The Old Dark Machine

Prologue: Something Wicked This Way Comes

The night is suffocating, pressing in on his body as if to crush him beneath its humid weight as he runs. His bones ache and his lungs burn, adding another taxing element to his current predicament as he wills his legs to continue carrying him as swiftly and as far as they can.

Please. Please. Please.

It’s a mantra that cycles over and over in his mind as his eyes search the darkness ahead of him for any form of escape from whatever the thing chasing him could possibly be. Moonlight trickles gently between the limbs of the trees, offering just enough illumination to keep him from running into the thick trunks scattering the forest floor. It’s not enough, though, to help him see out ahead of him. To see what lays further ahead.

Please. Please. Please.

Each breath into his lungs feels like flame ignited in his chest, and leaves him feeling almost more breathless with each gasp. A layer of tacky sweat coats to him, causing his clothes to cling to him like an uncomfortable second skin that seems to tighten with each painful step. He knows it’s still behind him. That thing made of tar pitch and nightmare. He can feel its presence bearing down on his back as he tries to force his body just that much quicker.

He has never been a praying man, but he finds it within himself to call upon names of deities that he’s heard in the vain hope one might answer. He throws in a few devils too, just in case.

A root catches the tip of his work boot, twisting his ankle painfully, causing him to stumble but he does not fall. He thinks maybe that is one prayer answered, and it pushes him to continue his silent please as he persists.

The trees start to thin and he thinks he’s close. No, he knows he is.

It’s just out in the distance. He can start to see the pricks of light from various lanterns and fires from the camp. They cast their pale glow across the partially erected train tracks, turning them into ribs made of metal and wood.

Please. It’s right there. Please.

His foot breaches the tree line, and for just a moment, he feels as if he has finally taken a full, clean breath or air. It’s short lived as a sudden darkness overtakes him, covering his eyes with shadow and filling his mouth with its oil. It forces its way down his throat and into his gut, a boiling agony lighting up his insides. He screams, he thinks.

But he doesn’t hear it.

And neither does anyone else.

***

Chapter One: Come Hither to Me

The smell of the forest is lush, and green, and thick as moss on the back of Megumi’s tongue as he lopes lazily through it. Grass tickles between his toes with each gentle step, and whispers from the trees dance around him, weaving around his body and through his fur. Happiness turns his blood warm and fizzy at the freedom that comes to him when in his forest and moving on four legs.

The wolf has always been his favored form, one he had always wished he’d been born in as opposed to one he had to call upon. He’s grateful for the magicks that allow him to shift from one form to the next, but some days, Megumi wishes that he could sleep and wake with a mouth full of sharpened teeth.

Maybe then, he think, he might truly be free.

But he doesn’t, and he isn’t, so he continues to walk.

With his ears flicking this way and that, Megumi takes in the sounds that fill the forest around him. Above him the birds titter and jeer about the townsfolk they saw on their daily flight around the nearby town; the water of the nearby creek babbles of the newly hatched fish swimming in its depths; and the wind sings a song of rain to come later in the night.

They’re all the sounds of home, and that is what Shirakami-Sanchi is. His chosen home. Not the one he was born into, but the one that called to him. Megumi feels this forest in his bones the same way the elders of the Zenin clan had always proclaimed their lands should feel. That cold and desolate place had never felt anything like this forest. Not once had he felt the warm embrace of belonging on those lands, or within the clan that claimed to be his blood. They’d coveted him, sure. Their eyes had been hungry and wanting in a way that only grew more vicious as the years passed and his magic grew within him. But never had he felt as if he truly belonged within the hallowed halls of the Zenin compound.

It was with the changing of eras, and the clan’s designs for the new government that was ousting the ways of the old, he knew there was no place for him within the Zenin’s plans. At least, none that he wished to be used for.

So Megumi had fled just days after his sixteenth birthday, leaving behind nothing but a path of lone wolf prints for the clan elders to find upon waking. His paws had carried him for days, not once shifting into that of human hands and feet until he’d broken through a line of trees and heard the song of his forest.

That transformation had been particular painful as it had fallen away, almost as if snatched from his wary bones by the land itself. He remembered the feeling of awe that had blanketed his skin as he’d looked up from where the sudden momentum change had sent him sprawling, his eyes tracing the veins of light that managed to seep through the trees.

Welcome home, he had heard, and home was where he’d remained these seven years.

The Zenin’s had never given up their search of him, something Megumi was all too aware of, but as the years had gone by his magic had grown into something almost too big to be contained within him. Now he could feel the shifting of the land when the unwelcome approached, and now he could find forms that they could never even imagine.

It had made avoiding the various clan members that came looking for him easy enough, but it remained a nuisance all the same.

Huffing a breath through his nose, Megumi smells the stink of fear and cursed energy heavy in the air before he feels the ripple of someone new shake and shudder through the branches above him. The smell is astringent ozone and the smoke of a funeral pyre that burns away the pleasant smells of his forest.

They aren’t Zenin, but they are no less unwelcome in his territory.

He bites down on a snarl as he lets his paws carry him toward the offending sorcerer, his pace quickening as he dodges the trunks of trees and fallen logs. A stillness rushes toward him, filling the area between himself and the stranger as the forest spreads the news of an unwanted presence. Flying silently toward his prey, Megumi spots the figure standing alone in a clearing up ahead, its back toward him. A rumbling growl escapes his jaws, and it’s the only warning he allows as he leaps from the trees at the sorcerer.

Their yelp is high and sharp as they turn, revealing a face made of sharp lines, surrounded with a shock of silver hair, and punctuated with two mismatched eyes. Throwing his arms up over his head, the sorcerer ducks as Megumi flies over him, dropping his wolf form. He knows how it must look to the newcomer, as the darkness of his fur falls away and his bones start to snap and break before reforming under his skin. Horrific and brutal, he’d once been told. A torture in its own right, some had said.

The transformation had used to turn his stomach, ending his changes with a sudden projection of bile and anything else he may have eaten that day. Now he barely feels it as he lands gently on two feet behind the stranger. The wolf skull he uses for his change thumps gently against his upper back where it falls down with his hood.

“Who are you?” Megumi demands, voice rusty from disuse. For a brief, flickering second, he tries to pinpoint the last time he’d even spoken. Months, he thinks.

“I, I’m—” the man stutters as he looks back and forth between the place the wolf had been and where Megumi now stands. His throat bobs around his swallow as he straightens up and settles his hands back down to his sides. Now that Megumi isn’t moving, and the man isn’t cowering, he notes the lines of scars that cut horizontally and vertically across his face.

“I’m not sure the people who sent me are aware you can do that,” he finishes meekly, his gaze finally settling on Megumi.

“And I don’t think that answered my question,” Megumi shoots back, a hand coming up to his wrist and the bracelet of small bird bones that circle it. He fingers a vertebral bone of a mountain hawk-eagle, and considers ripping the newcomers mismatched eyes out with talons. “Who are you?”

The stranger must see some glimmer of his thoughts in his eyes, as he raises his hands again, only this time to placate.

“Mahito,” he supplies quickly. “My name is Mahito, and I’m looking for Fushiguro Megumi.”

“And what will you do with him if you find him?” Megumi spits, the bone twisting faster between his fingertips as he keeps his eyes on this man. Mahito. He doesn’t miss the way the sorcerer’s stare flicks to his hands and back up to his face before he speaks again.

“I bring an offer. From the Sorcerer Society of Tokyo, courtesy of the Imperial Diet,” Mahito says, hands still raised in a mollifying gesture as his tone starts to even and calm. A quiet stretches between them as Megumi waits for him to continue, only to be met by an expectant look.

“And this offer is?” He urges, annoyance coloring his voice as he drops his touch from his bracelet. The movement seems to settle Mahito further as the last bit of tension flutters down his spine, leaving him looking at ease. Clearing his throat, the sorcerer stands a bit taller and he brings his hands down to his sides once more.

“This offer is for Fushiguro Megumi,” Mahito shoots back, the gentle tug of a knowing smile curving the edge of his lips.

“Spit it out, sorcerer, you know you’ve found me, why play games?” He spits, his hands itching to wrap around the smug man’s throat. “I could have killed you, and no one would have found your remains after what me and the forest would have done with you. So whatever it is you wish to say, I suggest you say it.”

“Touchy, touchy,” Mahito muses as he takes a tentative step in Megumi’s direction. The move makes Megumi’s own feet twitch with an urgency to move, and it makes Mahito’s smile become fully realized.

“There have been murders, spanning the extension of the Tohoku Main Line,” he says, taking another step closer. “Now I don’t know how much you know about the railroad and the work the government has started to put into it, given your predilection toward obscurity, but the government has put a lot of money and manpower into having the length of it expanded from Tokyo upwards to Morioka and connecting the major cities along the way.”

“I’m not sure how this could possibly have anything to do with me and my, predilection for the obscure, as you so kindly put it,” Megumi cuts in, taking his own step toward the man. This seems to give Mahito pause, as his gaze lands on the balls of Megumi’s fists.

“These murders stink of magic. Shadow magic, to be precise,” he answers, staying where he is. “Now, we in the Sorcerer Society have been more than aware of a bright young talent of the Zenin clan who is masterful in the ways of shadow. One whom they have touted claim to for quite some time. So imagine our surprise when we showed up to their compound only to find their claims have been somewhat, inflated. And that, in fact, this witch of shadows as they said, had been on the run from them for nearly seven years.”

The silence is palpable and heavy with Mahito’s implications as he continues to eye Megumi.

“Of course, I don’t think you would have anything to do with these murders. And quite frankly, neither do any of the higher ups,” Mahito continues with an uncaring shrug. A sudden spike of goose flesh starts to race down Megumi’s arms as he starts to realize that the fear the sorcerer had previously exhibited may have been all a part of his game. A ruse to drive Megumi right into his hands.

“Why would someone who has been in hiding for so long suddenly make themself known by killing random workers along the railroad line,” another shrug, and another step forward. “But I think you can understand how it might look to hear that the most gifted shadow user of the Zenins in generations has been unaccounted for at the same time they started.”

“But if the Society doesn’t think I have anything to do with it, why even come this far?” Megumi snarls, his lips pulling back over his dull human teeth. A sharp pang cracks over his sternum as he once again feels the desire to have been born a wolf. Though, he does think that he might still be able to rip this man’s throat out with his teeth if given the chance.

“Well, you see, my dear Fushiguro Megumi, formerly of the Zenin clan. What better way to investigate a rampant shadow sorcerer, than with a shadow sorcerer?” With that question, Mahito reaches into his pocket, raising the other hand in placation once more when Megumi shifts into a defensive stance. He pulls a folded paper free and unfurls it before opening it out to face him. Scrawled across it is his name, and a description, and an offer for his head.

“And in return for your service, we will make sure the Zenins lift their bounty, and cease their search for you. Sounds like a good deal, no?”

“It sounds too easy. I suggest you tell me what it is that you’re conveniently leaving out, before I decide this meeting is over,” Megumi pushes through his teeth, eyes never leaving the wanted poster. He’d known they had never stopped looking for him, but he hadn’t known they had turned to others to do their work.

Mahito’s sigh is heavy and put upon, in the same way elders sound when children have asked why one too many times.

“None of the sorcerers we have sent to investigate have every even made it as far as the first murder site. Which is why, we believe, we need to send someone in that is a bit more familiar with what we’re facing. Someone who calls shadows as if they own them,” he tips his chin toward Megumi, “someone just like you.”

“Someone who won’t matter if they disappear,” is what Megumi hears, and he says as much. It earns him a high pitched giggle.

“Well, someone who we think will have a higher chance of not disappearing. And we wouldn’t be sending you out alone,” the sorcerer says as he balls up the paper and shoves it back in his pocket. “We’re lining up a bodyguard for you to take along.”

The thought of being forced into the company of a stranger lights a bright flame of irritation deep in Megumi’s gut.

“A bodyguard or a babysitter?”

“To be quite honest, I think you’d end up more the babysitter,” Mahito states as he leaves his hand in his pocket. He’s the picture of ease now, as if he knows he’s backed Megumi into a corner where he has no option but to accept. As if killing him wasn’t still on the table.

Mahito must be able to read the thought as it crosses his mind.

“And I know what you’re thinking, what’s stopping you from killing me and just continuing your life here playing wolf. I guess nothing, really. But my attendants know where I am, and they are all aware that if I don’t return tonight, they’re to raze this forest.”

He shrugs again, smile turning sharp and feral as his eyes spark with a predatory gleam.

“It will be pretty hard to play wolf with no home, don’t you think?”

There’s a loud rumbling sound that fills the space between them, and it takes moments for Megumi to realize its emanating from deep within his own chest as he holds Mahito’s stare. He knows looking away first will mean defeat, but he also knows he’s been defeated already. Losing the forest is not an option, and he’s powerful, but not powerful enough to take on a legion from the Sorcerer Society by himself. Megumi hasn’t survived this long without knowing how to pick and choose his battles.

Sighing loudly, he starts to fiddle with the bones of his bracelet again as he settles back into himself.

“So what would I have to do?” Megumi relents, hating the way victory stains Mahito’s cheeks an excited shade of red.

“Well we will need to get you to Morioka, where we’ll introduce you to your travel companion,” he says, clapping his hands together with glee. The change in his demeanor is unnerving, and it keeps Megumi on edge as he continues to watch his every movement.

“I’ll explain a bit more once we have you both together. Assuming, of course, that he agrees.”

Megumi’s scoff tastes bitter.

“And if he doesn’t?”

“I think he will,” Mahito assures. The gleam is his dichromatic eyes is all-knowing, and it pisses Megumi off.

“Because you know everything?” He shoots back, fingers pinching the mountain hawk-eagle bone once more.

“Because I’m good at figuring out what people want,” he says back, still completely at ease, even as he eyes the way Megumi holds his bracelet. “And it turns out, Megumi, that the both of you aren’t that different in your desires.”

As he speaks, he pulls the crumpled poster from his pocket again, waving it as a reminder.

“Do I at least get to know who you’re about to make me be stuck with?” Megumi asks, his words sounding defeated even to his own ears. His question earns him a loud guffaw that seems to shake the trees around them as Mahito folds forward with the weight of his mirth. For a moment, he thinks it’s the only answer he may get before he watches the sorcerer straighten up and wipe at his eyes.

“Now where would the fun in that be?” He asks in return. “You’ll find out soon enough.” 

The bright blue doors stand before Eri, tall and looming, and filling her with equal parts dread and excitement as she stares up at them.

She had only been scared at first. It was her first day of Kindergarten, and she was a big girl now. At least, that’s what everyone else seemed to be saying. 

She didn’t feel big though. And that’s scary.

But then Papa Katsuki had packed her his super special bento special, and Daddy Izuku had shown her all the best moves for if a bully, so that had made her feel better. Now, she was also excited! 

At least, she had been until she got to those tall, heavy looking doors.

“Eri! Don’t run off like that!” Izuku says, rounding the corner of the building from the parking lot. 

“I wanted to show you I’m a big girl now,” she says, bottom lip jutting out and trembling slightly as she looks up at him. Shaking his head, Izuku kneels down.

“You are a big girl now, but that won’t change if we walk you to the door, will it?” He asks, his smile growing as he extends his arms out to her. “Besides, if you run off ahead, how can I get my goodbye hug?”

“Oh no, I forgot!” Eri exclaims before she throws herself into her dad’s arms. Turning her face into his neck, she makes sure to squeeze extra tight for good measure. 

“Oi! You better not be hogging all of Eri’s hugs, nerd!” Katsuki’s voice is sharp as he walks up behind them. 

Giggling loudly, Eri looks up at him. His voice is angry, but his smile is wide as he drops down next to them. 

“Don’t worry, Papa Katsuki, I have plenty of hugs left!” She says as she pulls herself free from Izuku’s hold and jumps into Katsuki’s embrace. Rubbing her nose against his shoulder, she makes sure to squeeze him a tight too. 

Just to be safe.

“You going to go kick today’s ass?” He asks as he pulls away from her, his hands resting on her shoulders as he gives her a once over.

“Yep!” Eri answers happily, raising her fist with a look of determination.

“And are you not going to repeat anything your Papa Katsuki says?” Izuku asks, cutting a sharp look in their direction. It earns him an indifferent shrug from Katsuki as Eri nods in affirmation. 

“Good girl,” they both say in unison as Izuku reaches over to ruffle her hair. It pushes a small, bubbling laugh out of her as they both stand. 

“We’ll be back right at 2pm, okay? And if you need anything before then, you just call, okay?” Izuku says, words rushing in the way they seem to do when he’s worried. It makes Eri giggle again, especially when Papa Katsuki flings his arm around his shoulders and pulls him into his side.

“You’re going to have a great day, small fry!” He says as he starts to pull Izuku away. “Remember, kick today’s ass!”

“I will!” Eri yells after them, watching as Papa Katsuki drags her dad away. Pulling Izuku ever so slightly closer, she hears him yelp as Katsuki grinds his fist into his hair. 

As they continue to walk back towards the parking lot, she watches as her dad looks up at Katsuki, his mouth pulled wide with a smile before he presses a quick kiss to his cheek. It’s always Daddy Izuku’s finishing move, Eri thinks with her own smile, as she watches Katsuki stall long enough for her dad to pull free from his hold.

Their laughter mingles, lighting the air as Izuku disappears around the corner just a second before Katsuki.

Huffing a happy little sound, Eri turns back towards the bright blue doors. Smile growing wider, she pushes them open and steps into the school.

A/N: I'M SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG. Since posting the last chapter of this, I interviewed for a new job. Got that new job. Had to deal with all the fun stuff that comes with leaving your old job. And have been dealing with the huge change that came with starting a new job lol 

So, it's been a bit of a trainwreck tryna figure out a schedule.Good news though, I went ahead and just knocked out the last chapter and epilogue since 1) I'm scared of making y'all wait hella long for the epilogue and 2) the epilogue was not long at all. which would honestly have made waiting suck lol 

Anyway, WELCOME TO THE ENDING OF THIS FIC! THANK YOU ALL FOR COMING ON THIS RIDE WITH ME! <333333

**************

The park is beautiful, Izuku thinks, as he watches Eri skipping happily ahead of him holding a fuzzy stuffed fish haphazardly in one hand. 

After making his grand declaration that they were going to go out, he had found himself a bit at odds with what exactly they were going to do out. Which was how they had found themselves parked in front of the aquarium before deciding to cap things off at the botanical garden.

Which is how he finds himself thinking about how beautiful the park is. 

It truly is, and yet, he can’t help but feel like something is missing.

Like someone is missing.

And there it is. The aching void at the center of his chest, rearing its ugly head yet again to taunt him. 

To remind him that while their little family was more than enough, he also could have had just a little something more. Had, in fact, had something more before it had slipped cruelly through his fingers right after the realization. 

It made him feel selfish in his desire, which only made his chest ache worse.

“Daddy Izuku?” Eri’s voice is colored bright with her curiosity, pulling him back from his thoughts as he finds himself stopped several feet from his daughter. The same brightness colors her gaze as she looks up at him, her head cocked just to the side as if to further punctuate her questioning tone. Izuku gives his head a small shake to dislodge the feeling.

It doesn’t go anywhere, but it was worth a shot, he supposes.

“Yeah?” He asks, trying to bite back the defeat that threatens to turn his voice bitter as he looks down at her.

“You’re happy, right?” She asks. It’s an innocent enough question, filled with a childish naïveté that Izuku misses, and it hurts. It hurts because, well, that was the question, wasn’t it.

“Of course I am, Eri,” he answers immediately, because he is. In the beginning of it all, he hadn’t been sure he really could be. Had wondered if the decision he had made to become a single father to a young girl who had lost everything had been the right one, for either of them.

It had been though, that he was certain. Izuku wouldn’t change that decision for anything in the world.

And yet that acrid, burnt taste of his bitter selfish want was still tainting the edges of that happiness.

“Of course I am,” he repeats, voice softening as he knelt down to her height. Gently reaching out, he brushes his palms over her shoulders before softly squeezing her arms in what he hopes is reassurance.

“Why do you ask?”

Eri shifts her gaze down to the ground where she twists the toe of her bright pink Chucks into the grass.

“I just thought you might be missing Kacchan,” she says earnestly, her voice wobbling slightly at the admission. Izuku huffs a small sound of surprise, if only to mask the way he winces at the sudden flare of pain that dances along his sternum. 

He releases his hold on her right arm to lightly tap her chin upward, lifting her gaze back up to him.

“I’m happy, Eri,” Izuku says before shifting his gaze back and forth around them as if to make sure no one was within earshot. 

“But can I tell you a secret?” He continues, voice lowered conspiratorially. Eri’s eyes go wide at the question, her gaze shifting around them before she looks back at him and nods quickly. It takes everything in him to swallow down his laughter as he leans in closer.

“I do miss Kacchan,” he whispers. The confession leaves him easily, taking with it the most infinitesimal weight, and yet he already feels as if he can breathe easier. 

“I guess I can do both,” Izuku continues as he ruffles her hair and pulls way. “But I’m more happy than anything. How could I not be when I have you?”

A comfortable quiet fills the space between them for the briefest of moments before Eri’s mouth twists upward into a wide smile.

“I’m happy too, because I have Daddy Izuku!” She exclaims as she launches herself at him and wraps her arms tight around his neck. Heat burns at his eyes as he wraps his own around her middle, holding her close. Another chunk of weight, larger this time, falls from his chest and is replaced by the full warmth of his love for Eri. 

This is enough, he thinks as he squeezes her just a little tighter. It always will be.

“You’re squishing me, Daddy Izuku!” She laughs as she tries to tug backward out of his hold. It pushes another laugh from deep within his chest as he turns his head to blow a raspberry on her cheek.

“Alright, alright, I’ll let you go. I just have to give you as many hugs as I can before you don’t want them anymore,” Izuku says before ruffling her hair again. 

Eri scoffs as she shakes her head, fixing him with a look of indignation. 

“I won’t ever stop wanting hugs,” she huffed as if the very thought was preposterous. 

“Okay, I’ll remember that when you’re in middle school,” Izuku says, more to himself than to Eri, as the young girl turns her attention back toward the direction they had originally been heading in.

“Can we go see the butterflies now?” She asks excitedly, any remaining ire falling away in the face of the fluttering insects. 

Laughing quietly, Izuku just nods as he pushes himself upward to stand.

“Of course we can. Lead the way,” he gestures forward before pressing his hands deep into his pockets. 

A high pitched sound of happiness tears from Eri as she turns around and starts skipping toward the glittering dome of glass situated on the other side of the park. 

Standing there, he watches the way she bounds across the grass with the sun tangling itself in her hair. It radiates off her in the very same way as her happiness and he can’t help but smile.

At least, not until he notices that she’s headed straight on a crash course with a power unsuspecting bystander.

Stepping forward, Izuku opens his mouth to call to her, only to feel her name catch in his throat as he hears her cry out a name.

“Kacchan!”

Time seems to slow, almost stopping entirely as Izuku sees the man Eri was about to crash into turn around. 

It’s him, he thinks as his mind clumsily trips over itself at the realization. It’s him, it’s him, it’s him.

Katsuki.

And he looks the same and yet wholly different as Izuku watches the way his face eases into something like pure joy as he looks down at Eri. From this distance, he can’t hear what Bakugou says, but he can see his mouth move as he speaks quickly to Eri. It’s as unassuming as anything, and yet something about the ease in which Bakugou has as he talks with her, as if he hadn’t disappeared on them for a month, breaks the spell that held Izuku frozen in his tracks.

Time falls back around him with the suddenness of a car crash as he pushes himself across the distant between himself and the pair, catching up just in time to hear Eri squeal as she jumps up to hug Bakugou.

An aching, burning anger lights his veins as he watches Bakugou return the hug, his face turned into Eri’s hair before pulling away and standing to look at him.

The seconds pass all too quickly and yet all too slow until Bakugou finally speaks.

“Hey, nerd,” he says slowly, unsure, and that’s all it takes to break down the only resistance between Izuku and his roiling, burning rage.

Stepping forward, he reaches out and grabs a fistful of Bakugou’s shirt.

