Izuku’s hands moved—slow and exploratory—trailing up his bare chest, fingertips skimming the sharp planes of muscle.
Bakugo growled into the kiss, heat flashing through him like a shockwave.
Izuku only smiled against his lips, pulling back just enough to meet Bakugo’s gaze, teasing, challenging—like he knew exactly what he was doing to him. And then, with deliberate, measured movements, he reached for the hem of his own shirt and pulled it over his head, letting it fall carelessly to the side.
Bakugo’s breath hitched.
His eyes trailed over Izuku’s skin, pulse hammering at the sight of his own marks littered across his frame. Deep, dark bites along his throat, faint burns along his sides. The evidence of every moment Bakugo had lost control.
Izuku followed his gaze, his own fingers brushing over his skin, tracing the imperfections Bakugo had left behind. “Wow, Kacchan,” he murmured, voice soft with something Bakugo couldn’t place. “You really marked me up.”
Fuck.
Bakugo didn’t respond. He couldn’t. His brain short-circuited, every rational thought drowned out by the sight of Izuku—his voice, his expression, the way he looked at him like he wanted more.
His body moved on instinct.
He bent forward, eyes hazy and dark, latching onto Izuku’s neck without hesitation. He didn’t stop to think—didn’t want to. His lips, his teeth, his tongue—all of it moved with purpose, a desperate need to leave something behind, to stake his claim all over again.
A bright red mark bloomed under his mouth, and for a fleeting second, something inside him whispered—
Mine
Bakugo froze. His entire body locked up, muscles coiled so tight it hurt.
Shit.
No.
This wasn’t how this was supposed to go.
He looked up—looked down—at Izuku, who lay beneath him, flushed and wrecked, his chest rising and falling in uneven breaths. His lips, red and swollen, parted just slightly as if waiting for Bakugo to claim them again. His body—strong, solid, his rival—was covered in Bakugo’s marks.
Evidence.
Possession.
Bakugo swallowed hard, throat tight.
Fuck.
Izuku shifted, leaning in, brushing his lips against Bakugo’s jaw, reworking the fading bruises with renewed purpose. “You really need to stop thinking so much,” he muttered between kisses, voice teasing, dripping with amusement.
The irony nearly made Bakugo laugh.
“Says you,” he grumbled, voice strained, and then—because he had to do something, had to take control before he lost himself completely—he shoved Izuku back down against the bed.
Izuku barely reacted, only smirking up at him, expectant, waiting. He always waited—so patient, so damn sure Bakugo would come to him, give in.
And Bakugo hated that he was right.
He just needed to get this over with.
That’s what he told himself. That’s what he had to believe. If he got it out of his system, if he gave Izuku what he wanted, then maybe this thing inside him—the thing that made his hands shake, his head spin, his heart feel like it was caving in—would finally shut up.
It didn’t mean anything.
It couldn’t mean anything.
He sucked in a sharp breath, trying desperately to level his head. To think.
But then his gaze trailed down again, over Izuku’s skin, the bruises, the faint burns, the raw proof that Bakugo had been here—that he had left something behind.
His chest burned.
Izuku is not his.
That thought rang in his head, over and over again, like a desperate mantra—something to cling to, something to keep him grounded.
But then Izuku shifted beneath him, staring up with those defiant green eyes, his body branded with traces of Bakugo’s own touch.
And for the first time, Bakugo thought—maybe he could be.
Or maybe...
Maybe he always was.
Bakugo crawled over Izuku, moving slow, deliberate—waiting. For what, he didn’t know. Maybe for the last shred of his restraint to snap. Maybe for Izuku to stop looking at him like that—like he already knew Bakugo was going to give in.
But Izuku didn’t look away.
His emerald eyes glittered in the dim light, full of challenge, daring Bakugo to do something. To take what was already his for the taking.
Then Izuku smirked, soft, teasing, once again wrapping his legs around Bakugo’s waist, locking him in place like a damn trap. “I’m all yours, Kacchan,” he whispered, voice light but laced with intent.
All mine.
Bakugo's head spun, stomach twisting at the words, at the weight of them.
Fuck.
His last ounce of patience shattered.
He crashed down, mouth claiming Izuku’s with desperate, feverish hunger, as if punishing him for speaking those words aloud. Their lips met in a violent clash—heat and teeth and tongue, and Izuku shuddered but refused to close his eyes.
He was watching Bakugo. Watching him lose it.