He’s so fucking angry, but also so fucking happy. Painfully so, in fact, as he pulls Bakugou in close. Izuku’s teeth pull back from his teeth in a sharp snarl as he hisses, “what the fuck are you doing here?”

This close, he doesn’t miss the way Bakugou’s eye widen, leaving his own vision filled with their startling scarlet as he fixes Izuku with his silent, open wonder. 

“No, you know what,” Izuku says harshly, cutting off any chance Bakugou may have had to answer. “I don’t care. Fuck you.”

The words push through his lips with a hissing contempt, each one biting into his own skin in the very way that he hopes they’re biting into Bakugou’s. Pausing to search the blonde’s stare for any hurt or shame, he bristles as he’s met with the same brazen awe.

As if he’s seeing something beautiful. As if he’s finally found what he’s been looking for.

That damned look sparks something bright and wanting within him, and it only pushes him further toward anger as he jerks Bakugou just that much closer.

“Actually, no. I do care. Because what the fuck, Katsuki? I said I-” Izuku stops, his next words falling away like ash and coating the back of his tongue with their dry taste. 

Swallowing around the lump they’ve created, he pushes on, ignoring the way his voice wobbles around its edges.

“You just left. And then I have to find out that somehow, impossibly, you were Eri’s imaginary friend? And what? You thought we should just have to deal with that?”

“It was the job,” Bakugou finally says, and god, had Izuku’s memory not done his voice justice at all. It rolls over him, like thunder, cascading through him and cracking the hardened weight clinging to the center of his chest with the bright flare of hope at the past tense that he uses. 

Pushing the optimistic feeling down, Izuku holds onto the vestiges of his anger as his knuckles ache with the tension in them.

“I don’t care what ever the fuck it was. A job, a game, whatever it was that wasn’t what it was to us.”

He pauses, breathing in, then breathing out before he continues, his voice lowered as he flicks his gaze down just long enough for his confession to drop between them.

“That wasn’t what it was to me.”

Glaring a hole into the center of Bakugou’s chest, he breathes again, counting each inhale and exhale before he slowly shifts his attention back up to the blonde’s face. Astonishment still colors Bakugou’s stare, his expression still schooled in a look of softened disbelief. It stays there, frozen, as if he isn’t sure what to say.

As if he can’t say anything at all.

“Tell Daddy Izuku what you told me!” Eri says, her voice shattering whatever spell had come over Izuku as all the sounds of the park around them come rushing back into his ears. His grip on Bakugou’s shirt loosens just slightly, but he doesn’t shift away from him.

He can’t.

“About how the brat after you was nowhere near as cool?” Bakugou asks, words nothing but hard, rough edges as he replies to Eri without shifting his attention from Izuku.

Giggling loudly, Eri softly kicks at Bakugou’s shoe.

“No, silly. The other part!”

Deflating slightly, Bakugou continues to hold Izuku’s stare.

“Oh, that part,” he says lowly. So low that Izuku suspects he would have missed it if he wasn’t so close. Gritting his teeth, he swears he hears his jaw creak.

“Spit it out, Bakugou,” Izuku pushes out.

The order earns him a quick, sharp tsk as Bakugou cuts his gaze down toward the ground between them.

“I was wondering if maybe I could stick around for awhile,” he mutters, his bangs falling across his eyes, shading most of his face as he keeps his stare turned downward. It does nothing to stop Izuku from catching the flush of pink that runs itself across his skin and over his ears.

His gasp punctuates the short quiet as Izuku pushes back every so slightly from him, but still not letting go of his shirt. 

“Ya see, I’m a bit unemployed at the moment,” Bakugou continunes, “and a lot more visible.”

Shifting his attention again, Bakugou drags his stare behind Izuku’s shoulder, as if to stress that latter fact. Quickly, he raises his hand in a placating gesture toward what Izuku can only assume are some bystanders they’ve undoubtedly attracted.

That alone makes Izuku’s stomach roil.

Disbelief, and happiness, and anger, and exhausted content mix themselves at his core until they fizzle and crack like popping candy. He feels the way all the emotions creep up his chest and tickle the back of his throat as he tries to push back the burn at the edges of his eyes.

He’s so, so angry.

But god, is he so fucking happy too.

“Well, nerd?” Bakugou speaks up, the question colored with a hopefulness that seems foreign for him. 

Rearing back slightly, Izuku watches the way Bakugou’s eyes widen as he snaps his head forward. It isn’t until the very last moment that he slows his momentum, softening the blow so that their foreheads tap together gently.

“You aren’t allowed to disappear anymore,” Izuku mumbles as he presses gently against him. The soft brush of Bakugou’s relived sigh tickles across the bridge of his nose.

“As long as you both want me, I won’t be going anywhere,” he assures with a low chuckle that Izuku feels vibrate through both of their chests. Dragging a slow breath through his nose, he can’t stop the high curl of his lips as he pushes up onto his toes to capture Bakugou’s own.

The kiss burns through him, colored by the sun that continues to dip down into the horizon. It fills him, and chases away the lingering ache just over his heart as he feels the way Bakugou presses closer into him. 

It’s a good kiss, one filled with a honey colored promise.

“Daddy Izuku!” Eri cries, her sudden exclamation cutting quickly through their haze and finally pushing them apart. 

“Stop hogging Kacchan!” She continues, mouth turned into a pout as she reaches a hand out to Bakugou. His laugh as barking as he steps back from Izuku’s hold.

“We’re going to see the butterflies! C’mon!” She says, stretching her hand out closer to Bakugou, impatience thrumming vibrantly through her small form as she waits for him to take it. Izuku doesn’t miss the way his gaze slides between him and Eri, or the way his lips twisted slightly upward at their edges in a small, secretive smile before he takes her hand.

“Alright, shortstack. Lead the way!” Bakugou says loudly, barely finishing his sentence before Eri takes off with him in tow. Her voice lingers behind them as she begins to fill him in on what he’s missed. 

Watching as they move toward the butterfly enclosure, Izuku lets his mouth part around his own bright laughter before he follows behind them.

A/N: It’s another kinda shorter one but FAO;IJSELDFJ DOST MINE EYES SPOT THE LIGHT AT THE END OF THE TUNNEL? After this, only one chapter and an epilogue left! also, fun fact, tsuru was my grandma’s maiden name!

***********************

The sun is bright and warm, heating Katsuki’s skin as he lets his feet carry him along the sidewalk. He’s distantly aware of the continuous chatter beside him as his latest assignment goes over the tactics of their most recent game of capture the flag with the other neighborhood kids at the park.

Tsuru Yuji, age 6.

Target of schoolyard bullies.

Colorful personality trapped behind a stoic, quiet demeanor.

In the beginning, Katsuki had thought that he’d be a bit of a tougher case, one that would keep his mind from tracking back to the house just two streets over with the girl with the happy smile, and the man with the all too bright eyes.

But things never went the way he wanted them to, apparently, since it had only taken a matter of days to break Yuji from his shell, and just a couple of weeks for the change to completely turn his school life around. Now Yuji had friends, and the inability to stop talking.

“Mr. Bakugou?” His name shattered his reverie, pulling his attention down to the kid at his side. The sunlight glinted off of Yuji’s too big glasses, blinding him momentarily.

“How many times do I have to tell you to drop the ‘mister,’ kid?” Katsuki gruffs without any heat as he returns his gaze back to the pavement stretched before them.

Yuji’s reply comes in the form of a high pitched giggle before he continues on about how next time, they should make the top of the slide their home base.

“Then, we could just slide down if we need to get away fast!” He exclaims, hands shooting upward as if the revelation is groundbreaking. And maybe it is.

Who was Katsuki to say for sure?

“You’re too damn smart, kid,” he replies with a halfhearted laugh of his own as he keeps his eyes trained forward.

The first time they’d taken this route back to Yuji’s house, he had told himself it was a mere accident. His feet had grown so used to this street that they’d automatically made their way here before he could even acknowledge the direction they had gone.

Not that it had mattered, as he had told himself, as he’d stolen a quick glance at the Midoriya household just days after he’d left it for the final time. While a bit out of the way, this path still technically did lead to Yuji’s house.

The second time they’d taken it, Katsuki had told himself a bit more walking was good for them both. Nothing wrong with a bit more exercise and all that.

Now, a month later, he had run out of excuses to tell himself.

It had broken just about every big rule in the imaginary friend handbook, but he couldn’t stop himself from trying to catch just one more glimpse of the pair that had worked their way so far under his skin.

When he had left the Midoriya household for the final time, he had left a bit of himself behind. The gaping open maw of his chest had been exposed and raw, leaving him filled with a painful ache unlike anything he had ever felt. Katuski had felt loss in the past, but this had been wholly different, and in those first few days, he had wondered if he might never be whole again.

It was a dramatic thought, of course. One he had to swallow down like a bitter pill as he’d taken on his next assignment.

The ache remained, it had just numbed enough for him to be able to finally breathe again.

But that didn’t stop him from walking by their home whenever the opportunity presented itself.

Just to be sure things were still okay.

At least, that’s what he told himself.

Gaze still ahead, and Yuji’s droning voice filling his ear, Katsuki feels his heart stutter at the sight of movement in the Midoriya’s yard.

The honey colored sunlight twists in Eri’s hair, making it shine bright as she cheers happily at something Izuku says. She looks absolutely elated as she crawls her way up into the car and waits for her dad to get her buckled in. When Izuku closes the door, and turns to walk around the back, Katsuki can see the wide smile that’s still stretched across his lips.

They look so happy, he thinks, and something about that knowledge fills his lungs with acid.

Katsuki watches as Izuku makes his way around the vehicle, his wide frame pausing at the driver’s side as he looked out toward the street.

For just one fleeting moment, Katsuki feels his breath stall in his chest as that familiar green stare passes over him. It’s gone almost as quickly as it has come, but it still leaves his heart racing as he watches Izuku climb into the car.

“Mr. Bakugou!” Yuji’s voice is indignant as he calls his attention back to him. Snapping his gaze away from the car as it backs out of the driveway, Katsuki hums.

“Yeah, yeah, kid,” he says, trying to ignore the strain that leaves him sounding breathless. “I’m listening.”

***

Katsuki was fucking angry.

And tired.

So goddamn tired.

Tired of the pitying looks his friends shot him when they thought he wasn’t looking. Tired of feeling like hole had been punched through his fucking chest. Tired of the emerald colored dreams that haunted him.

And especially tired of being summoned to the fucking Administrator’s office.

He’d woken that morning to the text that had the audacity to proclaim a meeting time for just an hour from then, and he already knew what it meant. Time to move on. Because it was always fucking time to move on.

Katuski would never be able to stay in one place for long, never allowed to be something permanent.

And that pissed him off.

His angry steps punctuated the otherwise quiet of the lobby, making the poor sap manning the front desk jump as they looked up from their coffee towards him.

“Mr. Bak—” they start to say, eyes going wide as he growls.

“Don’t call me that,” Katsuki hisses before he throws open the doors. The loud crack of the wood against the walls cut through the air in a dramatic way that would normally fill him with some sort of thrill. Now, it just settles somewhere in the vast expanse that sits at the center of his chest, lost to the empty feeling that’s slowly expanding.

“Lively as ever this morning, young Bakugou,” the Administrator says, not bothering to look up from the folder he’s holding open before him.

The sight of the unassuming tan of the file only serves to push the burning fury through him faster as he lets the doors fall shut behind him with another loud crash. It feels as if the air in the room is sucked out by the bone shaking sound as Katsuki fixes his fiery stare on Toshinori.

“Cut to the chase, old man,” he snarls, mouth twisting into a sneer that’s full of teeth and sharp rage.

A soft sigh brushes through the space as he watches the Administrator close the folder before gently pushing it toward the edge of the desk.

“Please take a seat,” Toshinori offers, keeping his attention forward.

“I’d rather just get this over with,” Katsuki bites out in return.

There’s another weighted pause before Toshinori sits back, his gaze finally finding Katsuki’s as it flashes with the steely silence of a command. For all the kindness and fun loving nature that encapsulated the Administrator, he had almost forgotten that he was the leader of the Imaginary Friends fo a reason.

Swallowing the sharp taste of his pride, Katsuki walks to the bean bag chair, falling into it with a muted thud.

“Talk,” Katsuki snaps, whittling the single word down to a barely there syllable as he keeps his gaze trained on Toshinori’s. His stubborn defiance is the only reason he catches the shift in the Administrator’s stare as it sweeps over him. Softening into something fond, and almost sad, it cools the inferno tearing through his veins, if only for just a moment.

“Have I ever told you about my predecessor?” He asks, solemn and far off, as if lost to the track of time.

“You brought me here for a fucking history lesson?” Katsuki growls, hands curling into tight fists where they sit on his knees. Toshinori’s eyebrow raises in silent admonishment. It forces a low string of grumbles from his mouth as he folds his arms across his chest and slips lower into the bean bag.

“His name was Banjo Daigoro, and he was a great Administrator,” he sighs at the memory. “But I was never his first choice for successor.”

A spark of interest lights the cavern of his insides as he cocks his head to the side.

“Originally, he had chosen one of my closest friends,” the Administrator continues before taking a steadying breath.

“Shimura Nana.”

The name rocks through Katsuki, sending a chill rocketing down his spine as his mind spins around the words that had encapsulate Shimura Nana’s terminated friendship.

“She was in training to take over the position, but was still going out into the field. Loved working with kids, you know?” He says, a small chuckle weaving between his words as his gaze goes distant at the memory.

“Banjo had assigned her a final case before she was going to be officially promoted. But then, she was seen.”

Shimura Nana reports child caretaker made verbal acknowledgement of her presence.

Katsuki remembered. She had only been with her charge for a week before it had happened.

And then—

Friendship terminated.

“Torino Sorahiko,” Toshinori rattles off, voice void of inflection as he recites what was written in the file word for word, as if it laid there before him.

“Lost both his parents. Was showing aggression towards his uncle, who had taken him in. He was a good kid, Nana was adamant about that. Then one day, his uncle saw her, and spoke to her.”

The blue of his eyes goes perfectly clear, settling into a cutting blue as his gaze returns to the present. Finding Katsuki once more, they whittle away at him until he’s flayed open, raw and exposed beneath the Administrator’s stare.

The feeling of being seen clings to him like a premonition. It’s equal parts awe and terror as it works its way through him.

Swallowing thickly, Katsuki speaks.

“What happened?”

But he knows. Has known for far too long.

Friendship terminated.

“We aren’t exactly supposed to be seen by anyone other than our charge, especially not by their parents or caretakers, as you know,” Toshinori says, pausing long enough to arch a brow at him before continuing.

“And Nana knew that too. Probably better than most, given the position she was going to take.”

He pauses again as his lips quirk sharply upward with bygone amusement and his voice falls into a hush, carried by the weight of his memory’s past.

“Funny thing is, that didn’t change anything. Even knowing hadn’t been enough.”

Katsuki’s breath catches deep in his throat and threatening to choke him as Toshinori speaks.

“Officially, they terminated the friendship. If you found Torino’s file right now, it would say as much. But Nana had returned after that, and they could still see her.”

Silence settles between them as Katsuki notices the way Toshinori’s eyes shine wetly.

“So, she made a choice,” he finally concludes with a shrug, as if what he had just said was nothing. As if he had just been talking about the weather. Katsuki might have even found it funny, how mundane he had made it, if it wasn’t for the fact that every single one of the Administrator’s words had been shrapnel that had torn him apart.

“What did she choose?” He hears himself ask, voice twisted into something even he doesn’t recognize. It hurts, the way it scrapes itself through his throat, and he could swear he tastes blood at the back of his tongue.

And yet for all the ways Katsuki ached, Toshinori just looks him over before fixing him with an all knowing smile.

Slowly, he reaches across the desk and pushes the folder closer towards him.

“It’s time to move on, young Bakugou,” he says by way of answer. The statement rings with a finality, one that doesn’t allow for argument or further discussion.

Sighing loudly, Katsuki grabs the folder, defeat hanging heavy across his shoulders in a way that makes him think he might find himself crushed into the ground with it.

Maybe that would be better, anyway, he thinks as he flips it open. With his eyes fixed down at the file, Katsuki feels his heart rate spike as it ratchets inside the cage of his chest.

“What is this?” He asks, not looking up. His pulse is deafening as it beats its soaring rhythm in his ears as his eyes trace back and forth across the folder, as if he’s missing something.

Except he knows he isn’t.

What could he possibly miss when the file itself is empty?

Katsuki’s tongue sticks to the roof of his mouth as he finally shifts his attention upward. His confusion is met with another smile.

“Even imaginary friends need to grow up,” the Administrator says. The words circle around him, overlaid with the memory from months ago, when he’d been in this same spot, only the folder before him then had held information about a little girl and her dad.

Then, he hadn’t known his life was about to change.

Now, he feels the sudden click of a realization deep in his chest as his gaze falls back down on the empty folder in his lap.

A rush works through him, filling the chasm at the center of his chest as his lips slowly turn up into a smile.

A/N: While I’m working on things I started and never finished, here’s a fucky one shot 

*****************************

“It would be the usual deal,” Kolivan’s voice is hard, authoritative as he drops a manila folder onto the table between them. Keith watches as it slides across the metallic surface, stopping just in front of him, its top left open and waiting for him to take it.

The usual deal meant that for just one night, Keith could pad his bank account for the next six months and focus on other things that he liked to do.

Like work on that vintage Harley he’d bought with his last hit’s price tag.

Don’t get him wrong, he didn’t not like his job, there were just other things he’d rather do with his time than commit systematic assassinations on people that the Altean government found to be too much of a headache to deal with by the book.

As an idealistic youth, he would have been appalled by how things were really handled by their city’s government.

Of course, that had been before he realized how lucrative a business it was to take out whoever they deemed bad guys.

Before he’d realized just how good he was at it.

Maybe this time, he could buy himself that vintage BMW R 69.

“Who’s the target this time?” He asks, voice like smoke as he grabs the envelope and pulls the photos from inside. There’s only three, and they’re hardly better than supposed cryptid shots. Even through the graininess, he can make out enough of the man in the photos to know that he won’t be an easy target.

Good, he thinks ruefully as he thumbs through them, dusting his gaze over each one in an attempt to pull further information from them.

He had always liked a challenge.

“Shirogane is the name,” Kolivan says brusquely. “Head of Atlas.”

Keith does his best to swallow the sound of his surprise as he hears the name, his thumb pressing into the corner of one picture in particular as he focuses on the sting of its edge.

In it, Shirogane is looking up at something. There’s no way for him to know what it is, the shot cutting off before it could reveal anything else, but he can’t help but think he looks pleasant. As if he’s looking up at the sky.

“The trade company?” He asks, filling his voice with a practiced casualness as if he doesn’t know the truth. There isn’t a person in the darkened corners of the city that didn’t know the name Shirogane.

That didn’t fear it.

Didn’t respect it.

For some reason, Keith had always thought he’d be older.

Even with the bright white that streaks the front of his hair, Keith can tell he’s not much older than himself. Just barely thirty, at most.

“A ruse,” Kolivan says smoothly, not trying to mask the way he rolls his eyes. They both know Keith is well aware of what Atlas is, but he plays along if only because he needs something.

“He’s the most powerful boss of the syndicates, and he’s been a real thorn in our side with how many of the politicians he has under his thumb.”

He knows that much as well. Hell, Keith can think of five just off the top of his head that he knew were under Shirogane’s influence. The syndicate boss supplied the drugs and fun times, and they provided all the legal necessities that kept him from being crushed beneath the thumb of those that opposed him and the way he’s turned their city into something dirty.

Or rather, something dirtier.

Altea wasn’t as pristine as they liked to pretend, and Shirogane had just taken advantage of that fact. As far as Keith saw it, they had no one to blame but themselves.

But who was he to turn down a paying job.

After all, even hitmen still had bills.

“And you’re finally tired of dealing with him?” Keith asks, laying the photos out beside his dagger. It’s dark metal glints like something sinister in the light.

“There’s an election coming up.” The way Kolivan says it sounds like it should be the only answer Keith needs. He’s smart enough to put together the importance of having Shirogane removed from the equation, and the quickly approaching election date. Removing his influence would almost guarantee the head seat for whoever Kolivan was throwing his support behind.

Keith regards the politician closely as he stares over him, waiting for an answer.

With the way he’s holding himself, he briefly wonders if maybe it’s Kolivan himself looking toward that seat.

Dropping his chin on an open palm, Keith tilts his head. If he was being honest, he does like the man. There’s something about him that he’s always respected, even when he’s stooping to levels as low as himself to get what he wanted.

In fact, he thinks he respects him more for making decisions others would be too scared to make.

All was fair in love, war, and politics after all.

“I want double,” he says finally, watching the way Kolivan's shoulders seize at the request. It’s a test more than a genuine request. Keith is more than fine with their usual deal, but he wants to see just how serious they are this time.

A muscle jumps angrily in his jaw.

“Fine,” he growls, thrusting the palms of his hands down on the table as he stares harshly at him. Deep in his dark eyes, Keith swears he can see the gleam of a raging fire.

Very serious, then.

“So do we have a deal?”

Dragging his stare back down to the photos, Keith traces over them one more time. They may be grainy, but there’s something about them that stands out.

Shirogane’s eyes.

They’re haunting. A grey caught between shining silver and a roiling tempest. It makes him look otherworldly.

Beautiful, even.

Keith brushes a finger across the scar that runs over the bridge of Shirogane’s nose. He’s a fighter, it says. That very thought makes Keith’s mouth pool as he grabs his dagger, flipping it around his fingers with a flourish before thrusting it into the holster strapped to his thigh.

“Alright,” he says around a pointed smile as he stands, the screech of the metal chair legs against tile making him shiver. “I’m in.”

***

The cool air is biting, nipping at the exposed skin of Keith’s face and hands as he settles himself at the edge of the grand patio with his sights set on the blaze of the city lights below. Bass thumps loudly at his back, trying to escape the glass of the mansion that stands proudly behind him like some modern emulation of the Grecian style.

Sleek, and crafted of crisp white stone and shimmering crystal, it’s ostentatious, even for the head of a crime syndicate and his black market puppets.

Looming amongst the hills outside the city, it’s like a vengeful god watching over the very people that everyone inside viewed as nothing more than systematic pawns in their own sick games.

Greed, hunger, and violence made a home within the mansion’s walls, twisting and moving in its malevolence to the beat of the loud music emanating from the great hall.

The weight of it had been stifling, pushing Keith from the decadent interior and grinding, drunk bodies and instead towards the outdoors in a vain attempt to escape the crush of it against his shoulders.

Almost an hour in, and he still hadn’t so much as caught a glimpse of the night’s main attraction.

Shaking his head slightly, he ducks his scowl behind the rim of his glass. The sharp bite of his champagne coats his tongue and washes away his disappointed thoughts as he silently wonders if Shirogane was even there.

It would almost be fitting if he wasn’t. The man was practically mythic, darkening the streets of the city that burned so brightly below him now, and doing so without ever revealing his own hand.

Shirogane, in his own right, was nothing more than an untouchable shadow.

Lowering his glass, Keith presses the base of his forearms against the crystal barrier that separates him from a deadly fall as he took it all in.

Even with her dirty secrets revealed to him, he still finds the city beautiful.

Alluring, even, as her lights flicker like stars that had fallen from the heavens.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” A voice rumbles beside him, mired in a strength that Keith can hear, even over the thump of the bass against its confining walls. Its sudden appearance makes him jump slightly, his senses racing to catch up as he snaps his attention to the newcomer. His arrival had been silent, void of any presence at all. There’s a danger in it. The kind that blankets his skin with the uncomfortable tickle of dread and raises the hair along the back of his neck.

There’s a moment, suspended on his bated breath as he openly stares at the man beside him. Dressed in a dark suit, accented by even darker floral embroidery and velvet lapels, he is a paragon of authority. It rolls from him in waves as his silver eyes flay Keith’s skin right there on the sprawling patio.

He knows he should feel something like fear.

Or failure.

Being seen by the mark is something to be avoided. The best never let themselves be seen at all.

That much Keith knows.

But this is a first, and he can’t help but track the bright white of a scar peeking up from the open neck of Shirogane’s unbuttoned dress shirt.

The pictures Kolivan had hadn’t done him any justice at all.

Sipping the warming champagne in his hand, Keith counts to five in a vain attempt to clear the sudden fog clouding his thoughts.

“If overly done showcases of excess turn you on,” he says with a shrug, balancing his words on nonchalance as he emerges from his glass. The bite of it is meant to deter, only it seems to have the opposite effect on the mafia boss. Lips quirking at their edges, he languidly draws his stare down Keith’s frame. It lingers in the most damnable of places, the headiness of it going straight to his head more so than any of the champagne has before his gaze continues its trek.

An appreciative hum burns through the night air as Shirogane takes a sip of his own drink.

Bourbon, Keith thinks as light catches the amber liquid.

“I haven’t seen you around here before,” Shirogane volleys, arching a brow in silent question and something that feels a lot like a warning as he leans a hip against the same crystal holding him up. Keith’s heart responds with a sharp kick at the top of his ribcage, filling him with a nerve he’s never felt before. It’s raw as it works against him in crashing waves timed with the thumping bass of the music inside.

“Maybe you just aren’t observant,” he says, swallowing around the beating lump that’s stuck in his throat, offering what he hopes is a reassuring smile. Shirogane, to his credit, takes another sip as he languidly pulls another all consuming stare over him.

It feels as if he truly sees him. It’s one thing he shouldn’t want, yet he can’t help the small curl of warmth that burrows deep in his chest that makes him think that maybe he enjoys how it feels to be seen.

Making a sound in the back of his throat in disagreement, Shirogane shakes his head.

“I’m always observant when it comes to pretty things.”

A retort sticks to the inside of his throat as his mouth goes dry, eyes widening as he openly stares now.

“Do you know who I am?” Shirogane continues and it sounds like a test. It’s Keith’s turn to shake his head as he tries to quiet the pulse rivaling the sound of music in his ears.

“No,” he says as he tips his chin up in an act of defiance. The man’s smirk goes sharp with dark humor as he keeps his eyes on him, reaching forward with his metallic hand that glints ominously with the light. There are numerous stories about that arm, and most, Keith knows, are just rumors. But there’s one story in particular about how that arm had gotten him to the head of Atlas in the first place, that seems mired in truth.

It’s a weapon of the highest caliber. One with a death list a mile long, but resting against his cheek, it feels soft and oddly warm.

“Dance with me.” It isn’t a question, or even a request. It’s a command. One that Keith doesn’t want to follow, but he knows he will because it wraps deliciously around his throat.

For just a moment, he gets lost in the way the twisting lights catch in Shirogane’s white hair.

“I was taught to never dance with strangers,” Keith manages, trying to ignore the way his thumb brushes across his cheek. He means it as a challenge. A gamble to see just who his target will introduce himself as.

Not that it truly matters.

Either way, by the end of the night, his heart won’t be beating.

Shirogane’s smile only widens, touching his eyes as it pulls at their corners.

“Takashi.” He says the name easily as he pulls his hand away, instead taking Keith’s empty flute from his hand and dropping both their glasses on a passing tray.

“What?” In a moment of breathlessness, he forgets to add strength behind the word and he’s certain Shirogane’s missed it.

“My name is Takashi.” Takashi Shirogane. The name makes his veins sizzle as it spins around his mind, until he is almost dizzy with it. Lost to the repeating track, Keith almost misses the expectant look leveled on him.

“Keith,” he finally manages as he swallows down the bright taste tickling the back of his tongue. Shirogane’s smile only brightens.

“Now we aren’t strangers,” he replies, offering his hand. “Dance with me.”

Flicking his gaze between the Atlas leader and his outstretched hand, Keith mentally admonishes himself for even entertaining the idea. He really shouldn’t.

This is a dangerous game with high stakes, and Keith is one of the best players if only because he doesn’t make mistakes, and this is the biggest of them all.

Yet, trapped beneath the weight of Shirogane’s sharpened smile, an electric pulse across his chest tells him he’s going to make it anyway.

After what feels like an isolated eternity, Keith reaches out and takes his hand.

***

It’s decidedly warmer inside the mansion as Keith follows behind his mark, dragged forward through the flush of dancing bodies by the strong hold of his metallic hand. He feels the warm wetness of sweat as it gathers at his collar.

Letting his eyes wander across the crowd, he can’t help but feel underdressed in his oxblood dress shirt and tight fitted black pants amongst the sea of couture velvet and leather.

The only part of his ensemble that truly fit in with the theme, had been the leather garter belt that cinched his waist and ran straps down his hips and towards the garters at his thighs. Accented with shining metal buckles and rings, it was the perfect accessory to fulfill his stolen invites dress code, while simultaneously offering the perfect camouflage for the thin knife that weighed heavy against the front of his hip where it was hidden in the leather.

Shirogane’s hand grips tighter in his, pulling him back from the sharp blade of his thoughts and passed a group that had gathered right there on the dance floor.

Bodies turned golden by paint and metallic latex sway through the dense crowd, their skin catching light like the precious metal it’s meant to personify.

They’re meant as party favors. An offering to Shirogane’s guests, there are very few in the crowd that don’t show telltale signs of attention.

With gold peeking above collars and smeared across mouths, it’s obvious the type of favor that they’re meant to provide.

A golden woman eyes him with a hazy stare as she peels herself away from the throng of sweaty bodies, reaching toward him with a molten smile filled with intent. Sidestepping easily, Keith barely spares a glance back to see her hands land instead on the man who had been behind him.

Attention is not something he wishes to seek here.

At least, not her attention. The dangerous thought runs electric through him as he turns his own focus back to the broad figure pushing through the crowd before him.

It hadn’t escaped his notice that Shirogane was also missing the glittering touch of any gold.

Shirogane’s hold tightens briefly as he tugs him sharply towards him, twisting him so that Keith’s back hits his chest. A shiver traps itself between them as he looks out over the secluded corner that the mafia head had brought them to. There are few bodies here, and fewer wandering gazes as they melt into the shadows just barely touched by the swirling lights above.

“Not a fan of my gifts?” He growls close to Keith’s ear, the heat of his breath making the onyx waves around it dance as he closes his hands on either side of his hips.

A sharp spark rocks through his veins and makes his pulse leap as Keith realizes that they’re so large, they almost encircle his waist entirely.

Pressing back into his touch, he brushes his fingertips of the backs of Shirogane’s hands, humming over the dual sensation of burning skin and cool metal before he runs his touch up the length of the other man’s arms, following the path over his shoulders, and then behind his neck. With a gentle tug, Keith leads his face closer as he lets his head fall back until his lips brush against the skin just below Shirogane’s ear.

“I always preferred silver,” he says brusquely. Shirogane’s hips grind against his own, the harsh line of his length catching against his ass as he rumbles a pleased sound that vibrates through Keith’s back.

The mafia leader’s nose drags a staticky line down along his bared throat, the tickling rasp of stubble pushing a secretive smile across his lips. Keith runs hot as he feels lips press a soft kiss to his thrumming pulse followed by the sharp pinch of teeth.

“Good,” Shirogane says possessively, voice going dark as he presses the single word into his skin like a brand.

Rolling his hips back, Keith sucks his bottom lip between his teeth as he feels Shirogane’s hands trace along the top of his harness. They linger at the buckle just above his belly button before they start their slow decent down the leather straps. Fire, bright and impossibly hot, lays in the wake of his touch as his palms as they pause at Keith’s hips, holding him close as he languidly rolls against him again.

A quiet moan escapes his lips before Shirogane’s hands continue their curious trail down toward the garter around his thighs. It isn’t until his fingers skim mere centimeters from the hidden hilt of his knife that Keith feels his heart jump with the intoxicating thrill of danger.

Quick as an adder, Keith’s hands catch Shirogane’s, pulling them away roughly as he spins to face the man. Fixing him with a look of clear intent, he places places his hands low on his own back before he pushes up to catch Shirogane’s mouth in a bruising kiss.

It’s almost terrifying, the way the electricity that shocks between them heightens into a full blown storm as Shirogane returns the kiss in kind, pressing his tongue to the seam of Keith’s lips without looking for invitation. He is a man used to taking, and Keith is all too willing to give as he lets him in.

Swallowing down the deep growl that Shirogane pushes into his mouth, Keith rolls his hips in primal search of friction. The fires of Shirogane’s touch blister down his back as he lets his hands wander lower, stopping only as they grab tightly at Keith’s ass.

“Takashi,” Keith hears himself moan, the breathiness of his voice turning it into something sinful.

Pulling back quickly at the sound of his name, Shirogane stares down at Keith with a stare mired in danger. Pinned beneath it, Keith understands how he had found his way to the top of a mile high pile of death, and he wonders distantly if he might be in over his head.

He thinks he might be since his nerves light with the need to run, but his veins fill with a desperate need to get lost to the depths of the darkness in those eyes.

Keith knows which wins out when Shirogane swipes his metal thumb across his bottom lip, collecting the wetness there before his lips quirk in a triumphant smirk. Wordlessly, he clutches at Keith’s arm, pulling him once more through the crowd and toward the staircase situated toward the back of the room.

Taking the stairs quickly, Shirogane gives a deft nod toward the two guards that step easily aside for him at the top.

“Keep an eye on things,” he orders harshly, voice promising a violent retribution should they do otherwise before he falls back into determined silence as he leads them down a long hall toward a set of heavy looking doors.

Keith only gets a moment to admire the dark wood before he finds himself pushed through them, his back slamming back against it before the door even finishes closing.

Lips press harshly against his own, continuing where they left off as Shirogane licks the back of his teeth. Hands return to his hips, tightening enough to bruise before he drags them down towards the back of Keith’s thighs. With a sharp tug, he’s pulling him up, crushing him between the door and his taller frame as Keith folds his legs around his hips.

The new position offers more friction as he rolls against Shirogane and scratches at the back of his nape. It’s intoxicating, and Keith thinks he could lose himself to this. Could let himself pretend this was just a hookup and that he wasn’t an assassin and Shirogane wasn’t a murderer.

If only he could just let himself.

Oh, if only, if only.

Slowly dragging a hand down from the back of his neck, Keith follows down the track of Shirogane’s shoulders and down his arm, coming to a rest at his own thigh. Keith’s fingers close around the metal ring there, slowly pulling the hidden knife free of its concealed sheath as he sucked Shirogane’s tongue further into his mouth. Blindly positioning it at his ribs, he lets a slow exhale through his nose.

Then he feels the cold press of a muzzle beneath his chin.

“I see you brought a knife to a gun fight,” Shirogane says, voice roughened by fire and slick delight. His eyes dance with the same fiery excitement as he stares down at his would be killer.

“Don’t underestimate what I could do to you with this knife before you can even think to pull that trigger,” Keith hisses, pressing the tip of his knife into Shirogane’s skin just hard enough to know he’ll feel the sting.

Instead of abating the bright look in his eyes, it earns him a low growling moan that’s almost animalistic as Shirogane rolls up against him.

“Oh, baby, you do know how to talk dirty.”

The flames deep in Keith’s gut flare, threatening to consume him as he feels himself grind down, meeting Shirogane’s thrusts mindlessly.

“Tell me one reason I shouldn’t finish my job right now, Shirogane,” he tries to snarl, not believing his own threat but praying nonetheless that the man before him does. If only to save a bit of face.

Never has he failed to complete a job.

But never has a job looked quite as good as Takashi Shirogane.

Keith sees the moment he picks up on his bluff. It’s not subtle at all as Shirogane’s eyes brighten in challenge. Pushing upward with the gun’s muzzle, he tilts Keith’s head back just enough to give himself better access to his throat. He tries— and fails— to swallow down the keening sound that escapes his chest as Shirogane laves a wet kiss just beneath his ear.

“Because I,” he starts, only pausing to place another open mouthed kiss just inches lower. His lips hover just above his quickened pulse for a moment, his breaths cooling the slick from his mouth before continuing.

“Can make you feel,” he pauses again to bite at the juncture of his neck and shoulder. It’s a dull pinch that is soothed slightly when Shirogane sucks gently at the skin.

“So good,” he finishes before licking a line back up the sinful path he’d trekked. Pausing to huff a small laugh that stirs the hair by Keith’s ear, he pulls back to level him with his stare. It shines like the polished metal forcing his chin upward, and it feels twice as dangerous.

“And, I so would hate to ruin such a beautiful face.”

The sharp clatter of metal on the marble floor pierces through the quiet din of the room as Keith drops his knife, instead grasping at his nape to pull him close for another heady and angry kiss. He swallows Shirogane’s triumphant sound, barely registering the heavier sound of his gun joining the dagger on the floor.

“I’ll still kill you,” Keith growls into his mouth, hips coming down against Shirogane’s as he walks them toward the bed at the back of the room. The world tilts as he lowers them both, pushing Keith back into the plush pillows at the headboard. Shirogane’s weight is all encompassing, and he covers  Keith wholly with his body, trapping him amongst the satin covered bedding before he finally decides to pull away.

“I look forward to it, Keith Kogane,” he rumbles wickedly.

Keith’s name on his tongue should scare him, he knows that. It means his cover was blown before he had even arrived, and yet he can’t quite bring himself to care as he arches up into Shirogane’s touch as he grasps him through his pants.

Mouth cracking wide around a gasp, Keith rocks up into his grasp, distantly aware of his other hand as it makes quick work of the buckles of his harness.

“Tonight, though, I want to make you scream,” Shirogane says, pushing the harness away from his waist and legs, tugging at them sharply and freeing them from his body. Quickly discarding them off the side of the bed, he loosens his hold on Keith’s length, instead dragging that hand slowly up toward his stomach.

“Does that sound okay with you, baby?” He asks, not waiting for an answer before he grabs at Keith’s shirt and rips it open, exposing his heaving chest to the air of the room. Keith doesn’t miss the way Shirogane’s eyes trail across the goosebumps that race along his skin.

“Yes,” he croaks, fisting his own hand into the lapel of Shirogane’s jacket and pulling at him.

“Good,” he laughs darkly before he lets himself be pulled back to Keith’s mouth. Licking into the warm wet heat, he lets his hands wander until they find the buttons of Shirogane’s jacket. Clumsily tugging them from their holes, Keith gives a small hum of pleasure as he finally pushes the jacket back from his shoulders.

Without pulling away from his kiss, Shirogane pulls the jacket the rest of the way off before dropping it on the ground beside the harness. The sound of ripping fabric plays in harmony with their gasping breaths as Keith rips his shirt in kind, letting his hands find the hard lines of Shirogane’s toned stomach as the ruined shirt joins their other clothing on the floor.

Feeling the muscles flutter at his touch, Keith smiles into the kiss as he lets his hands roam across the newly exposed expanse.

Keith hands run up the length of his flank, the tickling brush of his palm earning a full bodied shudder as Shirogane quickly undoes the buttons of his pants. It’s then that he finally pulls away to violently tug the confining pants from Keith’s frame.

The assassin admires the way Shirogane’s chest heaves with his breath as he towers over him, and the way sweat has gathered along his collar. In the light, it’s almost as if his skin is gilded just like his so called party favors on the dance floor, and the very thought makes Keith ache as he reaches back out toward him.

Leaning back into Keith’s arms easily, Shirogane rolls against him as his mouth finds his pulse once more. Sucking dark marks into his throat, Keith finds himself burning with the knowledge that he’ll wear Shirogane’s marks for days.

A contented sigh parts his lips as he rakes his nails down the meat of Shirogane’s shoulder blades, relishing in the way it makes the man move against him. The power that radiates through Shirogane is a near palpable thing, one that lights him with awe and the potent thrum of a want so strong that he can’t breathe around it.

Pressing his face upward into his shoulder, Keith tries to force the air in and out of his lungs as Shiro continues decorate his skin with a glorious collection of purples and blacks. A particularly wet suckle pushes what little air had still been left in his lungs through his mouth.

Chasing after it, Keith presses his teeth to Shirogane’s shoulder and bites down hard, mouth filling with the salty, metallic tang of blood.

A grunted sound of delight and pain vibrates through him as Shirogane’s hand fists tightly in his hair, and then he finds himself flipped with half his face shoved into the mattress.

“Baby,” Shirogane hushes, and Keith can’t tell if it’s meant to be a praise or an admonishment as the hold in his hair still dances along the line of pleasure and pain. His other hand caresses his hip before gently pulling it upward so that his ass is tilted upward. There’s the soft sound of leather pulling from metal as Shirogane undoes his belt, followed by the quiet rustle of fabric before he feels the hot drag of his length between his cheeks.

The sound Keith makes is high and reedy as he feels the head drag over his aching, wanting entrance.

“You’re going to be so good for me,” Shirogane growls as he leans over his back to place the words right at his ear, grip tightening on his hair.

“Only if you’re good for me,” Keith grits, bucking back into him. His eyelashes flutter at the soft brush of Shirogane’s groan at his ear.

“Yes,” he says, sounding almost as needy as Keith feels.

The heat along his back disappears as Shirogane pulls away. It feels like Keith is caught in a void in time as the only touch that remains is Shirogane’s grasp on his hair, before he feels the slick glide of a finger over his rim.

Bracing his arms outward, Keith clutches at the satin beneath him as he the sure press and gentle give as Shirogane presses his finger inward.

“Takashi,” Keith exhales as he pushes back against Shirogane’s hand. It’s the only invitation he seems to need as he starts to work him open with deft fingers. Soon after the first, he adds a second, and not too long after that, a third. His grip on the sheets only tightens at the rushed speed of Shirogane’s work, but still delighting in the sting of his intrusion. Each and every brush of his fingers moving inside him fans the flames in his gut until he’s certain his skin won’t be able to contain the fire.

He’s going to burn, and he’s going to take this whole damn mansion down with him.

Keith presses his smile into the mattress at the thought.

“Are you ready, baby?” Shirogane asks as he pulls his fingers away. The blunt tip of his dick nudges at his entrance before his hand finds itself on his hip. With the breadth of them both, his fingers nearly touch at his navel, just above where Keith’s dick stand hard against his stomach.

“Please, Takashi, please,” he hears himself almost sob before he pushes back against Shirogane, teeth gritting as the thick head pushes into him. Their moans are twinned as he starts to push further into him, inch by grueling inch, until he bottoms out.

Keith thinks he might just split apart with how full he is as Shirogane pauses in his movement, allowing them both a moment to just breathe.

Each of their gasps come in sync as Keith tries to find a way to ground himself. It’s all too much and yet not enough and he desperately needs. He aches with it, and he thinks he says as much because then Shirogane is moving in earnest.

He sets a brutal pace as he jackhammers into him, each staccato snap pressing Keith’s further into the mattress. There’s a brief moment of bitter clarity when he registers that the high pitched keens that match the tempo of Shirogane’s thrusts are pulling from his own mouth.

Keith’s knuckles protest as his grip tightens further in the sheets and he turns his face down into the mattress to muffle his sounds.

A palm traces down the line of his spine, traveling between his shoulder blades and finally wrapping around his throat before it wrenches him upward and back into Shirogane’s lap. The sudden change in position pushes him further into Keith, rubbing just right inside him and exploding stars in his vision.

Shirogane’s hold on his throat squeezes lightly as his other hand brushes across the expanse of his hip and finds his painfully hard length. Another high pitched gasp rocks through Keith at the contact, his hips pushing up into Shirogane’s fist and then coming back down on his cock before repeating the motion at a frenzied pace.

His vision starts to blur at its edges as Keith turns his head over his shoulder, blindly searching for Shirogane’s mouth. Appeasing him, he leans in close, pressing their open mouths together and swallowing each and every one of Keith’s punched out sounds.

The fire in his belly reaches an unimaginable pitch as it spreads through him. It races along the lines of his veins as he pushes his hands back to clutch at Shirogane’s shoulders, and as his toes begin to curl. Biting down around the aching burn, his teeth catch sharply on Shirogane’s lip, causing him to tighten his hold on Keith’s length.

White light, bright and inescapable, blots out his sight as he comes with the taste of Shirogane’s blood and violence on his tongue. His fist continues to pump over him, smearing his softening cock with his own cum as he chases his own pleasure and follows shortly after with a shout.

Keith’s hold on his shoulders tightens for just a moment as he tries to catch his breath, timing each inhale and exhale with the loud sound of his heartbeat crashing in his ears. The edges of his vision continues to blur as the soft, hazy brush of his pleasure feathers out through him, replacing the roiling heat of the now sated fires.

He thinks he hears a soft question at his ear, followed by the hush of a laugh on his cheek, but its all lost to him as he starts to settle into the warm depths of the after glow.

Lids growing heavy, he faintly registers the slow slide of Shirogane as he pulls out of him and sets him gently on the bed. Somewhere, just on the edges of his mind, he thinks he feels the gentle drag of something warm along his skin.

Keith thinks maybe, he feels the soft touch of a kiss at his temple, but by then, he’s already out.

***

Keith’s eyes protest against the bright sunlight as he slowly blinks them open. The room isn’t one he recognizes, and neither is the bed, at least, not until the night comes crashing back into his memory like a freight train.

Sitting up quickly, ignoring the drag of the satin as it pools around his waist, a rush of adrenaline cascades through his veins as he runs an alert glare across the room.

There isn’t sign of anyone else there, or even of the night’s activities. The only proof of what happened sits at the foot of his bed in the form of his folded clothes, and something about that makes him ache.

Swallowing down the lump in his throat, he pushes himself further back into the pillows so he’s sitting fully upright when a glint at the corner of his eye catches his attention.

Turning to the nightstand beside him, he can’t help the slow, hungry grin that turns his lips upward.

A note lays atop the mahogany with his knife stabbed through it.

Catch me if you can, it says, and beneath it is a smear of gold.

A/N: This one is a bit shorter. I consider it a little bit more like an interlude or sorts. ANYWAY, we’re steamrolling into the finale and only have 3 more chapters left, so I hope y’all like! We only have like a small bit of sad before we finally get our happy ending so LESGO.

***************************

Days went by, and Izuku told himself it was just a work thing, like last time.

Those days turned to a week, and Izuku swallowed down the bitter, jagged edge of his anger as he finally gave in and tried to call.

The week turned to weeks, and each and every one of Izuku’s calls went unanswered by anything more than the mechanical voice of Bakugou’s voicemail.

Those weeks finally culminated into a month before Izuku finally snapped. It was a Friday when his fury finally overran him, filling him with an almost blinding heat as he’d led Eri up the path to her daycare. She’d looked up at him, question bright in her eyes. He wondered what his offered smile must have looked like when she made a face in return.

“I love you, Daddy Izuku,” Eri had said, giving his hand a small squeeze.

“I love you too, Eri,” he had said, returning the squeeze before she’d pulled her hand from his grasp and pushed the door open. Izuku had stood there for a moment, watching as the door swung shut behind her before he’d turned to the woman standing at the start of the path and herding kids toward the entrance.

“Good morning,” he’d said as politely as he could manage around the searing bubbles that had pushed their way angrily up his throat. It’d fizzed and popped at the back of his tongue, like a noxious version of popping candy. Izuku swallowed it down with a wince as the teacher turned toward him.

She was very pretty, he had thought distantly, as the sunshine had twisted in her hair. It wasn’t the same kind of blonde as Bakugou’s, erring closer to a mellowed tan as opposed to his bright almost white.

“Hello, how can I help you,” She’d asked, pausing expectantly.

“Midoriya Izuku,” he’d offered, earning a small nod and an equally small smile.

“Mr. Midoriya,” she’d concluded, gesturing for him to answer.

“I was wondering if you could help me with getting in touch with one of the other teachers here?” He’d asked, immediately noting the way her eyes shuttered at the question. Her expression dimmed, thick with a layer of suspicion as she’d looked him over as if in assessment of his threat level.

Quickly, he’d raised his hands in a show of surrender.

“I mean, if it isn’t allowed, that’s okay too,” he’d added, tongue tripping over itself to get that words out as fast as possible. “I’m just worried. I haven’t heard form him in awhile, and I just want to make sure he isn’t sick or something.”

Her defense had dissolved into confusion at that, her brow arcing up pointedly.

“I’m sorry—” she’d started, only to be cut off.

“Bakugou Katsuki,” Izuku blurted then, as heat had spread across his cheeks at the desperation that colored the edges of his words.  “I just need to know if he’s alright.”