The realization made something burn hotter, darker inside Bakugo, and he kissed harder, deeper, pushing, taking.
Izuku gasped as Bakugo’s hands finally landed on him, rough palms sliding over firm abs, up to his chest, fingers pressing, gripping—searching. Feeling the muscle tense beneath his touch, he squeezed, just enough to pull a sharp inhale from Izuku.
And the bastard laughed.
A soft, breathy giggle into the kiss, playful and sweet—so at odds with the way his fingers curled into Bakugo’s hair, tugging just enough to make his scalp prickle.
Bakugo growled, breaking away just enough to look down at him, chest heaving, pupils blown. Izuku just grinned, lips swollen, eyes half-lidded but sharp, knowing.
Like he had won.
And maybe he had.
But Bakugo wasn’t about to let him think that.
Not yet.
Bakugo’s fingers curled under the waistband of Izuku’s shorts, his grip tight, almost threatening. He didn’t wait, didn’t hesitate—he just yanked them down in one rough motion, stripping Izuku with all the care of a predator tearing through its prey.
The fabric barely hit the floor before Bakugo was already looking, his gaze dark and unwavering as it dragged over Izuku’s newly exposed skin, his erection on full dripping display. Izuku tensed beneath the weight of it, his chest rising and falling in quick, shallow breaths. His fingers twitched against the sheets, his confidence flickering for just a second.
Bakugo saw it. And he thrived on it.
His lips twisted into a sharp, cocky grin as he leaned in, breath hot against Izuku’s flushed cheek. “What’s wrong, nerd?” he taunted, voice dipping low, rough. “Not so smug now, huh?”
Before Izuku could snap back, Bakugo struck—latching onto his jaw, biting just hard enough to leave a mark. Izuku twitched, his body jerking instinctively toward Bakugo’s, his bare erection grinding against Bakugo's stomach. A sharp inhale, a hitched breath. His fingers dug into Bakugo’s back, muscles tightening beneath his touch.
Bakugo huffed out a low, satisfied laugh against Izuku’s skin. “Yeah,” he muttered, nipping again, this time just below his ear. “That’s what I thought.”
Izuku clenched his jaw, trying to fight the heat burning through him, but Bakugo could feel it—could see the way Izuku’s body reacted, betraying him. And fuck, that sent something dark and possessive curling in Bakugo’s chest.
Because this—this—was exactly how it was supposed to be.
Izuku beneath him, pliant, waiting, his.
Bakugo’s hand hovered between them, fingers twitching with restrained intent. His breath came out in short, heavy bursts as he traced his fingertips over Izuku's trembling body, feeling the heat radiating from him as if he were the sun. Izuku sucked in a sharp breath, his muscles tensing, his body instinctively leaning into Bakugo’s touch, as his hand creeped lower and lower.
Green eyes burned into his, daring him, taunting him. Always taunting.
Bakugo’s jaw clenched. That damn look. That smug, teasing, knowing look that made something twist inside him. He drifted lower, finally reaching his goal. His knuckles brushed Izuku's tip, ever so softly, not yet giving in.
Izuku gasped, his hands gripping Bakugo’s biceps, his nails digging into the taut muscle. “Kacchan,” he breathed, a challenge wrapped in a plea.
Bakugo smirked, slow and wicked, his free hand gripping Izuku’s hip to hold him still. “Not so mouthy now, huh?” he rasped, dragging his fingers ever so slightly, barely giving Izuku what he wanted.
Izuku trembled beneath him, his resolve flickering for just a moment. But then, through hooded eyes and labored breaths, he grinned. “I can take whatever you give me, Kacchan.”
Bakugo growled, his grip tightening.
Izuku let out a ragged moan, his body jerking as he instinctively tried to thrust into Bakugo’s hand, desperate for more. But before he could even move, Bakugo’s other hand slammed against his abdomen, forcing him down into the mattress with an iron grip.
“Don’t even try it,” Bakugo snarled, his voice low, strained, the heat in his tone enough to make Izuku shudder beneath him.
Izuku whined, his body trembling as he fought against the restraint, his fingers twitching at his sides, wanting so badly to reach for Bakugo, to pull him closer. But he couldn’t move. Bakugo had him completely caged in, pressing him down like he belonged there, like he was his to control.
Bakugo’s breath was hot against Izuku’s neck as he leaned in, his grip on his waist tightening. “You really don’t get it, do you?” His voice was almost mocking, but the strain in it betrayed his own unraveling restraint.