Confusion had given way to sadness as the teacher had kept her gaze fixed on his face, as if in search of something.

“Please?” He’d said, hating himself for pleading. There had only been a moment of hesitation, but it had felt like an eternity before the woman finally shook her head. It had been a small thing, but it had felt like a killing strike as the defeat had run cold in his veins.

“I’m sorry,” she’d repeated, lips turning down further as he’d deflated before her.  “I’d really like to help you, but there aren’t any male teachers working here currently.”

Everything had screeched to a halt suddenly, violently, and it had left him reeling as the teacher continued to watch him and speak.

“I think it’s been a couple years, now, actually. But he moved. As far as I know, there has never been a teacher here by that name.”

Her continued words had almost been lost on him as they’d settled into a dull hum as his mind raced over their first meeting. A frozen shard had pierced the center of his chest as he’d remembered what Eri had said that day.

“Kacchan is my friend! We met at daycare!”

She hadn’t said he was a teacher, he’d only assumed. And Bakugou had gone with it.

The memory had been chased away by another, equally distant and seemingly unimportant. A brief moment in time after Izuku had held a crying Eri close following a close call with her, the roof, and a bedsheet parachute.

“I had her,” a phantom voice had said. Fleeting and almost lost to the wind, but there. At the time, he’d chalked it up to his mental faculties finally slipping after the sudden appearance of Eri’s imaginary friend.

Her imaginary friend who had seemingly disappeared with the appearance of Bakugou.

A choked sound had worked itself free of his throat, earning him an apologetic look from the woman before him.

“I’m really sorry, Mr. Midoriya,” she’d offered lowly, unaware that the sentiment was washed out by the sharp snap of something deep within his chest.

“Thank you, anyway,” Izuku had replied, breathless as his lungs had tried to work around the debris that filled the walls of his ribcage.

She’d slowly nodded, worrying pinching her brows together as he’d turned away, mechanically moving back to his car. It felt like an infinite walk before he’d finally wrenched the door open and dropped himself into the driver’s seat. A small throb of pain had lanced across his forehead as he’d hit it against the steering wheel, ignoring the gnawing sense that he was going to be late, and the blare of the horn urging him to leave the parking spot.

It had all seemed inconsequential in the face of the sudden truth he had faced.

Bakugou was gone.

And Izuku wasn’t sure if he had ever actually been there at all.

***

It’s a Saturday, and Izuku is tired.

Having missed out on most of last night’s sleep in favor of turning his thoughts over and over in search of an answer to the impossible question that was Bakugou Katsuki, he couldn’t even bring himself to be excited for the free weekend he was facing. His mother had offered to take Eri for a couple days, having noticed the sudden change in his demeanor.

She hadn’t asked what had been the cause, but he was certain that the lacking mention of ‘Kacchan’ would have been enough of a hint for her.

He knows that she’ll break her silence on the topic eventually, but he prays it isn’t anytime soon.

Sighly loudly, Izuku drops down onto Eri’s bed as she starts to go through her clothes to find what she wants to take with her to her grandmother’s. Rubbing a hand over his eyes, he loses himself to the white pops of light that spark along his eyelids from the pressure.

After several seconds, he finally resurfaces, vision fuzzy as he settles it straight ahead of him. It’s then that his gaze catches on the frame that sits on her nightstand, the brightly colored trio trapped within its confines looking up at him. They almost look mocking now, with their smiles filled with a knowing that he didn’t seem to have. A sudden rush of anger jolts through him, dancing along his nerves as he continues to stare down the drawing, as if it might hold some kind of answers.

It doesn’t, he knows that, but it almost helps as he continues to glare at the frame.

Tracking his eyes across the steady lines of Bakugou’s drawing, he almost scoffs at the drawn version of himself. His smile was wide, drawn on by the blonde on the other side of Eri, and what had it gotten him.

He resists the urge to roll his eyes when his mind supplies a hushed answer— a broken heart— and continues his inspection of the drawing until he finds himself drawn to the words that sit at the corner of the frame.

From your best friend, Katsuki, it says in bold strokes. The sureness of the words bite at Izuku’s thoughts, ripping and tearing until they turn into another memory from that night.

Inhaling sharply, Izuku turns to look at Eri.

Her voice is light and childish as she sings a small, nonsensical tune to herself. It’s a happy little soundtrack as she shoves her hands deeper into her dresser in search, effectively ruining all the folding he’d done. It hits him then, as his mind spins wild as a tempest around the memory of her birthday party, and whispers that hadn’t been meant for him.

“Eri?” Izuku hears himself say before he even realizes his decision to speak. It causes her to look up from the task at hand, her eyes bright with curiosity.

“Yeah, Daddy Izuku?” She asks, her hand fisted around bright yellow fabric.

“What did Kacchan tell you?” He asks cautiously, watching her closely. “When he gave you your birthday present?”

The hush that fills the room fills him with instant regret over the question, his thoughts desperately searching for a way to take it back as he remembers the look of sorrow that had painted her features that night. A lump, thick and heavy, forms at the base of his throat. It chokes him as he tries to swallow it down and tell her to forget about it.

Izuku’s throat aches as he tries to say anything else at all when Eri comes to sit next to him on the bed. Folding her hands in her lap, her head hangs as she stares down at them. She kicks her legs, one at a time, letting her heels hit the boxspring in a rhythmic cadence before she finely speaks.

“He said that his work here was done, and that he had to go help another kid be happy,” Eri says, her voice almost a whisper. There’s another heavy pause before she turns her face upward, a small smile curving her lips.

“He said I’d always be his favorite though.”

Her words feel like a sudden punch, one that would have knocked the breath from his lungs if he hadn’t already been struggling to breathe. Before him, Eri looks solemn, but also happy. Its a bittersweet thing, and that almost hurts more than anything else, and for just a moment, he thinks he hates Bakugou.

If his job had been to make Eri happy, than what had that left him as? Collateral damage?

The thought is gone almost as soon as it had come, brushed away with the lingering whisper of I love you.

“I wish I understood what that means,” he whispers, more to himself than anything.

“He was my imaginary friend,” Eri replies anyway, shrugging as it it wasn’t an absurd thing to say. As if it wasn’t something magical, and impossible.

“Now he’s someone else’s.”

It’s the final confirmation, and it knocks loose the remaining shrapnel that had filled his chest the day before. A small choking sound heaves itself from his lips as he pulls Eri into his arms, hugging her close.

Nothing about what she had said should have made sense, yet something told him it was true. For all the impossibility, he couldn’t doubt that Bakugou had come into their lives and made Eri happier.

Had made him happier.

And if that much had been true, how could he deny anything else.

Bakugou had been Eri’s imaginary friend. But he had been real. Real enough to feel, real enough to love, real enough to piece their small family together into something whole. Before him, Izuku had been floundering, lost in to the vast expanse of parenthood and unsure of how to do right by the girl in his arms.

He may have been imaginary, but he’d left a very real mark, and he loved him all the more for it.

And that hurt.

Eri’s arms squeezed tighter at his shoulders.

“I love you,” she whispers into his shoulder.

“I love you too, Eri,” Izuku returns, turning his face into her hair and giving her crown a kiss. “So, so much.”

Giving her another squeeze, he finally manages to swallow down the last of the burning ember in his throat, pushing it down to the center of his chest to smolder. Gently, he pulls back, looking down at his daughter with a small smile.

“I think we need a change of plans,” he says conspiratorially. Eri tilts her head in silent question as he gently lifts her off his lap and sets her on her feet before him.

“You put on your most favorite dress, and we’re going to go out. Just the two of us,” Izuku says, the ache in his chest growing mute in the face of her growing smile. “And I’ll let your grandma know we’ll see her later.”

Her eyes shine with her excitement as she nods, turning back to her dresser as she says,  “okay, Daddy Izuku!”

Watching just long enough to see her pull the bright yellow dress fully from the drawer, Izuku pushes himself off the bed. With a small stretch that pops a couple of vertebrae in his back, he makes his way out of the room to find his phone, doing his best to ignore the residual ache clinging to his sternum.

A/N: I give up making promises about being better about posting, because it seems when I do, work takes it as a personal challenge to fill up ALL OF MY TIME. for real though im so sorry there were points when i was going weeks without a day off TToTT I DO promise this is getting finished though. Anyway, here’s another longer update that will hopefully make up for the wait. 

Also, consider this your NSFW warning.

********************

Izuku watches Bakugou closely as he smiles at Eri from where he’s kneeling before her and letting her try to fix a party hat over his unruly hair. It was almost a week since they had done, well, that, and he’d woken up confused and alone after what could qualify as one of the best nights of his life.

And it had hurt, in a way he hadn’t known something could hurt.

But then Bakugou had returned the next day, just as he had said in his note, and it he was almost inseparable from them since. Eri’s birthday invitation had evolved into more of an enlistment as Bakugou had found himself a prime part of the party planning, assisting the entire time in finding the perfect decorations, planning the perfect cake, and helping Eri with whatever various ideas she had that Izuku would catch them whispering excitedly about.

Yet, even with his constant presence in their house, it still felt like something was missing. Like Bakugou was more subdued, lost in observation in a way that made Izuku feel seen. Almost painfully so.

More often than not, he’d feel the weighted, burning gaze on his skin and when he’d turn to meet it, he’d instead find himself pinned beneath the scorching gaze with any biting retorts dying on his tongue.

It was strange, that was for certain, and it left him feeling like he hadn’t been let in on some kind of joke.

He’d often find himself wanting to ask about it. Dig deep into the meaning behind Bakugou’s sudden quiet, but every time he did, he would find himself cut off by a tempered smile, a softened comment, or his favorite, a sudden press of lips.

Izuku had finally written it off as equal parts stress working on Eri’s birthday party, keeping up with work, and the sudden realization that he had someone.

A person.

His person.

But the creeping feeling never left him, even now as he watches Bakugou’s head drop back with his loud laughter, causing the hat to fall helplessly from his head and Eri to cross her arms in mock frustration.

“Kacchan!” Eri admonishes as she reaches for the army of pointed birthday hats that line the table. Grabbing another one that matches the first, she fixes Bakugou with an expectant pout.

“Alright, alright, squirt,” he says, hands held up in surrender. “Let me see that, only a pro can defeat this hair.”

Gently taking the new hat from Eri’s hands, he stretches the elastic band to its limit before pulling it over his head with an exaggerated motion. Wiggling his head side to side as if testing its fit before he let the band snap loudly under his chin. His wince earns him a small giggle as he holds his hands out in a cheery tada motion.

“Am I party ready?” Bakugou asks, face serious as he watches her. Eri’s nose scrunched up in thought as she brought her small hand up to her chin and gave it a couple taps. Finally, after a brief moment, she shakes her head.

“No, I think you’re still missing something,” she replies, equally serious. Izuku bites down on his laughter at Bakugou’s confused look.

“Oh yeah? And what would that be?” He asks curiously. Her gaze flicks toward where Izuku stands, her smile growing wider before she looks back at the man before her.

“Your party buddy!” Eri says excitedly. Izuku watches as Bakugou’s shoulders tense ever so slightly. His shoulders stay rigid for only a moment, easing out almost as quickly as they’d stiffened, and for a second Izuku thinks he must have imagined it.

If he didn’t, Bakugou never lets the sudden anxiety reach his eyes as he returns Eri’s smile.

“But I’ve got my party buddy right here!” Bakugou says loudly, scooping her up into his arms and standing to give her a quick spin. Laughing loudly, Eri throws her arms around his neck to hug him.

“No, Kacchan!” She exclaims brightly, smacking at his shoulder blade until he stops their spinning so that they’re facing toward Izuku. Looking up from the young girl in his arms, Bakugou finally looks at him, that same tempered stare that he’s grown used to turning that gaze into twin embers.

Izuku can feel the heat of it in the middle of his chest, and it takes everything in him to stop from rubbing at the burning spot above his heart.

“Not me, Daddy Izuku!” Eri cheers, pointing towards him. Time seems to lapse as Bakugou’s grin turns sharp and hungry, wolfish in a way that strikes a shudder running down his back like a lit charge. Eyes flicking between Eri and Izuku once more, he stage whispers:

“Daddy Izuku can’t be my party buddy, he doesn’t have a hat.”

Eri’s gasp is a sharp punch of air as she struggles in Bakugou’s hold. His own laugh is a low rumble as he lets her down, coaxing the stir in Izuku’s chest as he shoots him another look.

“He’s right! Where is your hat!” Eri cries sternly, marching over with a bright multicolored paper cone in her hands.

“I was just waiting my turn!” Izuku replies, fake hurt coloring his tone as he tears his gaze away from Bakugou to look down at her. With her hair shining bright from the sunlight tangled in its silver, and the dusty pink brushed on her cheeks from her laughter, he feels an almost painful ache rock through him. She was another year older, and he almost couldn’t wrap his mind around the fact that that much time had already passed.

“Well now it’s your turn,” she says matter-of-factly, breaking him from his momentary reverie as she taps on his leg. Taking the hint, Izuku kneels in front of her, fixing her with a smile as she pulls the band of the hat long like Bakugou had. Humming lowly to herself, she pushes the hat onto his head.

Even without looking, he knows that it’s lopsided.

“How do I look?” He asks, aiming his question to her but flicking his gaze up to Bakugou.

Izuku watches the way he swallows thickly before he gives him a quick tilt of his chin.

“You and Kacchan match,” Eri states proudly. “Now you guys can be party buddies.”

Chuckling low, Izuku ruffles her hair before he stands as Eri runs to a further table and starts to fiddle with some of the decorations.

A soft hush and a gentle breeze falls over the backyard as they both watch Eri in the comfortable quiet before Bakugou finally comes closer.

“Party buddy, huh?” Bakugou says lowly. He’s stopped beside him, but Izuku swears he can feel the heated brush of his words on his nape. “Haven’t heard it called that before.”

“Oh?” Izuku breathes, taking a moment to let the shudder rock along his nerves. After it settles out into his blood, he arches a brow and turns toward Bakugou. He’s not as close as he’d imagined, but close enough for him to see the different arcs of color trapped in the blonde’s eyes.

“And what would you call it?”

The question causes Bakugou pause, and the same searching look comes over him as he returns Izuku’s gaze. It looks almost like sorrow, and Izuku feels a sharpness twist between his ribs as he lifts a hand to reach out to the man before him.

In the same moment, Bakugou opens his mouth, his name just on the tip of his tongue when the doorbell rings.

“I guess I should get that,” Izuku says before he can really think it over, not missing the way Bakugou’s brows pull together. Turning over his shoulder to answer the door, he jumps slightly at the sudden heat of a hand catching his own. With a jerk, he finds himself pulled back.

Lips meet his in a momentary heated press, shocking a small gasp from him that Bakugou swallows down before he pulls away. It was brief, and chaste, yet Izuku still feels the slight daze that leave his mouth slightly parted.

“What was that for?” He asks breathlessly.

“Just because I could, Deku” Bakugou says with a short retort and a shrug, dropping Izuku’s hand as the doorbell rings again. Keeping his gaze set on Izuku’s face as if trying to memorize it, he tilts his chin toward the door.

“I guess you should get that.”

He should, but he doesn’t want to. The creeping sense that Izuku has felt the entire week is back again, stalking around them like a hungry predator and it raises the hair at the back of his neck. Pushing back against the feeling, Izuku nods, turning on his heel to head to the door.

The entire way he feels the weight of a burning stare pressed between his shoulders.

***

Izuku stands to the side by the fence, his back pressed against the wood as he watches the party before him. He isn’t sure they’ve ever actually spoken with this many people in his lifetime, let alone had that many in his backyard, and he finds himself slightly spent.

Needing a moment away from playing host, he had settled himself off to the side, just out of the way enough that he can avoid anymore conversation, but can easily watch over things. Mostly, so that he can watch Bakugou and Eri.

He can hear her happy laughter from where he stands, both of their smiles drawing a bright one across his own face. Tucking it nearly into the rim of his drink, he takes a long sip of his punch.

As he does, a warm presence sidles up next to him, heating his side as he emerges from his cup.

“So do I finally get to meet this mystery man that has become the apple of my granddaughter and son’s eyes?” His mother’s voice is teasing as she bumps his hip with her own. Or, tries to. She gets more of his thigh than his hip, a fact that has him swallowing a small laugh.

Turning his attention toward her, Izuku playfully rolls his eyes.

“Still trying to stick your nose in my business, huh?” He teases back, fixing his mother with a bright smile.

“Izuku,” she gasps, feigning shock as she reaches up to throw an arm around his shoulders and drag him down to her level. He goes easily, watching as she makes a show of looking around before turning back to him.

“I brought you into this world, and I can still take you out of it,” she continues, the mock threat heavy in her voice before she loses her composure and laughs. Unable to help himself, Izuku joins in as he gives her a quick peck on the cheek before pulling away.

“Alright, alright! As a matter of fact, he’s right over there,” he acquiesces, nodding toward where Bakugou had been playing with Eri just moments ago, only to find that he’s no longer there. Eyes widening slightly, he scans the backyard for the bright flash of blonde hair anywhere.

“Are you going to try and pass him off as an imaginary friend now, too?” His mom chuckles.

“He must have run to get something,” Izuku explains, shaking off the hush of numbness feathering at the center of his chest. It’s edged with the bright spark of panic, and he swallows down the sudden urge to go in search of the man.

Lost to his thoughts, he misses the way his mother nods along.

“Eri said he’s been here helping you out with everything this week,” she prods. Izuku hides behind another sip of his drink before he resurfaces with a nod.

“Yep,” he replies, popping the ‘p’ as he continues to trace his gaze over the crowded yard. That very same creeping feeling is spreading out along his shoulders, stealing his attention from his mother.

“Well, I’m looking forward to finally meeting him,” she says, eyes lighting as she catches the eye of one of her neighbors. With a quick wave, she looks up to Izuku, worry creasing her brow.

“Make sure to grab me when he resurfaces?” His mother urges, waiting just long enough to confirm her son’s preoccupation. Huffing lowly, she shakes her head and turns to head toward her friend.

“Yeah,” Izuku says, moments to late as his eyes finally catches on a familiar figure. Bakugou is back with Eri, his posture mirroring Izuku’s as he leans back against the fence, watching her play with some of the neighborhood kids. Lips quirking up in a secretive smile, he looks at ease in a way Izuku hasn’t seen before.

It looks good on him, he thinks.

It’s then that Bakugou’s gaze shifts, catching Izuku’s gaze from across the yard. His smile grows wider as he winks.

Mouth going dry, Izuku throws back the last of his drink.

***

Stars punctuate the dark night sky above them as Izuku pushes the last of the paper plates deep into the trash bag Bakugou is holding open for him. The party had gone one without a hitch, leaving him tired but satisfied, even if it had also left a plethora of disposable dish ware to clear up.

Though, he’d be a liar if he said having Bakugou around hadn’t made the clean up go far easier than it would have had he been alone. Izuku smiles up toward the blonde, not entirely unaware of the fact that his gaze hasn’t left him for the majority of the party. His stare had been gnawing at his senses the entire time, sending a thrill through him every time he’d caught it from across the yard.

“You have anything else, Eri?” Izuku asks, tearing his attention away to look towards where the young girl sits on the patio. She shakes her head slowly as she yawns for the umpteenth time.

It causes his to chuckle lowly as he gives a small shake of his own head.

“Thanks,” he says to Bakugou, taking the trash bag from his hold.

“Anytime, Deku,” he replies with a small shrug, as if helping with a kids birthday party was something he did on the regular. Though, Izuku supposes he just might given his line of work.

Making quick work of the trash tie, he turns attention back to Eri.

“Alright, it’s time to tell Kacchan goodnight,” he says, blanketing his voice with a thin layer of authority. This causes her to perk up slightly as her eyes widen, her stare jumping between Bakugou and Izuku.

“But he hasn’t given me his present yet!” Eri says, voice lit with accusation as her stare finally stops on Bakugou.

“Eri,” Izuku admonishes at the same time as Bakugou snaps his fingers. The sound is crisp and bright, cutting through the otherwise quiet night.

“I knew I was forgetting something,” he says with feigned shock, earning himself a pout before he leaves the two Midoriyas to go back into the house. It’s only a few moments before Bakugou exits the house once more, kneeling down several feet away and ushering Eri toward him as he keeps something hidden behind his back.

Confusion tickles at the back of Izuku’s throat as he watches Eri hop up and run over to him, their position just far enough that he can barely hear them.

He stays where he is though, as he watches Bakugou pull a small wooden frame from behind his back. Holding it out to her, he says something that Izuku doesn’t catch.

Eri reaches for the frame slowly, looking down at it for a moment before she throws her arms around his shoulders. Bakugou’s arms circle around her waist as he says something at her ear. Izuku can’t hear it, but he doesn’t miss the way Eri seems to hug him just a bit tighter before pressing a kiss to his cheek.

A staticky feeling rips through the center of Izuku’s chest as he finally moves towards them, reaching them right as they break apart.

“What’d Kacchan get you?” He asks, gaze shifting between the two. There’s a heavy quiet between them as Bakugou keeps his eyes turned down. Eri sniffles slightly, rubbing a hand at her nose before she looks up at him and smiles.

“Look!” She says brightly, holding the frame up to Izuku.  “It’s us!”

The staticky feeling only seems to blossom further as he traces the bright lines of the drawing in the frame. It’s a scene of the three of them, Izuku on the left, Eri in the middle, and Bakugou on the right, all holding hands with large cartoonish smiles.

And in the corner, in Bakugou’s scrawling handwriting, a small note that says: From your best friend, Katsuki.

“Did you tell him thank you?” He asks, trying to ignore the way his voice is almost breathless as he keeps his eyes trained on the drawing.

Eri makes a small sound of affirmation before she hugs the frame to her chest and whispers, “it’s my favorite, Kacchan.”

“You’re my favorite,” Bakugou laughs as he taps her on the nose, earning him a small giggle in return. The sound turns into a yawn as Izuku ruffles her hair.

“Alright, time to tell him goodnight for real this time,” Izuku says, still looking between the two as if he can decipher the odd air that has wrapped itself around them. Eri gives a quick nod before she gives another sniffle.

“Goodnight, Kacchan,” she says, her voice slightly watery.

“Goodnight, squirt,” Bakugou returns. It’s weighted like a goodbye, and the static opens into a gaping maw, tearing through his chest as he watches Eri head into the house, the frame still held tightly to her chest.

Turning a questioning gaze to the blonde, Bakugou just shrugs, his stare returned to its normal, heated crimson.

Nodding in silent reply, Izuku quietly assures that he’ll be right back before he follows Eri upstairs. She’s made quick work of brushing her teeth and getting into bed, her eyelids already drooping as Izuku finally pushes his way into her room. He can’t help the upward twitch of his lips as he sees the drawing tucked in beside her.

“It is a pretty great gift, huh?” He says, not expecting much of an answer as he picks the frame up and sets it on her nighstand.

Eri hums a tiny sound of acknowledgement anyway, her eyes closed as Izuku leans down to press a kiss to her forehead.

“Goodnight,” he whispers lowly, turning away from the bed and flicking off the light. It isn’t until he’s almost closed her door that he hears her speak.

“Daddy Izuku?” She asks, her voice lost in the darkness. It wiggles between the gaps in his ribs, feeding the off-putting static that tickles the back of his sternum.

“Yeah?” He says, pausing at the door to wait for her reply. Met by another long pause of silence, he steps back to leave once more when Eri finally replies.

“Can you tell Kacchan goodbye for me?” Her voice is filled with a quiet, urgent pleading. As if she needed him to relay her message, instead of just mere want.

“Yeah,” Izuku replies back earnestly, his heart stuttering around a pain he isn’t sure how to place. “Yeah, I think I can do that.”

There’s a sniffle in the darkness.

“Goodnight, Daddy Izuku,” Eri says lowly. Her voice is impossibly small, and it takes everything in him to not go back in and wrap her into his arms. He’s certain he’s letting his own emotions get the better of him.

“Goodnight, Eri,” Izuku returns, closing the door with an almost imperceptible click. Making his way back downstairs, he finds Bakugou waiting for him in the living room with his hands shoved deep into his pockets. The pose pushes his shoulders up around his ears, and for a moment, he almost looks bashful.

It would be funny if Izuku couldn’t taste the bitter taste of something off at the back of his throat.

Opening his mouth to ask if he knows what’s going on, he never gets the words out at Bakugou cuts him off.

“You put on some party for a nerd,” he says. The compliment fills Izuku’s cheeks with heat as he finds his mouth turning up around a small curl of a smile.

“It’s all thanks to you,” he returns, swallowing down his curiosity in exchange for the earnest words. They’re almost too sweet, even on the tip of his own tongue, but he can’t bring himself to care.

He means it.

The party, Eri’s happiness, his own, it’s all thanks to Bakugou.

A rush of emotions swirl like a tempest across Bakugou’s gaze as he flushes, his mouth turning down in a slight frown in a vast juxtaposition to his blush. He takes two strides towards Izuku, closing the distance that stands between them.

“Just take the damn compliment,” he says, raising a hand to run his touch over the crest of Izuku’s cheek. It’s almost like he captures the fire that has heated the skin along his fingertips, using it instead to connect the freckles that dot his skin. A small gasp parts Izuku’s lips as he looks up at the blonde.

Bakugou’s gaze flicks back and forth across Izuku’s own, a silent question buried deep within it as he searches for an answer. He seems to find it as he leans down, capturing Izuku’s lips with his own.

The kiss is a match, sparking to life with the slide of their lips.

It catches in Izuku’s veins, lighting him up like a fuse, and it consumes him. Moaning, he chases after the searing flare, deepening the kiss as he presses himself into the firm line of Bakugou’s form. His hands burn like brands as they trace down Izuku’s back, following the curve of his ass downward until they find a home at his thighs.

With a quick tug, he lifts him up, holding him firmly against him as Izuku wraps his legs around his waist and grinds down into him.

Swallowing down the hungry sound that rips itself from Bakugou’s throat, he smiles as he continues to chase the flame, all his questions suddenly forgotten as he gets lost in the burn.

Barely aware of their movement, Izuku doesn’t realize they’ve made it to his bedroom until Bakugou sits on the edge of the bed. Keeping him firmly pressed in his lap, Bakugou finally pulls away, his breath heavy as he looks up at him.

Those very same flames that Izuku is trying to reach flickers in the depths of his stare as he slides his hands up from his thighs and toward the hem of his shirt. As Bakugou’s fingers flutter gently across the skin there, Izuku can feel the tiny sparks popping through his nerve endings like cherry bombs.

Biting down on his bottom lip, he watches Bakugou with half lidded eyes as he starts to slowly push the fabric up over his chest. Bakugou’s own gaze is almost suffocating as he keeps it pressed heavily against him, not breaking his stare until he pulls the shirt over his head.

In the momentary blindness, Izuku feels the fluttering touch of a kiss right at his heart.

“Katsuki,” he breathes as the shirt falls to the ground behind him with a gentle hush.

“Mmm,” Bakugou hums, skimming his nose against his skin, he draws a line of goosebumps across his pec.

Izuku’s back arches, pushing him closer into his touch as Bakugou catches his nipple between his teeth before he pulls back. A gentle throb radiates over his heart as the blonde looks up at him once more, only this time his pupils are blown dark and wide with the depth of his need.

Losing himself to the pitch black tempering his stare, Izuku can’t help but capture his lips again as he twists his fingers into the hair at Bakugou’s nape.

Grinding down into him, Izuku mewls at the feeling of his fingers tightening at his waist.

“Izuku,” Bakugou hushes, breathing his name between them like a secret as he pulls away. It causes Izuku pause as he rests his forehead against his, his chest heaving around his gasping breath as he waits for what Bakugou has to say. It’s a quiet moment of indecision before Bakugou lets out a shaky breath and reaches behind his head to remove his own shirt.

His lips find Izuku’s once more with a slick, heated press as Bakugou flips them and gently pushes him back into his pillow. Fingers make quick work of his jeans, pushing them off his legs with deft movements before they’re discarded to the floor.

Sitting back on his haunches, Bakugou looks down on Izuku with a look of simmering admiration that settles itself low and heavy in his gut.

“You’re beautiful,” he breathes. It’s a quiet admittance, one said so low that Izuku thinks he’s misheard it until he sees the bright red that colors the bridge of Bakugou’s nose. The admission takes him off guard, sending his nerves further alight as the only response he can think to give it to reach out toward the man before him. Izuku’s palm cups his cheek, fully intending to pull him back in, but instead he’s met by the gentle press of Bakugou’s lips at his palm.

The fluttering pressure stalls his breath, trapping it at the base of his throat as he traces his gaze across the pretty picture that Bakugou strikes before him.

Beautiful, his mind echoes before the sharp pinch of teeth on his palm shakes him of the thought.

An embarrassingly high squeak pops itself free from his teeth as he jump, his mouth turning down in a playful scowl. It earns him a wink before Bakugou settles himself between Izuku’s legs and swallows him down without preamble.

The sudden heat is searing as he throws his head back, mouth opening wide around a moan as he feels himself hit the back of Bakugou’s throat. Legs closing around his shoulders, Izuku is all too aware of the soft brush of hair between his thighs as Bakugou bobs his head up and and down over his length.

Izuku grips tightly at his sheets, fearing he might rip them as he feels Bakugou’s burning palms trace up the backs of his thighs.

Bakugou gives a sharp squeeze that pulls Izuku’s attention back towards him just in time to watch as he licks a lewd stripe from his base to his tip. It forces another deep moan from deep in his chest as he feels his lashes flutter at the sensation, the movement almost causing him to miss the way Bakugou flicks his gaze toward the nigh stand.

Swallowing down another gasping mewl, he answers the silent request by reaching into the drawer and pulling out a small bottle.

Handing it over blindly, Izuku falls back into the pillow, throwing his arm over his eyes in a vain attempt to settle his breathing as the burning heat of Bakugou’s mouth returns between his legs.

“Katsuki,” he starts, only to be stopped once more as he feels his tongue roll against him. “Katsuki, I’m not going to make it.”

Moving lithe and quick, Izuku barely registers Bakugou sudden ascent until he feels his mouth pressed hot against his ear.

“Hang in there for me, won’t you, Izuku?” He hushes as his slick fingers trace around his entrance, enticingly slow. Izuku swallows another harsh moan, biting into the full of his lip to keep it trapped.

“You can hold on for me, can’t you, baby?” Bakugou continues, voice going gruff over the pet name as he rolls his unclothed hips against Izuku’s. The sliding friction of their lengths against one another almost sends him over the edge as Bakugou gently presses a finger in.

“I can’t,” Izuku whispers, eyes still clenched shut and pressed against the crook of his elbow.

“I can’t, I can’t, I can’t,” he mewls as Bakugou slows works him open. It’s treacherous and delightful, slow in a way that’s picking him apart in the most pleasant form of torture Izuku has ever known. The pace of it leaves him all too aware of the different point where their bodies meet and he thinks he’s going to combust.

The last time had been like a spark to gasoline, but this, this was a much slower burn. One that oozed slowly like magma through his veins, destroying everything in its path so languidly, he hadn’t even realized everything he was had already caught fire until he felt like he’d just turn to ash.

It’s almost like Bakugou is trying to burn himself into his skin.

A hand slowly brushes along the line of his arm, razing the skin in its wake before it gently pushes Izuku’s arm away from his face.

Blinking his eyes open, he’s met by Bakugou’s gaze and it cuts through him in a way that hurts. The sudden realization that Izuku doesn’t want Bakugou to be anywhere else steals his breath, leaving him dizzy as he tries to imagine returning to the life that they had once known.

He doesn’t understand where the intrusive thought comes from as it worms its barbs between his ribs, filling his chest with a sharp pain as he thinks about how much the blonde had done for him and his family, and he wants nothing more than to hold Bakugou close and never let him go.

A hand cradles Izuku’s face, pushing back the invasive concern as Bakugou’s thumb brushes along his cheek and collects the tear he hadn’t realized he’d shed.

“You can,” he affirms, leaning in slowly to catch his lips once more with a simmering kiss as he pulls his fingers from inside him.

It’s reaches deep, and feels wholly different from any other kiss they’ve shared before. As if Bakugou is trying to convey something he could never say aloud.

Doesn’t want to say aloud.

Izuku reaches up and wraps his arms around his shoulders to hold him close to his chest, reveling in the feeling of their hearts beating in time. Opening up into the kiss, he breathes a startled huff between them as Bakugou uses his hold to flip them.

His confusion at the sudden change only lasts for the breadth of a moment before Bakugou pushes up into him. The slow slide runs an even slower shiver up Izuku’s spine.

Breaking the kiss, he places a palm over Bakugou’s heart, noting distantly that its thrum is like a hummingbird’s as he uses it to press back into him until he’s fully sheathed. The heat pitches higher in his veins as he gives an experimental roll of his hips, earning a low moan from the man beneath him.

Another thrill shoots through him, electrifying his blood as Bakugou’s hands circle his hips and hold him in place as he looks up at him reverently.

“Beautiful,” he breathes again, and Izuku feels it break something free from deep within his chest. Grinding down into him with more fervor, he traces his hands along Bakugou’s forearms, following their path up to his wrists before he slowly pulls them away from his hips.

Twisting their fingers together, Izuku presses their joined hands down on either side of Bakugou’s head as he gives another sinuous roll against him, meeting each of his thrusts with his own.

They push against each other, meeting like the shore and the tide as their panting breath mingles in what little space still lays between them.

“Katsuki,” Izuku whispers against his lips before he chases the name and seals it against his skin. Bakugou’s hold grows tighter on his hand as he hums, pressing up into him and catching against the exact spot that makes him see stars.

It punches the breath out of him, the taste of his whines turned saccharine as he presses them to Bakugou’s mouth.

“Katsuki,” Izuku tries again, the pace of his flexuous thrusts quickening as Bakugou hammers continuously into that same spot. With each push, the heat in his stomach grows, and he fears the words he longs to say will turn to ash on his tongue before he can push them through the gap between his teeth.

Pulling away just enough to see the vast expanse of Bakugou’s deep stare, Izuku’s eyelashes flutter from the press of another well placed thrust.

“I love you.”

It’s what Izuku wants to say.

Only, he wasn’t the one who said it.

Eyes going wide, he pushes back, balancing his weight on one arm as he looks down at Bakugou. He’s watching him, dusting his skin with the gentle hush of his gaze as if he’s committing every one of the emotions flickering across Izuku’s face to memory.

Time feels frozen, only he knows that it can’t possible have stalled, if only because the flames within him continue to build to an unspeakable pitch.

“Say it again,” Izuku hears himself plead, his fingers tightening around the hand that he still holds.

“I love you,” Bakugou replies without hesitation.

A small sob falls from Izuku’s lips as his vision blurs, turning the already dark room darker as he feels himself flipped. Pushed down once more into his pillow, Bakugou’s heat is everywhere.

He is everywhere.

He’s at his mouth, between his legs, and in his heart. He’s pressing himself into Izuku’s bloodstream as he hammers into him, as if he wants him to commit this very same moment to memory as well. Clutching at his shoulders, Izuku can feel the burning tracks of his tears along his cheeks as Bakugou’s name falls from his lips over and over like a quiet prayer.

It all comes to a head with the sudden bright implosion at his core, burning away everything as his release pants the space between them. Bakugou’s low, fevered moan is an answer to his own as he comes within him.

They lay there, frozen for some time in a suspended moment of afterglow that leaves Izuku feeling weightless, as if he isn’t even present in his body anymore. He’s barely even aware of Bakugou’s lips as they brush across his cheek, disrupting the tear track that has marked his skin.

As Bakugou gently pulls away, Izuku makes a small sound of protest.

“I’m just going to clean up,” he thinks he hears Bakugou say as his mind continues to drift, leaving his boneless form to be tended to. Lost to the gentle tide of the lingering iridescence shimmering through his veins, he thinks he feels the soft brush of a warm cloth along his skin.

It only serves to lull him further into his lucid state, and the dream that waits for him glows like the same warmth buzzing through him. There, he sees Bakugou, watching him closely from where he lays beside him.

Izuku hums to himself as he feels the man in his dream brush the hair from his eyes.

“Izuku,” Bakugou whispers gently, letting his caress trace back and forth along his temple. The lingering touch sendings tiny aftershocks through his system.

“Katsuki,” he whispers back, his name turned into a soft purr as he presses into his pillow. Izuku can almost swear he sees a sort of sadness color dream Bakugou’s eyes, and it fills him with a heavy melancholy. His fingers twitch slightly as he thinks about how he wishes he could just reach out to him.

No matter how hard he thinks it, his hand remains where it rests atop the mattress, and for just a moment, he no longer likes this dream.

If it was such a nice dream, Bakugou wouldn’t look so lost.

“I love you too, you know,” Izuku hushes. And it should be the right thing to say, he thinks. Except it doesn’t seem to be as he watches Bakugou’s eyes turn a shade darker. The moment is fleeting as he moves in close to press a kiss to Izuku’s forehead.

He lingers there, and Izuku wants to ask what’s wrong, but his tongue feels heavy in his mouth.

“I’m sorry,” he feels Bakugou say, his breath brushing across his skin.

It’s then that Izuku’s eyes snap open, the sunlight blinding as he finds the space beside him empty and cold.

“Katsuki?” He asks out into the emptiness as the creeping feeling suddenly explodes around him, folding around his shoulders and weighing him down with the heavy weight of dread.

It only takes minutes for him to get out of bed and head downstairs to see that this time, there isn’t a note.

A/N: I’M SO SORRY Y’ALL. I REALLY DON’T HAVE ANY OTHER EXCUSE FOR THE DELAY IN UPDATE OTHER THAN I SUCK AND TIME GOT AWAY FROM ME TToTT I’m gonna promise to do better, especially since time management is on my list of things to be better at for this year of my life. but please bear with me its 29 years of procrastinating we’re working against

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An all consuming warmth slowly drags Katsuki to the very edge of his consciousness, settling him in the soft, hovering glow between wake and sleep. He can’t remember the last time he woke so slowly, so easily. Normally awakened by the sudden cascade of another day jarring him, he almost isn’t certain he hasn’t fallen into another dream as the gentle crest of awareness brushes across his senses.

Humming deep in his throat, he stretches long, enjoying the click and pull of his joints as they pop. A tickle of breath dances across his shoulder as a soft sound to his side shakes through the slow melt of his consciousness. Nails scratch gently at the center of his chest as the hand there twitches with it’s own slow realization of the morning.

Cracking his jaw around a yawn, Katsuki finally lets his eyes flutter open against the pale sunlight. His vision gets lost amongst a forest of green curls that lay fanned out on the pillow beside him.

A shiver dances across his skin with the sudden memory of the night before.

The way Midoriya had looked up at him, with constellations trapped in the evergreen of his stare, and moonlight tangled in his hair.

The way he’d moaned his name, reverent and soft, like something sacred, as he’d etched the very emotion he felt deep into Katsuki’s skin.

The heat of his skin that still lingers on his own, burning him with an inescapable fire that Katsuki wishes would turn him to ash.

It pushes a dangerous feeling through him, tangling it around the spaces of his bones and guts, leaving Katsuki wrapped up in everything that Midoriya is.

Everything that Katsuki could wish and dream and hope to have.

The expanding emotion pushes at the edges of his mouth until he feels a slight smile settle on his lips.

Midoriya’s hand slides slowly from where it’s placed over Katsuki’s heart, leaving a heated trail in its wake as he makes a small, upset sound before pushing his face further into his pillow. He watches in shameless amusement as Midoriya rolls his shoulders, the movement rippling through the muscles of his back. Katsuki thinks of how desperately he wishes to place a kiss right at the top of his spine as Midoriya lets out another low groan.

He thinks he just might, at least, until another small sound catches him off guard.

“Katsuki,” he slurs into the pillow before huffing a small, barely there laugh. Turning to face him, Midoriya opens his eyes. The breath leaves Katsuki’s lungs in a quick breath as he sees the way the morning light turns his eyes impossibly bright.

Quickly connecting the freckles that speckle the bridge of his nose, Katsuki commits the moment to memory, coveting it like a thief.

“Morning,” he gruffs after a long pause, trying his best to ignore the way his voice is tempered. The bite in it is all but erased in the early morning sunlight.

Another moments passes before Midoriya’s brows pull together, leaving his face cast in a shade of confusion.

“Cat got your tongue, nerd?” He laughs, wolf’s grin scrawling across his face. Midoriya ignores him as he pulls his gaze away, turning his body as he looks out toward the room as if in search of something. The silence around them presses in on Katsuki as he watches him cock his head.

“Deku?” He asks, just as Midoriya speaks in a small, confused voice, “Kacchan?”

The cold lick of shock skitters down his spine as he shifts, pressing himself forward until he’s settled in front of Midoriya, ignoring the way his gaze settles just over his shoulder.

“This isn’t funny, I’m right here,” Katuski growls low, praying that it’s just some joke. But he knows. Can already feel the truth as it settles at the center of his chest like a crushing weight.

It’s just like before any of this began. How it was always supposed to be.

He can’t see him.

“Izuku,” Katsuki whispers. It’s vain, he knows, hoping that his name might break whatever terrible curse has rendered him invisible to him once more. He watches as the brightness in Midoriya’s eyes fade as they continue to track back and forth across the room, his shoulders slumping forward as if in an attempt to shrink down into the bed.

An aching chasm splits Katsuki’s sternum as Midoriya sighs. Falling back into his pillow, he trains his gaze upward toward the ceiling.

The corners of Katsuki’s lips twitch downward as he carefully pushes himself off the bed. Grabbing at his clothes that litter the floor, he pulls them on deftly, making quick work of the task before slipping out of the room.

With each step he takes away from the door, Katsuki feels the dark pit at the center of his chest pull wider and wider as he tries not to think of the green eyed man he’d left alone. Balling his hands into fists, he takes the stairs down, doing his best to ignore the lingering memories that cling to them like ghosts.

At the bottom, he turns into the kitchen. Spotting a stray piece of scrap paper and a discarded pen, he quickly jots down a note.

Sorry, Deku.

Forgot I had a work thing, and didn’t want to wake you up.

See you later?

Katsuki is all too aware that that might be a lie, but he has to say it. Needs for Midoriya to believe it to be true.

He needs it to be true.

Swallowing thickly, Katsuki gives it one last look over before scrawling a large K at the bottom. Gently, he leaves it at the center of the counter so it can’t be missed before making his way out of the kitchen.

Pausing at the bottom of the stairs, he looks up them, the void in his chest finally reaching its widest point as he traces the shadows. Unleashing his sigh, Katsuki turns away, and sees himself out.

***

One day Katsuki is going to burn down the solid oak doors of the Administrator’s office, if only so that he can erase their taunting existence from the face of this Earth.

He doesn’t know when they had become such a big part of his life, but now, standing before them once again, he can’t help but feel like their the gates to Hell. It didn’t help that the only reason he was there yet again was the ominous note stuck to his apartment door that stated he needed to report in as soon as he returned.

Nothing good ever followed a sterile note like that.

Katsuki has half a mind to not go in. Just ignore the directive all together and pray to whoever he could get to listen for the best. What could they do to him anyway?

Fire him?

“You going to head in there, or are you going to just have a staring contest with the door?” Mina’s voice is bright from where she sits at the receptionist desk.

She must be filling in for that extra, Katsuki thinks as he rolls his eyes.

“Shut it, Pinky,” he growls, anger bleeding into his voice as he keeps his eyes trained firm on the office doors.

“No can do, Hot Head. As the receptionist for the day, it’s my solemn duty to keep things rolling,” she replies, the laughter in her voice barely disguising the concern nestled between the gaps of her words. “And you, are not rolling.”

Giving another noncommittal growl, he shrugs, not bothering to turn his attention to his friend. Mina means well, she always means well, and for some reason, that only pushes the anger through his veins faster.

“Anything you want to talk about?” She pushes, letting her cheery facade drop as she sighs.

Even if it was something he wanted to talk about, Katsuki knows it wouldn’t do any good. It’s not like he even fully understood what was going on, so how could anyone else help anyway.

The silence seems to be all the answer Mina needs as she makes a small sound at the back of her throat.

“Must have really liked this assignment, huh?” It almost sounds like pity, which stings all the more. Bristling at the understanding sadness, Katsuki keeps his eyes forward as she continues, “we all have that one that’s harder to let go than the rest.”

Leaving and never coming back starts to sound more appealing as the quiet thickens around them.

“Never thought it’d happen to you though,” Mina says lowly, almost as if it’s an afterthought. The statement pushes low laugh between his teeth. It tastes as bitter as it sounds.

“You and me both,” Katsuki replies curtly before finally reaching for the handle. “Now if you’re done playing reception therapist, I’ll be going in now.”

He can only imagine the way she shakes her head as he pushes the door open, her quiet words at his back as he steps through the threshold.

“I’ll be here if you need me, Bakubro.”

His gaze finds Toshinori easily, his bright yellow suit a beacon from where he sits at his desk with his nose pressed deep into a book. Letting the door click quietly shut behind him, Katsuki watches as the Administrator continues to read, seemingly unaware of the new presence in his office.

He looks the same as every other time, forever frozen as this leading figure of the company. Once upon a time, it had been inspiring. Toshinori was a certified hero as far as Best Friends go.

But now, there’s something solemn about the realization.

Katsuki takes a steadying breath as he slides his gaze down toward the desk and the plain folder that sits at its center.

“You aren’t tired of seeing me, yet?” He grumbles by way of introduction. A small smile curls the edges of Toshinori’s mouth upwards as he slowly places a skinny bookmark in the spine of the book, then closes it with a snap.

“Ah, young Bakugou, I wasn’t sure you’d ever walk through that door,” he fires back good-naturedly. Even wrapped in the Administrator’s kind teasing, it still strikes like a knife. Growling low, Katsuki steps further into the office until he’s standing before his desk.

“Why don’t you have a seat?” Toshinori offers, his voice a shade too close to a command as he gestures toward the bean bag chair. Spine stiffening, it sets him closer to the edge as his stare sharpens on the man before him.

“I think I’ll stand, thanks,” Katsuki counters as he folds his arms across his chest, obstinance rolling off him in waves. His mood has soured beyond the point of no return, and all he wants to do is head back to the warmth of the Midoriya household and forget that he doesn’t belong in their world for just a little while longer.

A sudden flash of Midoriya’s jade stare looking through him cuts across his thoughts, turning his blood cold as Toshinori sighs.

Setting his book down on the side of his desk gently, he keeps his gaze down as he trades it for the folder. Katsuki focuses on the way his hands toy with its edge, but never actually opens it.

“Midoriya Eri,” the Administrator hums, keeping his attention down as he bends the corner of the folder back and forth. “Age 4, adopted. Almost a victim of human trafficking. Taken in by the lead police officer on the case. Shy.”

A small spasm rolls across Katsuki’s eyelid as he listens to Toshinori recite the words from memory.

“I know what Eri’s file said,” he cuts in, trying to ignore the quick pace of his heart as it beats its staccato rhythm against the inside of his chest. “Do you want me to finish?”

The tone of his voice causes Toshinori to pause, his thumb frozen at the folder’s edge as he finally looks up. There’s something buried deep in their dark depths, and it turns his gaze sad in a way that punches deep into Katsuki’s stomach.

Tsking loudly, he turns his gaze toward the wall just behind the Administrator’s shoulder.

He can still see her file so clearly in his mind. It hadn’t painted an accurate picture of Eri at all. He hadn’t liked it then, and he certainly doesn’t like it now. Now, he prefers the Eri that he’s come to know. The one with the sunshine smiles and bright laugh.

Another smile he prefers wanders across his mind on the back of a stray thought.

“Concerned she may be a burden on her adopted father,” Katsuki grinds out as he tries to shake the phantom smile from his mind.

“Do you know what her file reads now?” Toshinori asks. The man speaks low and slow, yet it still fills Katsuki with dread as he cuts his stare back toward him, meeting Toshinori’s stare head on.

“No.” The word falls from his lips, heavy and sharp. It’s an answer, but also a command. One that the Administrator ignores are he starts to speak once more.

“Midoriya Eri. Age 4, adopted. Almost a victim of human trafficking. Has a cheery disposition. No longer questions where she belongs.”