Izuku gasped, his back arching despite himself, every nerve in his body on fire. His fingers curled into the sheets, desperate, needy. “Kacchan—”
Bakugo chuckled darkly, pressing down harder, ensuring Izuku had nowhere to go. “Nah, you wanted this, remember?” His grip tightened for just a second before he whispered, “So take it.”
Izuku’s moan echoed softly in the room, .
“Kacchan… I want you,” Izuku whispered, voice raw and aching. The sound hit Bakugo straight in the chest, like a spark just waiting to explode. “So fucking bad” he whined, grinding himself into Bakugo's clenched fist.
Bakugo’s breath caught. His hand trembled slightly as he released Izuku’s waist, moving up to cup his face with a surprising gentleness that contrasted the storm raging inside him. Izuku immediately arched up against him, chasing contact.
He locked eyes with Izuku, his green eyes were wild and trusting all at once, looking at him like he was everything.
Bakugo’s breath came ragged, chest tight, blood pounding in his temples. He looked down at Izuku — flushed, trembling, his body already marked by Bakugo’s hands and mouth — and something deep inside him twisted violently. He wanted to ruin him. To claim every inch of him so completely that no one would ever dare to touch, to even think about him without knowing he belonged to Bakugo.
He grit his teeth, the desire clawing at him was feral, raw, almost too big for him to control. He’d never felt anything like this — like the need to own, to dominate, was going to tear him apart from the inside out.
Izuku looked up at him with wide, trusting eyes, and that trust only poured gasoline on the fire already raging in his chest. He was his. He knew it. But the knowledge burned — it was too much, too consuming. He could barely breathe through the weight of it.
His fingers twitched against Izuku's jaw, desperate to leave more marks, to brand his claim into Izuku’s skin.
He wanted to swallow him whole.
“You’re dangerous,” Bakugo muttered hoarsely, thumb brushing over Izuku’s flushed cheekbone.
Izuku smiled, steady and sure. That stupid fucking smile. Bakugo wanted to fuck it right off of his stupid face.
Shit.
“So are you,” he breathed, whining as Bakugo released Izuku's throbbing erection, his fingers sticky with precum.
Bakugo bent his forehead against Izuku’s, breath heavy and ragged. “So what now” he huffed, lips brushing against Izuku's.
Izuku leaned his mouth into Bakugo's, tasting his breath. “So now..” he looked into Bakugo's eyes, and he found himself getting lost in the Forest green. “You fuck me” he finished, lips brushing against Bakugo's, eyes lidded, as he slyly turned over. Bakugo immediately missed Izuku's gaze, but was distracted by Izuku's ass below him, plump and ready.
He wanted to sink his teeth in.
Bakugo pulled back, positioning himself behind Izuku, rubbing his still clothed erection on Izuku's ass.
“So fucking sexy” he muttered, raking his nails along Izuku's muscular thighs.
Izuku hummed, drunk on pleasure, softly grinding into the bed sheets as Bakugo kneaded his ass as if it were dough.
“Lube?” Bakugo asked, spreading Izuku's cheeks wide, his pink hole winking at Bakugou.
He licked his lips, his long abandoned erection screaming for attention.
Izuku whined into the bedsheets, losing his humping rhythm and gasping out as he desperately tried to find it again, thrusting roughly against his pillow. “Fuck” he cried, shaking slightly “Uh- shit, drawer, fuck” he moaned, his mind completely gone.
Bakugo quickly reached over to Izuku's bed side table, fishing out Izuku's lube, which he noticed was half empty. He chuckled to himself, throwing his pants into oblivion, his erection tight against his boxers.
“Don't cum yet nerd” he growled, slowly palming himself through his deep red boxers. Izuku paused his frantic humping, turning his hazy gaze to Bakugo, once his eyes adjusted, his mouth dropped open in awe.
“Fuck Kacchan you're so big” he practically moaned, grinding against his mattress. His eyes were glued on to Bakugo, and it made him feel sickeningly powerful.
“Yeah?” He breathed, pouring a generous amount of lube on his fingers, before using his index to circle Izuku's ring of muscle. “Hold still a minute” he growled, and Izuku halted his grinding, hips stuttering slightly.
Bakugo smiled, loving the feeling of Izuku's unwavering obedience, the way his breath was quiet, waiting ever so patiently for Bakugo to make his move. He sunk the first finger in, absorbing Izuku's quiet hiss.