“Stop,” he hears himself say.

No, plead.

Katsuki knows what’s coming next. It’s always the same, but it’s never felt like this. Like there’s a black hole deep inside his chest and its sucking away every bit of him, tearing through his flesh and guts and leaving nothing in its wake.

“Status: No longer requires an imaginary friend,” Toshinori says, ignoring him. Gritting his teeth against the throbbing ache, Katsuki balls his fists under his arms, letting his nails cut deep into his palms, if only so that the new biting pain will ground him.

“When?” He asks pointedly, throwing as much vehemence into the single word as he can.

For the first time, in his existence, he finds that he hates the Administrator, and his kind gaze. Hates this job, and hates the never ending loss.

Before the Midoriyas, he’d never noticed it all before. Never quite seen that as an imaginary friend, he was doomed to a life of never moving forward. Frozen at this point, he would never be able to keep any of the people he met in his life.

This job, and everything that he was fated for, was to help other move forward with their own lives.

But who was supposed to help him?

“When?” Katsuki snaps again when Toshinori doesn’t answer quick enough. It charges the room with a brittle sort of unease before the man sighs and places the folder back on his desk.

“Your last day with her is Sunday,” the Administrator says before pushing the folder across the desk and toward him. “Your next charge.”

Ignoring it, Katsuki shakes his head, finally unwinding his arms and slamming his hands down on the desk. The loud boom of his palms cuts sharply through the otherwise quiet room.

“No,” he snarls. “She still needs more time.”

I still need more time.

Toshinori’s gaze turns sorrowful as he gently shakes his head in return.

“I’m sorry, young Bakugou” he says gently, “but you need to tell them goodbye.”

Recoiling as if his words had burnt deep into his skin, Katsuki can’t seem to swallow down the sudden burn of bile at the back of his tongue.

Them.

“You knew,” he manages to push through his teeth. It’s an accusation, bold and heavy as it weighs on his tongue.

“How did you know?” Katsuki continues, voice pitching louder. The Administrator’s pause seems to stretch for a small eternity before he rests his elbows atop the desk and settles his chin on his hands in thought.

His eyes flash with the overhead lightning as he flicks his gaze up toward him.

“This isn’t the first time an adult has been able to see one of us,” Toshinori says, not acknowledging the lack of shock on Katsuki’s face at the admission. Giving a small nod at the revelation, he puts more weight onto his elbows.

“I was close friends with Shimura Nana,” he starts to explain before cutting himself off with a small, huffed laugh and a short shake of his head. “We were best friends. But a week into her last assignment, her charge’s father acknowledged her.”

He already know how that file reads too.

“The friendship was terminated,” Katuski finishes, watching close as the Administrator just nods.

“A new friend was assigned, and the Administrator in charge of the case moved forward as if nothing happened,” Toshinori adds, even though Katsuki can tell that he knows he already knows.

He can feel it in the way he watches him close. Almost as if imploring him to understand something.

“What happened to her?” Katsuki asks. There hadn’t been any further information in the file about Shimura Nana, and what had happened to her after the strange occurrence. Even after he’d gone back to flip through other files, Katsuki had never found any other mention of Shimura Nana again.

Another stretch of silence rolls between them before the man leans back in his seat, hands falling down to his desk in defeat. His sigh is heavy as he pushes the ignored folder a bit closer toward Katsuki.

“If you wish to continue as you are, you need to tell them goodbye,” is all Toshinori says in answer.

It’s a dismissal, one that forces a sharp snarl from Katsuki’s throat as he snatches the folder. Shoving it underneath his arm, he turns quickly on his heel.

Not bothering to say goodbye to the Administrator, he storms through the doors, a dull satisfaction tickling around the void in his chest at the loud sound of the heavy oak slamming shut behind him.

Ignoring the sound of his name as Mina calls out to him, Katsuki marches angrily to his apartment on autopilot. It isn’t until he finds himself in his darkened entryway that he finally feels a coolness settling over his skin.

With a low growl trapped at the base of his throat, he throws the folder into the darkness of his apartment before throwing his fist into the wall.

A/N: Sooooo. Apologies for going MIA lol I moved last month and even though I told myself I would totally have time to still right, I totally didn’t have time to still write. And then this chapter went from a planned like 2k-ish words to over 6k. Which, I’m hoping makes up for the absence lol 

***HERE’S YOUR WARNING, THIS CHAPTER EARNS THE E RATING.***

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The dull, quick tap of Izuku’s fingers on the table top punctuate the otherwise quiet kitchen as he keeps his eyes fixed on his hand. It’s that awkward downtime that has left him without the ability to do much of anything, but was still far too early to start working on making dinner. In fact, the only thing he probably could do to pass the time would be to clean the kitchen. Again.

For the third time that day.

Sighing loudly, Izuku drops his head down on the table beside his hand. Inviting Bakugou to dinner had been such a good idea at the time, but almost as soon as he’d climbed into his car, he had realized the error he had made. Because ever since, a particularly lively family of butterflies has infested his insides, leaving him a quantified mess of fidgeting hands.

With each passing moment since they’d run into each other at the daycare, he had considered canceling. Considered picking up the phone and telling Bakugou he’d come down with some form of horrifying malaise and that as an officer of the law whose duty it was was to protect the common people, it was his job to not pass the sickness along.

But then he’d remember the way Bakugou’s gaze had pinned him against his car door, the force of it cutting down to the deepest secrets that he kept buried against his bones.

Then, finally, it was Saturday and far too late to make up some excuse.

So now, he was suffering the consequences of his actions, as he tried to swallow down the stray butterfly that was tickling the back of his throat.

Groaning again, Izuku lifts his head just enough so he can drop it back down with a dull thump.

“Daddy Izuku?” Eri’s voice is a shade of concerned that forces his head to snap up to attention. He doesn’t miss the way her eyes zero in on the inevitable red spot at the center of his forehead, or the way her smile grows as she giggles at his expense. Reaching up, he rubs his fingers over his skin where there’s a dull, pulsing throb.

“Did you pick out what movies you’re taking to Grandma’s?” Izuku asks, dropping his hand back to the table as he eyes the way Eri holds her own behind her back, obviously hiding something from his view.

She nods enthusiastically in answer.

“Are you going to show me which ones they are?” He prods, mind flashing back to the one time she’d grabbed a seemingly harmless hero movie that had ended up being an R rated nightmare his mother had yet to let him live down.

“I already packed them!” Eri exclaims, hands still firmly hidden behind her back.

“So then what do you have there?” Izuku asks, tilting his chin toward her. A light pink dusts her cheeks as she looks down to her feet. He watches as she twists her foot shyly.

“Daddy Izuku,” she starts, gaze still turned to her toes, “do you think you could give Kacchan something for me?”

The violent tempest in his gut picks up its speed at the mention of Bakugou’s name as Izuku sits up straighter.

“Of course, Eri. But why don’t you go ahead and give it to him yourself?” He says, ignoring the way curiosity weaves between his own words. The question makes her lift her gaze. Happiness burns bright in her eyes as she gives him a toothy grin.

“Because I think he’d really like it coming from you!” Eri cheers, finally pulling her hands in front of her. Her left fist clenches around a small collection of flowers that Izuku recognizes as the ones growing through the cracks of their fence from their neighbor’s yard, and her right holds a folded piece of paper.

Stomach going turbulent once more, Izuku reaches forward to gently take them both, making a mental note to find a cup of water for the flowers before turning his attention to the paper.

Bright colors decorate the front of the paper, depicting three people, each wearing equally colorful pointed birthday hats. Between the trio is a floating pink cake, and on the ground are several small squares with little bows.

Tucking his thumb into the fold, Izuku opens the paper to see Eri’s childish script.

Can you come to my birthday?

Sucking in a sharp breath, he lets the paper fold back shut as he eyes the drawing once more.

He had already been planning on inviting Bakugou to Eri’s birthday the upcoming Sunday, but something about the drawing sent a sharp spike of excitement ricocheting through his chest. Like this, in the Crayola colored world, they almost looked like they could be a family.

“Yeah,” he breathes, looking up to meet Eri’s expectant stare. “Of course, I’ll give this to him. He’ll love it.”

Gently setting down both the invitation and bouquet, Izuku reaches forward to scoop her up into a hug. Giving her a small squeeze, he smiles into her shoulder as he feels her give him one back.

“Thank you, Daddy Izuku!” She cheers, fingers fisting at the back of his shirt.

The sudden sound of the doorbell makes them both jump. Pulling apart, Izuku taps Eri on the nose as he smiles.

“That must be your grandma, why don’t you go grab your bag?” He says as he stands. Nodding dutifully, Eri skips toward the stairs, her steps thumping loudly as she heads up to her room.

With a small chuckle and shake of his head, Izuku makes his way to the front door. Pulling it open, he finds himself under the full force of his mother’s bright grin.

“Hey, honey,” she says loudly, gaze shifting over his shoulder to quickly scan the hall behind him.

“Hey mom,” Izuku sighs, stepping aside to let her into the entryway before adding, “he isn’t here yet.”

“Hm? Who?” His mom hums, stepping over the threshold as she lets an exaggerated confusion color her tone. Turning over her shoulder, she fixes her all knowing mom smile on him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You really didn’t think I’d have invited him to come at the same time you did, did you?” Izuku teases, shutting the door behind them. As they both settle in the entryway, he watches as his mom crosses her arms over her chest before pinning her big, green gaze on him.

“Izuku, I’m hurt,” she replies, smiling through her pout as he rolls his eyes.

“Do you blame me? Who wants to meet someone’s mom on their first date,” he says. There’s a brief pause before the realization of what he’s said rolls through him. The sharp clack of his teeth snapping shut as his mom’s smile grows.

“I thought it was a thank you dinner?” She presses, eyes sparkling with interest.

“Yes, it is,” Izuku quickly rectifies. “A thank you dinner between friends. Nothing else.”

“If you say so, sweetie,” his mom hums as she reaches out to rub his shoulder. “Just keep an open mind, okay. This boy seems to be pretty good for the both of you.”

“Mom,” Izuku groans, pulling back and dropping his head into his hands to hide the sudden burn across his cheeks.

“I’m just saying, Izuku!” His mom exclaims, leaning in close until he pulls his hand away to meet her stare. Tapping her finger against the center of her his forehead, she laughs lightly.

“Listen to your mother. You and Eri have been so happy the last few weeks, and I think we all know why.”

Brushing her hand away, Izuku sighs again.

“Yeah, yeah, mom. I get it. It’s still not a date.”

“Alright, dear,” she says, sounding completely unconvinced as she turns toward the sound of Eri’s steps on the stairs. They both fall into silence as they watch her hop off the last one, landing loudly as she looks to them both with her ever bright smile.

“Are you ready to have the best sleepover ever?” His mom asks, reaching her hand out to Eri.

“Yeah!” She cries loudly, taking her grandma’s hand. Bouncing in place excitedly, Eri barely spares him a glance as she says, “bye Daddy Izuku!”

“Be good for your Grandma Inko,” Izuku chuckles, ruffling her hair before reaching over her head to open the door. Leaning back against the doorway, he watches as Eri pulls on his mom’s hand.

“She always is,” his mother answers, letting Eri pull her out the door. The pair gets down the front steps before his mom pauses, looking over her shoulder with an almost sinister smile.

“And you be good on your not date,” she says, voice filled with innuendo before she winks.

“Get out of here,” Izuku shoos heat burning his cheeks as his mom turns away to continue down the path toward their front gate.

“Grandma Inko, what’s a not date?” He hears Eri ask. A loud moan escapes his lips as he hears his mother cackle before he shuts the door. Pressing his back to it, he rolls his eyes before looking down at his watch.

Maybe he can get in one more cleaning after all.

***

The rice is in the cooker, the meat and vegetables are marinating in the fridge, and Izuku is already halfway through a glass of wine when the doorbell finally rings again.

Swallowing down the high pitched eek of surprise that threatens to rips itself out of his mouth, Izuku wipes his hands on a kitchen towel before heading to the front door. The wood of it is almost daunting as it stands between him and the man on the other side, and he wonders what the hell he’s doing.

Lost to his thoughts for just a few seconds too long, the doorbell rings again, making him jump slightly before he finally opens the door.

“Thought maybe you were about to stand me up,” Bakugou greets, no real heat to his words as he sweeps his appraising look up and down Izuku’s frame. His own stare takes in all of the blonde, noting the way his button up clings to his just chest and the way his jeans accent his thighs. Even his hair, still set as a calculated disaster, seems to accentuate his face in an entirely different way than normal.

The look strikes a devastating blow to the space to Izuku’s solar plexus as he struggles to catch the breath that was just punched out of him.

“Hi,” he manages in response, mentally making a note to kick himself later for his sudden inability to speak.

Bakugou’s answering laugh is rough, and it raises goosebumps along Izuku’s skin as he hits him with the full brunt of his half cocked smile.

“Hey,” he greets before flicking his gaze over Izuku’s shoulder. “You gonna let me in?”

Swallowing thickly, Izuku just nodes and steps to the side, giving Bakugou enough space to step over the threshold. Taking the opportunity to enter, he casually walks in, keeping close as he flicks his gaze over Izuku once more before he busies himself with taking off his shoes.

Izuku swears he hears the soft huff of a suppressed chuckle as he shuts the door, and it sets fire racing over his cheekbones and turning his skin a violent shade. Without waiting, he walks in ahead of Bakugou, making a beeline for the fridge to grab the meat and vegetables from the fridge. The solid surface of the cool Tupperware in his hands grounds him, giving him something else to focus on other than the fact that his brain is short circuiting.

Be good on your not date, his mom’s voice taunts at the back of his mind.

Not a date, he mentally chides as he lets the fridge door shut loudly.

“Anything I can help with?” Bakugou asks, voice just at his back, making him jump slightly as he tightens his grasp on the Tupperware like it’s a lifeline. Not turning to face him, Izuku shuffles over to the stove and puts a pan on the stovetop.

“Nope,” he replies, popping the ‘p’ as he quickly flicks the burner on.

“You can just pour yourself some wine and sit there and—”

“Look pretty?” Bakugou bites, shit eating grin all too loud in his tone as he cuts Izuku off. Something seizes in his chest, forcing the air out of his lungs for length of three breaths before he grabs for the wooden spatula beside the stove. Turning quickly over his shoulder, Izuku forces himself to breathe.

“Let me do all the work,” he grits, doing his best to sound stern as he points the utensil straight at his tormentor. In response, Bakugou’s smile only grows sharper, more dangerous, as he reaches for the already open wine bottle and empty glass from the kitchen island. Settling down into one of the island stools, he makes careful work of filling the wineglass.

“‘Fraid I’m not that kind of girl, Deku,” he replies, arching a brow as he stares at Izuku and takes a drag of wine. A small hiccuping noise pries itself between Izuku’s teeth as he turns back to the stove. Ignoring the small huff of amusement from behind him, he pulls the lid off the container, upending the contents into the pan. They land with a satisfying sizzle as he places the now empty container on the counter, replacing it in his hand with his wine and swallowing down a big gulp.

It does nothing to sate the nervous yet excited thrum doing laps through his veins.

“So you cook dinner for all of Eri’s friends?” Bakugou asks, focused gaze burning a hole between Izuku’s shoulder blades as he pushes around the meat and veggies so that they cover the pan in an even layer.

“Only the ones I really like,” he mutters without thought as he almost flicks a pepper out of the pan. It isn’t until he’s chased it back into the confines of the metal cookware that he realizes what he’s said.

“I’m flattered then,” Bakugou says, voice molten. Turning a quick glance over his shoulder, Izuku traces the long line of his throat as he takes another sip of wine. He tries not to think too much about the light shade of pink that’s high on Bakugou’s cheeks when he resurfaces from the glass.

“You might not be after dinner,” Izuku says, chasing his own words with a self deprecating laugh as he turns back to the food to give it another stir. “I really only know how to do stir fry.”

A low and warm sound fills the space between them.

“Well than next time, I’ll be the chef,” Bakugou replies.

A shock of lightning strikes at the pit of Izuku’s stomach at the thought of next time.

Turning down the heat, he sets the spatula to the side, turning fully to face the man behind him. Settling his hands on the counter behind him, he leans back against the cool surface.

“Are you asking me on a date, Kacchan?” He teases, hoping that the question doesn’t ring with the burning hope that’s crawling its way up his throat.

“Consider it a thank you dinner,” Bakugou counters, punctuating his sentence with a quick wink.

Lips parting around his small gasp of shock, Izuku turns back toward the food, focusing on stirring the pan’s contents in a sad attempt to lull his rushing heartbeat. Losing himself to the task, its several minutes before he finally flicks the heat off, just in time for the rice cooker to click over to its keep warm function.

“Dinner is served,” he says, aiming the words behind him just in time to see Bakugou peering over his shoulder. His sudden presence sends a shock skittering down his spine, tracing between its knobs until the bright sparks found a home in his gut.

“Smells good,” Bakugou says. The compliment brushes across Izuku’s nape, followed closely by a burning flush.

“Thanks,” he says, moving to the side and offering Bakugou a plate and a rice paddle before adding quickly, “again.”

Rolling his eyes, Bakugou takes them.

“Shut it, Deku, let’s eat,” he snipes, turning to the rice cooker and opening the top. Scooping rice onto his plate, he hands the paddle to Izuku before moving onto the stir fry. Mechanically going through the motions, he follows suit, adding food to his plate almost blindly before moving to the dinner table to take a seat beside the one Bakugou had chosen.

Silence fills the bubble around the table, engulfing them in a comfortable warmth as they both eat. Izuku knows he should probably say something, but there’s a sort of calm that he’s wholly unfamiliar with. It’s a sort of calm that doesn’t beg for words or moments to be something in its own right.

Hidden within its depths, it’s a calm that gives him a glimpse into a future that he could have, one that, up until that very moment, he hadn’t even realized was something that he had maybe wanted.

Izuku had had Eri, and Eri had had Izuku, and until then, he hadn’t realized that maybe they could also have something else.

Someone else.

“What’s that?” Bakugou’s voice cuts through the din of his thoughts, leaving Izuku reeling and grasping from some kind of mental foothold as he searched for the that in which he was talking about.

Following the line of his stare, Izuku sees his attention has settled on the small mug filled with Eri’s handpicked flowers and the invitation beside it. He lets himself linger on the bright art of the trio, searching for a bit of courage amongst the crayon smiles.

“It’s for you, actually,” Izuku says after clearing his throat. Reach out, he carefully grabs the paper and hands it toward Bakugou, breath catching as their fingers brush.

“Eri wanted me to invite you to her birthday,” he continues, squeezing the words around the stalled air in his throat. Bakugou keeps his stare down to the paper, opening it and reading the scrawled words inside. Falling back into the comfortable quiet, Izuku watches as Bakugou’s gaze softens into unabashed, open wonder. A soft shade of pink stains his cheeks, the color making Izuku’s stomach flip as he tries fruitlessly to tear his own stare away.

It was one of the rare moments that Bakugou let his usually hard walls down, revealing one of Izuku’s favorite sights. He watches as Bakugou’s lips gently pull up. It’s such a small movement that Izuku thinks he might not even realize that he’s smiling.

“When’s her birthday?” Bakugou asks, attention never leaving the colorful portrait of the three of them.

“Next Sunday,” Izuku answers quickly. “But if you’re busy you don’t have to. I’m sure she’ll under—”

Bakugou’s quick gaze cuts off his rambling like a sword strike as he finally looks up to him.

“I’ll be there,” he says definitively, holding Izuku’s stare. Captivated by the surety that has turned Bakugou’s stare into something closer to gemstone as opposed to it’s usual magma, Izuku openly watches him.

Tension, thick and heady, rolls out between them. It prickles at his nerves, making him antsy beneath the heavy gaze.

“Okay,” Izuku finally replies with a curt nod, biting at the edge of his smile before turning back to his food.

Shoveling a bit into his mouth, he keeps his attention turned to his plates as Bakugou sets the handmade card down. The near stifling atmosphere doesn’t wane as they both eat in silence. Instead, it continues to grow heavier, more heated, as Izuku tries to steer his mind away from the mesmerizing look that had settled in Bakugou’s eye when he’d seen the invitation.

Finishing up their meals, they both moved toward the kitchen sink, Izuku ready to start washing the dishes before Bakugou quickly hip checked him.

“The cook never cleans the dishes, nerd,” he huffs as if it was the most obvious thing in the world before he snatching the plate from Izuku’s grasp.

The warm, swirling ease of the wine had finally worked its way through his mind and limbs, leaving him inhibited as he reaches for the plate and giving it a tug in an attempt to get it back.

“But I invited you over to thank you,” Izuku huffs, keeping his eyes on the plate and the strong lines of Bakugou’s hands.

They’re very nice hands, he thinks.

“There are no loopholes to this rule,” he replies, pulling the plate free of Izuku’s hands once again. Turning to the sink, Bakugou turns on the water, seemingly putting an end to the discussion.

With a heavy sigh, Izuku leans back into the bend of the counter between the sink and stove, crossing his arms across his chest in displeasure as he watches the way the blonde scrubs at his plate.

“You just gonna stand there and stare at me until I give in?” Bakugou asks without looking up, taking his time to run the sponge back and forth over the porcelain.

“Would that work?” Izuku shoots back. Not expecting any reaction, he startles slightly at the sudden turn of Bakugou’s head as he looks over him, appraising him and his wine pliant words.  As if finding the answer to the question he didn’t ask, he rolls his garnet gaze towards the ceiling before looking back to the sink.

Turning the water back on, he rinses the suds off before pushing the plate in Izuku’s direction. Drops of water plink on the tile between them.

“Fine, I’ll wash, you dry,” he compromises. Staring at the plate between them, Izuku’s holds his breath, unsure of what to say. In all honesty, he hadn’t expected Bakugou to give in so easily, if at all.

Droplets speckled Izuku’s shirt as Bakugou gives the plate an impatient shake that shakes him of his thoughts as he grabs the dish towel and then the plate.

“Deal,” Izuku says with a sharp nod as he begins to wipe the dish dry. With such few plates and utensils between the two of them, the job goes rather quickly with their combined forces, leaving the pan as the solitary dish left.

Picking it up, Izuku hands it over to Bakugou. Gently taking it from his grasp, the blonde sets it into the sink, turning on the water and watching it run before he speaks again.

“Thank you.”

The words are said low, nothing more than a wisp of a breath that Izuku isn’t sure he was supposed to hear them. Eyes snapping up from the blue towel between his hands, he traces his gaze over the sharp lines of Bakugou’s profile, mentally filing away the soft downcast look in his eyes, and the slight downward curve in his lips.

Maybe, if the wine hadn’t loosened his tongue, he would have let it go, allowing Bakugou the chance to pretend he hadn’t said anything at all.

“For what?” Izuku hears himself ask, voice just as breathy. Bakugou doesn’t move, instead keeping his attention turned to the now overflowing pan. He stays that way for so long that Izuku wonders if he’d actually even spoken up.

Then he slowly reaches forward to turn off the faucet before turning to look at him. Eyebrows pulling together as if having an internal debate, Bakugou opens his mouth to say something, pausing for just a moment more before speaking.

“I don’t know.”

Those three words, filled with so much confusion seem to ring with an unsaid truth as Izuku looks up to him, his own lips slightly parted around an unsaid remark.

Time seems to freeze, locking them both in a suspended, momentary breath. Deep within the ruby depths of Bakugou’s gaze, Izuku sees the bright burning flame of desire, and it acts like a spark to gasoline. Heat races like a forest fire through his veins, tearing through him and leaving his breathless as the world slams back down around them.

Izuku isn’t sure who moved first, doesn’t even think he cares.

All Izuku knows is Bakugou’s mouth is on his, and his fingers are twisting into the emerald strands at his nape in an attempt to keep him close, as if he’s planning on going anywhere. Blindly dropping the dish towel, Izuku grasps the front of Bakugou’s shirt with a fist as his other hand traces along the line of his shoulder to try and press him closer.

Sparking lightning catches along the spaces where their bodies touch, making Izuku moan low in his throat. Swallowing down the sound, Bakugou presses in infinitesimally closer, the motion pressing Izuku’s back further into the edge of counter.

The sharpness of it makes Izuku hiss, causing Bakugou to pull back.

Slowly opening his eyes to look up at him, Izuku finds himself the object of his shining gaze. It’s filled with the same soft wonder from earlier, only not it’s wholly for him. That very same look twists and burns through him, leaving behind nothing but ruin that Izuku thinks he might not ever recover from.

It leaves Bakugou’s mark deeply etched into his bones as Izuku lifts onto his toes to close the distance between them once more. A soft, sighing breath tickles across his bottom lip as he gently pushes back against the blonde, gently guiding them out of the kitchen at toward the stairs.

“Was this a part of your thank you plans?” Bakugou asks, dragging the words across Izuku’s skin before nipping at his earlobe.

“Shut up, Kacchan,” he snipes, fingers finding Bakugou’s belt before making quick work of unclasping its buckle. Stumbling up the steps, they only part long enough for the blonde to pull Izuku’s shirt over his head. The fabric falls slowly over the banister, landing in the foyer below as the pair makes their way to the top of the stairs.

A loud thump punctuates the quiet home as Bakugou pushes Izuku up against the closed door of his room. Gently nipping at the soft skin on the side of his throat, he pulls a sharp gasp from Izuku’s lips.

Welcoming his exploration, Izuku tilts his head as he grasps for the door knob. His stomach jolts suddenly as the door swings open behind him before a pair of strong arms wrap around his waist to steady him.

“Shit, Deku,” Bakugou huffs without any heat. Using the moment to his advantage, he lifts Izuku, holding him up against him until he wraps his legs around his waist. Fixing his smoldering gaze on him, Bakugou paints Izuku’s skin with its garnet coloring before capturing his lips once more.

Taking slow strides, he walks them toward the bed. Carefully, as if Izuku might break, he settles him down on the bedspread. The bedding is a soft cushion that embraces his back, eyes set on Bakugou as he pulls away.

Squeezing his legs around Bakugou’s hips to keep him close, Izuku watches as he slowly pulls his shirt over his head. With a quick flick of his wrist, Bakugou tosses the shirt over his shoulder before settling himself back down over him.

One hand splays beside Izuku’s head, and the other tracks burning desire up his flank, sending a shudder crashing through him. Not missing the way Bakugou smiles at the movement, he palms at the blonde’s stray hand tugging it up to the side of his neck before he leans up to catch that smile with his own.

It feels like he might be burning alive with the way their bare skin slides against each other. The only thing that tethers him to the ground is the contrasting cold of Bakugou’s undone belt buckle where it presses into his abdomen.

His lips are feather light, yet filled with burning intent where they skim across Izuku’s jaw. Following the strong line of bone, Bakugou’s attention grows heavier when he reaches his throat. Pressing open mouth kisses along the quick thrum of his pulses, the blonde continues the torturous path down toward his collarbone.

Izuku grasps at Bakugou’s back, nails raking across his skin and drawing bright red over his shoulders. Each careful press punched another breath from his lungs, leaving him gasping as Bakugou nipped at his collar.

“Katsuki.”

The name falls from his lips, painted in reverence and accompanied by a sudden stillness as Izuku realizes that breathless voice had been his own.

Even in their current state, something about Bakugou’s name feels intimate in a way that Izuku can’t seem to place. It’s something so much more than a sudden spark of mutual lust, something more than a date disguised as a thank you dinner.

It’s so much more than the stolen glances, playdates, and the stutter of his heart as he watches the way Bakugou and Eri get along.

It’s so much more.

“Bakugou, I—” Izuku starts, fingers still curled at Bakugou’s back as he stares up at the ceiling, only to be cut off by the soft, purring hum in the blonde’s throat. Turning his attention away from the shadows clinging to the ceiling, Izuku looks down to catch Bakugou’s soft gaze before he presses a kiss just above his heart.

“‘Zuku,” he whispers, the brush of his breath cool against the concentrated point of heat at his chest.

“Izuku,” Bakugou breathes again, clearer this time before pressing the name into his sternum. Continuing his path down, Bakugou alternates between soft presses and open mouthed kisses, separated only by the soft hush of Izuku’s name as his fingers make quick work of undoing his pants.

An aching, burning longing grows at the pit of Izuku’s stomach, pushing all else from his mind as he lifts his hips to accommodate the slide of his jeans downward. Bakugou’s palm drags a scathing line over his thigh as he traces the muscle, humming low in his throat as he tugs one of Izuku’s legs over his shoulder.

Flicking his gaze down, Izuku catches the way Bakugou looks up at him languidly from where he kneels between his thighs before he takes him in his hand.

The touch is electric, shooting a bolt through him that runs back and forth tracks through his veins as he tosses his head back. His hand is pleasantly rough, slicked with the lube that Izuku hadn’t even noticed he’d grabbed.

Each stroke is careful and slow, calculated in a way that gently leads Izuku towards the precipice. Working like a soothing tide, the beginnings of his end crest over him in waves, spurned on by the rhythmic movement of Bakugou’s hand.

There’s a soft brush at his hip, a barely there caress that has Izuku peeking down toward the blonde once more just in time to see his lips quirk wickedly before replacing his hand with his mouth.

Keening at the sudden, engulfing heat, Izuku grabs at the bedspread beneath him with one hand, as his other finds itself in Bakugou’s hair.

“I can’t,” he moans loudly, hips arching as Bakugou drags his tongue along the underside of his cock, circling the head before he pushes back down. Bakugou’s questioning hum is like a bolt that ricochets through him.

“I’m not going to,” Izuku starts, swallowing down another low moan as he feels the smooth touch of fingers running soothing lines across his skin. The path, from the back of his knee and up, draws closer and closer to where Izuku truly wants him to be, and he finds himself rocking his hips impatiently.

“I’m not going to last much longer if you don’t hurry the hell up,” he finally hisses through his clenched teeth as he hits the back of Bakugou’s throat. It earns him another hum, this one a shade off from a laugh.

Room filling with the sounds of his breathy moans, Izuku grips tighter at Bakugou’s hair as he feels the slow, slick intrusion of a finger. His thoughts burn away, leaving nothing but ash and wisps of smoke as Bakugou works him open.

It’s all too much, and nowhere near enough, as he sets a careful pace. Each crook of his finger and slow drag of his hand paired with the artful movement of his mouth has Izuku writhing.

Heat and light burns bright in his chest, growing and growing until Izuku wonders if Bakugou can see the bright glow shining between his ribs. It pushes out against his bones, until he can no longer breathe, can no longer think about anything other than the way that it seems to be breaking him apart.

Then Bakugou pulls away.

“Wha—” Izuku moans, half incoherent as Bakugou shakes his hand from his hair. Still balancing his leg on his shoulder, he smoothly pushes forward, bending Izuku in half as he nudges at his nose with his own.

“Izuku,” Bakugou breathes, pressing his name between their lips with a chaste kiss.

“Kat-“ Izuku stutters as he feels him, wet and hot at his hole, and he’s never needed so much.

“Katsuki.”

This close, he can see the dark flecks that mar the bright red of Bakugou’s gaze. They’re small speckles of imperfection that reminds Izuku that, impossibly, he’s real.

“Are you mine?” Bakugou growls, running a palm from his hip and over the side of his leg toward the knee at his ear as the other smooths over his arm. Pulling his grip free, Bakugou carefully pushes it up beside Izuku’s head and laces their fingers.

It’s an earnest question, genuine and honest, and it stuns Izuku. He’s been many things in his lifetime.

A son.

A friend.

A policeman.

A father.

But never has he ever thought of himself as anyone’s. Yet, separated by nothing more than the breadth of space between their heaving chests, Izuku finds he doesn’t even truly need to think about it.

“Yes,” he answers with a small nod, gasping at the involuntary twitch of Bakugou’s hips that push him ever so closer to his entrance. “Yes, I’m yours.”

“Good,” Bakugou chews out, sealing it like an oath between them as he pushes in. Izuku’s hand clutches hard around his like a lifeline as Bakugou fills him oh so slowly. Breathing him in, Izuku gives his own growl as he rocks his hips, spurring him on until he’s fully sheathed.

The movement seems to break whatever restraint Bakugou had had left as the hand at his knee slides down between them to grasp at Izuku as he starts to pump his hips. The duel sensation of his hand on him, and his heat inside him blinds Izuku as the light caught between his ribs returns with a deafening roar.

Chanting Bakugou’s name and a string of near incoherent curses, it doesn’t take long before his vision goes white and  his sternum cracks with the sudden exploding weight of his release. Hanging onto the last threads of his consciousness, Izuku holds Bakugou close as he follows, his final moan pressing itself just beneath his ear.

A languid, bone deep ease works its way through him, leaving him pliant as he basks in the warmth of the lingering glow that still clings to his insides.

It takes several minutes for Izuku to resurface from the abyss, a small smile quirking his lips as he sees Bakugou wiping him clean carefully with what looks a lot like his shirt.

Maybe later, he’d find it in himself to care, but right now, with Bakugou slowly settling in beside him, he can’t really seem to.

Strong arms wrap around his middle, pulling him close to settle his back against Bakugou’s chest. Surrounded by the comforting warmth of his skin, Izuku pushes back into him, smile growing as he feels the steady beat of Bakugou’s heart at his back.

“Katsuki?” He asks into the dark room, voice low and filled with satisfied exhaustion. Guiding his hand along the strong forearm around his waist, he searches for Bakugou’s hand.

“Yeah, nerd?” Bakugou grumbles, breath ruffling Izuku’s curls as he flips his palm up to oblige him.

Wiggling his fingers between his grasp, Izuku hesitates slightly. He hadn’t really thought about what he was going to say, at least, that’s the lie he told himself as he yawned. The room around them settles into stillness as Bakugou waited for him to continue.

“Are you mine?” Izuku finally asks, eyelids growing heavy. Bakugou’s hand tightens slightly over his own as they both fall into silence once more. Exhaustion pulls at him, weighing him down and pushing him further into the welcoming darkness of sleep.

The last thing Izuku remembers as he finally settles into its warm embrace is the soft press of lips at his ear, and the careful brush of breath as Bakugou finally answers.

“For as long as you need me.”

A/N: Apologies for going a little MIA. I moved this month and it ended up taking so much more time and effort than originally planned lol Hopefully some elements of this chapter make up for that a bit lol

***********************************

Two weeks had passed since they’d landed themselves in New Altea, and the newly stagnant life was working its way beneath Keith’s skin in a way that constantly set his teeth on edge. While he could admit that there was a certain level of ease that came with having a place to rest their heads at night, it was met in equal measure by the constant thrum to get out and move.

Experience had taught him that nothing good came of staying in one spot, and especially not when it meant being trapped in a constant Garrison reunion by concrete and steel.

“Good morning, buddy,” Lance’s voice is loud and cheery as if he could hear Keith’s innermost thoughts as he helped himself to the seat beside him. A loud clatter punctuates his arrival as he drops his chipped plate on the table, accidentally knocking some of its oatmeal onto the metallic surface.

“Aw, man,” Lance whines, scooping up the lifeless tan food with a finger and shoving it into his mouth, causing Keith to blanche.

“Do you really have to subject me to your face this early?” He growls, dipping behind the lip of his mug and swallowing down a large gulp of black coffee. Stray grounds scrape across his tongue like sand as he forces the bitter liquid down his throat.

Lance makes a small humming sound as he shoves a spoonful of the sludgy oatmeal into his gaping maw.

“I know, I’m a real saint for letting you start the day with something so beautiful,” he says, words muffled by the dull metal between his teeth.

“Patron Saint of Pains in the Ass,” Keith says drily into his mug, the steam blowing back into his face before he sets the mug back down with a dull tap. Pulling the spoon from his mouth, Lance smiles and points it toward him.

“Thank you for using my full title,” he says, grin tilting further upward as Keith rolls his eyes before he turned his attention back to his food. Quiet fills the space between them as Lance hums quietly to himself between bites of the lumpy oats.

Taking another sip of his coffee, Keith traces the dark marks that scatter the top of the table.

“So,” Lance speaks up minutes later, lips smacking as he drops his spoon with a clatter. “Where’s Shiro at?”

A sharp pang rolls through Keith at the question as his hold tightens on his mug. When he’d woken that morning, it had been to Shiro’s still sleeping form violently tossing and muttering under his breath. It had taken several minutes to wake him, and even after he had, a darkness had still clung to his eyes leaving him looking almost lifeless. Fear had gripped him until Shiro had seemed to resurface, offering him a small smile of reassurance before ushering Keith on ahead of him.

“He decided to sleep in a bit longer,” Keith finally says with a noncommittal shrug as he slowly uncurls his tight fist from the mug. He doesn’t miss the quick, sharp arch of Lance’s brow, the silent question almost screaming in the quiet wrapped around their table.

“What?” He hisses, voice filled with challenge as his gaze snaps up to his companion. Lifting hid shoulders with a quick shrug, Lance places a finger on his plate and slowly turns it, keeping his eyes down as he speaks.

“Nothing, just thinking about how much it must take out of a guy to be stuck in space like that is all.”

Growling lowly, Keith snatches his mug and takes a sip, gaze still sharp and severe on Lance as he doesn’t answer. Settling his forearms on the table, Lance leans in, holding his stare as he sighs.

“So, as much as I’m really loving this cold shoulder thing you’re trying to pull off right now, I actually did have something I wanted to ask you,” he says, voice dipping low and serious in a way that catches Keith’s attention. Lowering his mug once more, he gives him a short nod to continue.

“We’re running low on some supplies, and Allura wanted me to get a group together to do a run,” Lance continues, pausing just long enough to see if Keith will interject. “Figured you’re probably going a bit crazy being cooped up in here. Wanna come with?”

The unbearable itch to be on the move seems to prickle through his veins as he pushes himself further up in his seat. Finding himself mirroring Lance’s posture as he leans forward, he mulls over the invitation.

“Yeah, alright,” Keith finally says with a small nod, “count me in.”

A self satisfied smile etches itself across Lance’s face as he sits back, crossing his arm across his chest and nods. Sitting across from him, Keith can’t help but notice the scars that decorate his forearms.

“Knew you’d be in. We leave at dawn,” he says matter-of-factly. Grabbing for his now empty plate, Lance pushes his seat back, going to stand.

“And Shiro?” Keith asks as he goes to kick the chair back under the table. A quick flicker goes across Lance’s face as it falters before he settles it back into that easy smile of his.

“I think Pidge had wanted him for some work tomorrow, actually,” Lance supplies flatly, void of any emotion in the same way as a doctor giving a diagnosis. He doesn’t say anything about the obvious fact that the colony has been keeping a close eye on Shiro since their arrival, but it’s all too clear in his voice.

Each day, Pidge summoned him for some sort of blood draw, yet they still didn’t know anything about what she was really doing.  

They may have had some semblance of freedom, but they both knew that Shiro, at least, was a prisoner shackled by his usefulness.

Slowly, Keith nods.

“Anything you need me to bring?” He asks, leveling his voice to match Lance’s.

“Just you and that angry face of yours.”

Mouth turning sharply down at the response, earning himself a bout of high laughter as Lance gives him a quick wink.

“Yeah, that one,” he says as he turns on his heel, walking away and missing the way Keith flips him off.

Sighing loudly as quiet settles around the now empty table, Keith drums his fingers on the table’s top, chewing on his thoughts like a hungry dog with a bone. Minutes pass before he grabs for his mug, tossing back the last of his coffee before standing to go find Shiro.

***

Keith finds him in the makeshift gym in the basement, surrounded by concrete and old, worn equipment. The solid sound of leather clad fists against plastic punctuates the otherwise silent space as Keith stands just inside the doorway. Eyes carving pathways along the solid lines of Shiro’s shoulders, he takes in the way the long sleeved shirt clings to his frame like a second skin.

While still not quite as well muscled as he had been, the time at the colony had helped to fill him out a bit more, leaving him looking a little less like a shadow of his former self.

Keith’s own hands balled at his sides as they ached with the need to touch.

Swallowing down the a soft sound, he moves across the untouched concrete flooring, steps silent until he was just at Shiro’s back.

“On your left,” he whispers, biting back a smirk as he watches goosebumps dot the skin across Shiro’s neck. Turning lightning quick over his shoulder, fist throwing toward him, Keith catches it easily with a hum. There was no real force behind it, nothing more than a challenging tease, and it makes Keith’s lips quirk higher into a full smile.

“Been awhile since we got to spar,” he says, voice bursting with its own challenge before he presses his lips to the back of Shiro’s captured hand.  Flicking his gaze up, he peers at Shiro through his lashes, eyes glittering with overhead lights as he says, “wanna go?”

Shiro holds his stare, firm and unyielding in a way that Keith feels at the pit of his stomach before an easy smile draws itself across Shiro’s mouth.

“I guess I wouldn’t mind reminding you of my skills,” he chuckles as he carefully pulls his hand from Keith’s grasp, instead settling it on his hip. “What are you going to give me when I pin you?”

Taking a step forward, Keith feels the near overbearing heat that rolls off Shiro’s skin. This close, he can smell the near clinical smell of the soap the colony had managed to salvage as it mixes with the heady musk that is inherently Shiro’s. Breathing him in, Keith drags his teeth across the full of his bottom lip as he hums in faux thought.

“I was thinking,” he starts as he traces a finger across Shiro’s chest, right over his heart, “that pinning me would be reward enough.”

Looking up at him, Keith sees something spark brightly in his dark eyes as he takes a short step back, falling into stance.

There’s an aching, heavy moment that hangs over the both of them as they watch each other before Shiro tilts his chin quickly towards Keith.

Your move, the look says.

Keith licks a line across his lip before dropping down into his own stance, not giving Shiro any pause before moving forward with a quick, testing jab. Dodging it easily, Shiro takes two quick steps back, eyes never leaving Keith’s lithe form as he mirrors the move to keep himself just out of reach.

With the thick heat building itself into a lightning storm between them, they eye each other, watching closely before both moving at once. Excitement colors Keith’s cheeks an alluring shade of pink as he loses himself to the ebb and flow of their movements. He can’t remember the last time they were able to push each other like this.

He’s sure it was before Shiro even left on that mission that had changed them both, but that had been a lifetime ago.

Lightly bouncing on the balls of his feet as his thoughts spin through his mind, Keith’s gaze finds his opening. It’s nothing more than a split second of hesitation as Shiro shifts his foot to go on the offense instead of the defense, but Keith knows he has him.

Sweeping his foot out, he grabs for the center of Shiro’s shirt, fisting the material in his hand as he uses the opposing forces to tackle him to the ground. Keith lands with his legs straddling Shiro’s chest, his knees pinning his arms to the ground as he draws his hands up to entwine their fingers. Looking up at him, Shiro’s eyes are dark, the usual bright silver swallowed by his pupils as he watched Keith lean in close.

“So,” he says lowly, “what’s my reward?”

Shiro’s answering smile is knifelike as he presses up to close the distance between them. Catching his lips, Keith burns with the sudden contact, pressing down to bring their chests flush together. The sharp sting of teeth pulls a low moan from his throat as he tightens his grasp on Shiro’s wrists. Chasing the sound, Shiro continues to press forward, filling Keith’s head with a thrilling heat.

“Shiro,” he gasps, the name sugar sweet on his tongue as he rolls his hips, chasing the friction that is all too much and not enough. The move earns his a soft chuckle as Shiro pulls away, dropping his head back against the mat with a soft thump as he peers up at him through his lashes.

It’s a wicked look that Keith feels down to his bones.

“Best two out of three?” Shiro asks, voice a molten pool that he’s all too ready to drown in. Swallowing down the ache at the base of his throat, Keith pushes himself up before offering a hand to Shiro.

Ignoring the way Shiro’s touch fills his veins with fire as he takes his hand, Keith pulls him to his feet before taking several steps back and falling into a stance.

“Best two out of three,” he confirms as he brings his fists up in front of him.

It’s Shiro who moves first this time, taking several small, quick steps forward as he aims two blows toward Keith. Knocking them both aside easily, he turns over his shoulder, grabbing for Shiro’s closest wrist. Using his momentum, he pushes Shiro away from him before landing back in the same stance.

“Things are looking good for me if that’s the best you’ve got,” Keith laughs, bouncing slightly as he watches Shiro’s back. There’s a long pause, as if he’s gathering himself before he tilts his head to the side, a sickening crack popping through the air.

When he turns around, Shiro’s eyes are dark in a way that is all together different from earlier. Pitch black and roiling, his stare is filled with malice as he lets out a low, rumbling growl before launching himself toward Keith. Taken aback, Keith finds himself knocked back, his breath leaving him quickly as his back meets the mat.

A thrill rips through him, raising the hair on his arms as the quiet of the gym is disrupted by the sharp snap of Shiro’s teeth just barely missing his throat.

“Shiro!” Keith barks, using his forearm to push back against his throat.

Almost as if a switch was flipped, Shiro falls back onto his haunches, eyes going wide as he looks down at Keith.

“Keith, I,” he starts, cheeks going bright with the pink flush that marks his skin as his chest heaves for breath. Keith’s own breathing mirrors Shiro’s as he continues to stare up at him, unable to shake the savage look that had turned the man before him into something dangerous.

Something a lot like the monsters outside.

Opening his mouth to say something in response, the loud sound of someone clearing their throat shatters the moment.

Turning toward the intruder, Keith sees Hunk in the doorway, questioning gaze set on the both of them before he speaks.

“Pidge is looking for you, Shiro.”

A/N: I won’t lie to you, I’ve been a bit on the fence about this chapter, which is why it’s taken so dang long to get out. Like, I like it, but the longer I look at it, the more I start to wonder if I really like it. Sooooo here it is, before I just keep sitting on it and not posting it XD apologies in advance.

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The sun is a pleasant shade of golden, and even more pleasantly warm as it shines in through the windshield. It coats Izuku with its gentle heat, leaving his skin dusted in its gilded warmth in a calming way as the car idled at one of the few stoplights in the town.

An equally bright pop song sets itself as the soundtrack for the morning and he finds himself humming along as he bobs his head in time with it.

Life had seen a quantifiable upswing since the aquarium several days prior.

Eri had been happy, almost overtly so; work had been great; and the sun had been shining every single day.

Yeah, life had been going well, and for the first time in a long time, it felt like the ground was finally back beneath Izuku’s feet where it belonged.

For the first time, in a long time, he actually felt like maybe he could be the dad that the young girl deserved.

Flicking his gaze to the rearview mirror, he watches as Eri keeps her attention turned toward the window, kicking her feet and swaying along to the song. The ever present smile on her face is bright, rivaling that of the sun. Izuku hadn’t realized how little he had seen that smile until it was a constant, and he knew exactly who they had to thank for that.

Slowly sliding his attention back to the road as he eases onto the gas, letting his mind wander over the blonde who had torn into their lives like a whirlwind. Gold and ruby flits across his mind’s eye as his heart flips in his chest before speeding up, hammering itself painfully against the back of his ribs.

Bakugou’s presence had grown up through the cracks of their lives, the roots twisting and turning around the hard earth that had been their previously until it was like he was always meant to be there.

And Izuku owed him so much for that. So much more than he could ever give in return, but he knew he had to try. If nothing else, he had to make it known just how important Bakugou was to them.

Was to him.

Heat rolls slowly across Izuku’s cheeks at the intrusive thought. Quickly shaking the words out of his mind, he pulls the car into the parking lot, settling on the spot furthest from the entrance if only to avoid the trap of the parking lot and its parking vultures.

“You ready for a good day?” He asks Eri, gaze meeting her’s in the rearview as he turns the car off. The colorful pop song goes quiet as the power cuts, leaving a momentary pause before Eri’s smile pulls wider.

“Yeah!” She says excitedly before undoing her seatbelt and wiggling to the edge of her booster seat. Her excitement was contagious, making Izuku’s veins hum as he undid his own seatbelt and got out of the car. Opening Eri’s door, he offers her a hand as she slides out of the backseat, her shoes making a loud tap as she lands.

Grabbing for her backpack, Izuku holds it in his fist as he kicks the door shut, not bothering to lock up for the short walk from their spot to the entrance.

Eyes set downward in a vain attempt to not be blinded by the sun’s bright rays, Izuku listens to Eri’s happy humming as they walk, biting down on the edge of his grin as they went. A breeze twists around them and he can’t help but think that it feels like a near perfect moment.

“Kacchan!” Eri exclaims suddenly, hand tightening around Izuku’s. Her sudden proclamation makes his heart squeeze in his chest as his head snaps up in time to see the blonde just ahead of them at the walkway to the front doors. The tense line between Bakugou’s eyebrows smooths as he looks in their direction, mouth quirking ever so slightly as he raises a hand and gives a half wave.

“Kacchan!” Eri says again, dropping Izuku’s hand and leaving him to follow as she runs towards Bakugou. The wind snatches at her hair, leaving it a shiny silver wave behind her as she opens her arms wide before making a leap into Bakugou’s arms.

Catching her easily, he gives her a quick spin that makes her laugh ring louder in the courtyard. It fills Izuku’s insides with something warm and saccharine as he stops just a few feet from the pair as Bakugou carefully set Eri back down.

“Hey rugrat,” he says, fondness turning his usually rough tone into warm honey. That soft sound of his voice smooths over Izuku’s skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake as he watches the pair. Standing there in a perfect snapshot moment, he takes in the way Bakugou smiles at Eri before tapping her gently on the tip of her nose.

“Ready to kick today’s ass?” He asks, settling back on his haunches as he speaks to her. Izuku knows he should say something about he’s crude term usage, but he can’t bring himself to as he watches Eri push her arms out to give him two thumbs up.

“Yeah!” She answers loudly before cocking her head. “Are you?”

A sharp snort makes Izuku jump slightly as Bakugou lifts his hands in front of him, mirroring Eri as he returns the gesture.

“Who do you think you’re talking to, of course I am,” he growls before uncurling his hands, leaving his palms open to her. There’s a sharp slapping sound as she smacks their hands together in a double high five.

“Good girl,” Bakugou says, dropping his hands to his knees and tilting his head toward the daycare. “Now get in there.”

Her answers is a high peal of laughter as she turns on her heel, grabbing for her backpack from Izuku before running toward the front doors. Watching as she disappears behind the bright red of the entrance, Izuku turns his attention back to Bakugou just in time to see him stand and shove his hands deep into his pockets.

Standing there, he doesn’t look as hard and callous as usual. Instead, the sharp line of his mouth, usually downturned in a harsh scowl, is pliant and curved slightly up.

It’s a good look on him, Izuku thinks before pushing down the stray thought.

“How are you allowed around kids?” He asks, words laced with teasing. It earns him a pointed scoff that pulls his grin higher at one edge.

“Because they recognize that I have a gift, stupid Deku” Bakugou says, rolling his eyes as he moves ever so slightly closer to Izuku. “Good fucking morning to you too, by the way.”

His own laugh startles him as it pushes its way between them, circling around them both as he shakes his head slightly.

“Good morning, Kacchan,” Izuku offers, shifting his weight to knock their shoulders together. The quick contact zips through him, leaving a tingling feeling crackling behind his belly button as his face warms.

“You and the squirt have a good weekend?” Bakugou asks, nodding his head in the direction of Izuku’s car. Dipping his chin in acknowledgement, Izuku hopes that it does something to hide the pink tinge that’s quickly becoming a common reoccurrence whenever Bakugou was around.

Slowly, they start to make their way to the edge of the parking lot, falling in step side by side.

“Yeah, it was pretty good. Eri did miss her partner in crime, though,” Izuku hums thoughtfully, cutting his glance towards Bakugou as he continues, “how about you?”

If he hadn’t been looking toward him, Izuku may have missed the stormy look that passed across his features, dropping his grin and pinching his brows together. Then, almost as quickly as it had appeared, it was gone as Bakugou gives a halfhearted shrug.

“Just had some work stuff,” he says quickly, keeping his eyes set ahead. A muscle twitches along Bakugou’s jaw as he clenches his teeth around something he doesn’t say.

“They even make you work on the weekends?” Izuku asks, curiosity shading his tone.

“What?” Bakugou returns, setting the full force of his scorching gaze on him. It burns at his sternum, charring the skin and bone beneath as Izuku flicks his gaze toward the daycare building in answer.

“Oh, yeah,” the blonde continues, almost sheepish, as he turns his attention back forward. “Sometimes. When it’s serious.”

The soft shuffle of their feet over the pavement fills the quiet between them as they finally arrive at Izuku’s car.

“Well I hope they’re paying you well for it,” he finds himself saying as he leans back against the driver’s side door and crosses his arms over his chest. Humming darkly, Bakugou turns to face him, tracing his stare across the planes of Izuku’s face.

“The pay is shit, but I at least get to meet some good people.” Bakugou’s words are weighted and heady, and they find their way beneath Izuku’s skin and force his heart to rush faster in his chest. A liquid heat eases along the bones of his ribs, finding the spaces and weaving through them before pulling tight enough to crush the breath that’s in his lungs.

“Yeah, I bet that helps,” he manages to breathe as he looks up at Bakugou. Holding the almost expectant set of his gaze, Izuku searches the near endless depths of his ruby stare.

“Sure does, shortstack,” Bakugou replies lowly, the nickname a sweet endearment hanging from his tongue as he leans closer and presses a forearm to the hood of Izuku’s car. The movement boxes him in, wedging Izuku between the sun warmed metal of his car and the rolling heat from Bakugou’s chest.

Trying to remember how to breathe around the stifling pressure of the blonde’s presence, Izuku watches as Bakugou drags his stare down ever so slowly to find his mouth.

“Thank you,” Izuku croaks suddenly, the sharp sound of it making Bakugou jump slightly as he arches a brow in question. He doesn’t miss the way that Bakugou doesn’t move away.

“Thought I told you there wasn’t anything you needed to thank me for,” he says instead, words erring on the side of teasing. A rush ricochets down through Izuku, turning his insides to mush as he tears his eyes away in hope for just a moment of reprieve from the heat that’s burning him alive.

“I know,” Izuku says far too quickly, and far too loudly. He keeps his attention set on the trees that separate the daycare from the business next door, counting his breaths as he traces their tops.

“I know,” he says after several moments, sliding his stare back to the man in front of him.

“So then stop that, stupid Deku,” Bakugou replies with an ease as if he believes it’s truly that easy. And maybe it is, but looking up into the melted garnet of Bakugou’s eyes, Izuku knows he has to.

“No,” Izuku says, voice iron with resolve as he puffs out his chest. Lightning crackles over his breastbone where their chests brush. “I want to do something nice for you.”

The sudden proclamation widens Bakugou’s eyes as he tilts his head, as if observing him as Izuku continues.

“To thank you.”

Stomach churning as he lets the words rush, he returns the inquisitive stare. Suddenly, everything feels as if its curling in on him, but the one pinpoint of hope is the gleaming red just inches above him.  

“Yeah,” Bakugou finally says, and Izuku feels the small word as it tickles across the bridge of his nose.  “You said that.”

His eyes dart down quickly to Izuku’s mouth, and he pulls the full of his bottom lip between his teeth without thinking. Something dark rolls across Bakugou’s eyes, deepening the garnet into something almost sinister. Something that he swears he can feel branding him.

For just a fleeting moment, Izuku wonders what it would taste like if he kissed him.

“Be at our place at 5pm on Friday,” he says, voice embarrassingly breathy as he catches the way Bakugou’s tongue darts across his lip.

Then, he pushes back. A sudden cooling rush of air wraps itself around Izuku, and for the first time since he’d arrived at the daycare, he feels like he can breathe.

Opening his mouth to say something else, he snaps it shut as Bakugou taps his finger on the tip of his nose like had had done with Eri.

“I guess I’ll see you then,” Bakugou says, mouth blooming into a full, blinding smile that crinkles the edges of his eyes before he turns on his heel. Facing back toward the daycare, Bakugou starts to head back toward the building as he raises a hand in quick goodbye.

Letting his gaze linger on Bakugou’s back until he disappears around the building, Izuku tries to ignore the burning heat that radiates from the tip of his nose where Bakugou had touched him.

Another careful breeze tickles over his skin as he drags another breath through his teeth before climbing back into his car to head to work.

A/N: Now I just wanna watch Shaun of the Dead lol

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“This is your captain speaking,” a voice says over the intercom, filled with confidence and mirth. It causes Shiro to roll his eyes, quickening his pace down the short hall between the living space and the stairs up towards the cockpit.

“Matt,” Shiro warns as he takes the steps two at a time, his frame cresting over the top of the stairs in time to see the junior science officer lean forward toward the mic to speak again. Shoulders going tight at the sound of his name, he spins in the seat, hands up in surrender and a wide smile stretched across his lips.

“Oh, hey man, fancy seeing you here,” he says cheerily. “You hear that random announcement on the com? Weird right? Wonder who would ever do such a thing.”

Even as Shiro shakes his head, he can’t help the way his own mouth stretches around a toothy grin.

“How many times do me and Commander Holt have to tell you to not mess with anything in the cockpit?” He says, painting his tone an authoritative color as he drops himself into the seat beside Matt. Gaze lingering on his friend’s smile, a sharp pang of melancholy pinches at the center of his chest.

It’s a longing sort of pain, almost as if he misses him, even though he’s right there in front of him.

A bright sound of shock drops from the ‘o’ shape of Matt’s mouth as he clutches at the center of his chest.

“Dost mine ears deceive me? Are you accusing me of messing around?” Matt huffs, barely able to bite back the laugh that hangs at the end of his words. Eyebrow twitching upward in silent answer, Shiro watches as Matt tilts his head back and laughs in earnest.

“Alright, alright, it was me, officer,” he says around his boisterous mirth, holding his wrists together and offering them out to Shiro, “take me to the brig.”

Rolling his eyes heavenward, he pushes Matt’s hands away.

“Just don’t mess with any of the comm settings,” Shiro says lowly, turning toward the screen before him and quickly tapping his way into the encrypted system. The calm grey of the screen gives way to a blue before an error flashes briefly across the screen. Angry and red, it blinks quickly before disappearing, replaced instead by the 3D scans of the areas listed for exploration that day.

“Did you see that?” Shiro breathes, leaning himself closer to the screen as if it might bring the warning back to life.

“Absolved of my crimes by the golden boy,” Matt prattles on cheerfully, ignoring Shiro’s question as he leans an elbow on the metallic surface before him. Pressing his cheek into his open palm, gaze still set on Shiro.

“Very funny,” he replies drily, eyes leaving the screen long enough to see the way Matt is watching him closely. Even with his cheery tone, his mouth is downturned into a deep frown. It’s almost unnatural, the way it juxtaposes the bright nature of his voice. His question about the error message dries on his tongue as a chill dances along his spine.

“What?” Shiro hears himself ask instead, attention frozen on the brunette as he watches his brows pull together in confusion.

After a moment’s hesitation, he slowly shakes his head.

“I just miss you, man,” Matt says lowly, gaze never leaving him. Sharp shards slide through his veins, filling him with stinging unease as red flashes at the corner of his eye. Turning back toward the screen, he’s met by the tepid blue of the maps.

“What?” Shiro asks again, this time under his breath.

“Matt, how many times do I have to tell you to not touch the comms,” a voice, calm and fond, says behind them as they’re joined by their third colleague. Spinning his chair to face the entrance, Shiro’s gaze finds the older man’s frame as he breaches the threshold of the cockpit.

Commander Samuel Holt.

While also his commanding officer, Sam was so much more than that. He had been there when Shiro had entered the Garrison with stars in his eyes and head higher than the clouds.

Sam had been there for him a few years later when he’d gotten the call that his grandfather had passed, helping keep him together when he was hellbent on falling apart.

The older man had even been there for him when the Garrison had threatened to pull the plug on any involvement Shiro might have in any further expeditions because of his disease.

Sam Holt was more than just a military official, a mentor, or even a friend. He had been a light at the end of a long stretch of dark tunnel, one that had helped Shiro keep his head up even in the toughest of times.

Another sharp pang seizes his lungs as Sam’s gaze flicks to him quickly as he offers him a small smile and tilt of his chin.

“But dad,” Matt starts, exaggerated petulance laced between his words before he’s cut off.

“It’s commander during work hours, kiddo,” Sam says, earning a loud moan as his son pushes himself higher in his seat and gives a weak salute.

“Yes, sir,” he bites out with a snarking smile.

It’s so blasé, and mundane, a singular moment in a lifetime of father-son moments that Shiro has grown oh so familiar with over the years of family dinner with the Holts. Yet it still pierces between his ribs, pointed directly at the meat of his heart as it slides cleanly through.

“How are we looking this morning, Shiro?” Sam asks, leaving his son’s statement hanging in the air as he drops down into the seat on the other side of Shiro. Slowly swiveling his chair to face him, Shiro notes the reflection of the screen in his glasses.

“We’re looking good, sir,” Shiro starts, words drying up on his tongue as the reflection turns a bloody red, painting Sam’s eyes black. His own eyes widening at the sight, Shiro whips his head to the screen, only to see the 3D map still standing proud and untouched before him.

“Shiro?” Sam’s voice is a worried hush as he speaks his name, turning it into a question.

“I think the system may be on the fritz, sir,” Shiro answers slowly, eyes searching the different lines of the map for any form of answer before turning his attention back to Sam. “There’s an error message that keeps popping up, but it disappears almost as soon as it shows up.”

Something dark twists across Sam’s, marring his usually kind features with a look of flashing anger that makes Shiro’s blood go cold. It only lasts for a second, the shadow that darkens his face tempering into cool amusement almost as quickly as it came.

Chuckling low, he just shakes his head and turns his attention away.

“Sounds like someone hasn’t been getting much sleep,” Sam says, fingers flying across the keyboard before him to log himself into the system.

“No, sir, I don’t think that’s it, I think—”

“Matt, have you heard from your sister recently?” Sam asks ignoring Shiro as he speaks over him toward his son.

It’s a dismissal if he’s ever heard one.

A thick layer of foreboding tickles at the back of his throat as he tries to keep his focus on the screen before him.

“Since she last reported in about Bae Bae being an unholy terror?” Matt answers him, leaning back in his chair and splaying his long legs in front of him before dropping his head back to stare up at the ceiling.

The lights above them flicker then, bathing the cockpit in darkness for the length of a breath.

“Did you guys see that?” Shiro asks, sitting straighter in his seat and looking around the room. He feels the pulse of his heart amplified through him, and tastes the metallic tang of panic.

Sam laughs lowly.

“That damned dog,” he says fondly, fingers still clicking loudly at the keyboard as if Shiro hadn’t spoken at all.

The lights flicker again, the darkness stretching a brief moment longer before coming back to life.

“Matt?” Shiro questions, turning toward his friend as his heart thuds painfully in his throat. Sweat coats his palms, leaving them slick as his hands curl into fists in a vain attempt to ground himself.

“Mom and Katie say they love you,” Matt replies, tone bored as he prattles off the contents of his sister’s last transmission.

Bloody red flashes, large and all encompassing, on every screen before them, painting the cockpit a sick shade as Shiro feels his pulse stall before picking up in triple time. Ever so slowly, he turns his attention to the one in front of him.

The error message blinks once, twice, a third time. Each time to the same beat of his heart, urging it quicker and quicker as the message stays on the screen.

“What?” He hears himself say, his single word lost to the stretch of silence around him. It lays heavy and thick over him, pressing down into his skin and leaving him petrified in his seat.

“They say they love you too, Shiro,” Matt finally says, his voice twisting and snarling in a way that makes him shudder. Slowly, Shiro turns to face him just in time to see his friend’s head snap up to stare at him.

His eyes are dull, the honey color clouded by something altogether inhuman as he stares right through him.

Jolting upright, Shiro slams his hands down on the metal before him as he pushes himself out of his chair.

“What the fuck is going on?” He yells, snapping his attention back and forth between the Holts that flank his sides.

A silence freezes the cockpit as even the low hum of the air system fades into nothingness. Twin stares bore deep into Shiro’s core as he manages one last look between the two men before the lights cut, leaving him in darkness.

A light feeling fills his stomach, leaving him feeling weightless in the heavy black. Lost to the helpless feeling of floating, he struggles to move and feel for anything that might help ground him, but he never seems to reach anything. He’s lost to the unending depths of dark space, and his breath rushes from him in sharp gasps that still don’t manage to reach his ears.

Panic, bright like lightning, chokes him as he reaches, reaches, reaches for something. Anything.

Please, he thinks, as his lungs burn.

Please.

The lights come back to life, leaving his sight a bright white.

“What—” Shiro starts, blinking the spots out of his vision quickly only to be met by both Holts standing just in front of him.

Black veins snake and twist under their nearly translucent skin, and their eyes are clouded, grey and lifeless as they stare directly at him. Sam’s neck is caught at an impossible angle, the knob of his spine poking up against the skin as his head hangs to the side. Frozen beneath their dead stares, Shiro watches as Matt’s cracked, flaking lips slowly pull into a too wide smile that reveals teeth stained crimson.

The scream of metal twisting and tearing pierces through the hull, and Shiro jolts awake.

Chest heaving rapidly with the quickness of his breath, his eyes darts wildly around the room. It’s dark, but not in the same unnatural way of his dream. A bare light still manages to peek through the sheet hanging across the door, turning the night darkened room a solemn grey in opposition to the unending black that had stained his eyelids in his dream.

Working to settle his breathing back into something closer to normal, Shiro lets himself feel the thin mattress beneath his frame, and the threadbare sheets that tickle at his back where his shirt has ridden up.

They were both a minor luxury they were afforded due to his compliance with Katie’s— Pidge now, he reminds himself— request of blood samples. At the time, he had just been thankful that they finally had a spot to rest that wasn’t the desert floor, but now he’s even more so as the soft, worn surfaces help pull him entirely from the nightmare.

Breath slowly evening, Shiro sits up and lets his gaze find the sleeping form at his side. The soft, grey light from the hall touches Keith’s features, casting him with a peaceful look that he hasn’t seen since he’d returned.

Finally, he thinks to himself as he times his breathing with Keith’s.

Letting out a low sigh, Shiro turns his gaze from the man at his side, sliding it down to the gloved hands in his lap. The same, soft grey light filters across his palms, giving his eyes just enough illumination as he slowly pulls the leather back from his left hand.

Black veins, swollen and painful, stand stark against the pallid, deathly color of his skin.

Swallowing down the bile that sears at the back of his throat, he pulls the glove back down, hiding the truth with worn leather before leaning his back against the cool wall at the head of the bed.

Taking a deep breath, Shiro settles in for a sleepless night.

A/N: Fun fact- This chapter has one of my fave chapter titles in this fic lol 

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The world spins violently, making Keith’s stomach pitch fiercely as his eyes shoot open. The only light is from a weak lamp clipped to a high window sill, leaving most of the room still shadowed. Sitting up slowly and swallowing down the sudden urge to upend the few contents in his stomach, he notes the bare walls and dingy tile of the floor, and the torn, ratty sleeping bag serving as a makeshift bed beneath him.

Shifting to get a better look at his surroundings, Keith feels the tight bite of rope at the flesh of his wrists, the sudden burn of it pulling his consciousness back to his present and the circumstance that had landed him here.

“Shiro,” Keith gasps, turning fully in search of the darkened corners. Eyes scanning across the room, his gaze stops on the thin frame of the man from the street. Sitting atop a plain, metallic chair, he keeps his eyes settled on Keith as his mouth twists into a smug grin.

A groan, loud and biting pushes from deep within Keith’s throat as he finally recognizes the man.

Lance McClain. Keith had never truly paid the younger cadet much mind when he was in the Garrison, but that had never seemed to change the competition between them that Lance had crafted in his own head.

While Keith had had his eyes set ahead to where Shiro had been, Lance had had his eyes set on him.

Leaning forward in his chair, Lance pushes his forearms into his thighs as he rolls the rifle between his palms, gaze not once leaving Keith.

The light from the windowsill traces Lance’s face with bright lines. His thin face looks thinner, his boyish looks lost to the test of time and the apocalypse, leaving his cheekbones sharp and his blue eyes marred by dark bags.

Even still, he looks smug enough for Keith to want to punch him in the face.

For old time’s sake.

“Hey, buddy,” Lance says, vestiges of his smarmy tone still clinging stubbornly to his voice as he speaks. Its cadence makes the dull, aching throb at the back of his head pulsate.

“Where’s Shiro?” Keith all but snarls, hands folding into fists as he flexes against the tight binding of the rope. It doesn’t budge, instead biting further into his skin in a way that he’s sure will leave the skin at his wrists torn and raw.

Not that that truly matters, Keith thinks as he shifts slightly, feeling the way his legs move freely.

It was their second mistake.

Their first having been knocking him out.

“No hello? No, wow Lance, I missed you, glad to see you didn’t become zombie chow?” Lance muses, leaning back and slapping a hand over his heart with a loud gasp of faux hurt. “That cuts me deep.”

Ignoring his quips, Keith repositions his legs carefully, moving as if he was just trying to get a bit more comfortable. The change leaves him bracing his weight on one foot with his thigh flush against his chest, with the other leg folded beneath him.

“At least if you were zombie food, you wouldn’t be giving me such a headache,” he bites out, glaring at his old acquaintance as his muscles tense.

“That would be courtesy of Hunk, not me,” Lance shrugs, leaning forward once more as he replaces his hand on his rifle. There’s a sparkle buried deep in his eyes as his hands tighten on the muzzle. It’s a challenge, silent and standing between them, filling the distance with a bright burning tension.

One breath became two, and starts to become a third when Keith launches himself forward, hands held awkwardly in front of him where they’re tied.

A look of shock dances across Lance’s features as Keith swats the rifle out from his grip before twisting to kick at his side, forcing him and his chair sideways. The grating clatter of metal against tile screams through the air as Keith falls on top of him, pushing the flush of his forearm into his throat as he leans in close.

“I won’t ask again. Where’s Shiro?” Keith growls, sneer nothing but teeth.

“Chill, man,” Lance chokes out as he struggles beneath him. He gets a hand fisted in the material of Keith’s shirt and another on his side when there’s a loud knock on the door, effectively freezing them both as the pair turn their gazes toward the offending sound.

“Hey, you good in there?” Another familiar voice calls through the wood, “Allura wanted to see us like, 10 minutes ago.”

Hunk, Keith’s brain supplies, as he remembers the timid engineering student who had seemed attached to Lance’s hip. The moment of pause gives Lance just enough to steady his hold and push Keith off of him. As he falls to the side, Lance quickly rolls in the opposite direction before coming back to a crouch, all the while coughing and rubbing at his throat.

“Yeah, buddy, all good here. Just go ahead without us, we’ll be there in a minute,” he calls out to his companion on the other side of the door as he glares at Keith.

Both men hold stock still as they wait, both relaxing slightly at the small sound of affirmation that makes its way into the room.

“If you’d just given me a minute, you’d know that I was going to take you to see him. Allura wants to see you both,” Lance hisses after hearing the sound of Hunk’s footsteps draw away from the door.

“Who the hell is Allura?” Keith spits, tone untrusting as he pushes himself up onto his feet. Taking several steps away from the brunette, he braces himself with the wall at his back, watchful gaze stuck on Lance.

“The person who is going to get us all out of this apocalyptic bullshit alive,” he remarks with a shrug, as if the sheer impossibility of the statement was simple fact. Giving Keith another hard look, he leans down to pick up his discarded rifle, brushing it off and cooing quietly to it before he uses it to gesture toward the door.

“We’re going to leave, but if you make a run for it, I can’t guarantee you won’t be shot down before you get to the exit.”

It lacks threat, said as nothing but yet another fact. Pausing to allow Keith the chance to say something, Lance shrugs at his silent obstinance.

“Not sure you’ll be much use to Shiro dead.”

It pushes a low grumble of acquiescence between his teeth as he watches Lance move toward the door. Pushing away from the wall, he stretches quickly to loosen his achey joints. Standing behind Lance, he watches over his shoulder as he opens the door.

Scraping along the flooring, the wood opens up into an empty hallway. It’s just barely cleaner than the room, though there’s grime that still clings to the corners where the floor meets the wall and a staleness that hangs in the air. Construction lights line the hallway every few feet, leaving stretches of darkness between the circles of illumination that they cast, leaving the space filled with a sort of eeriness that Keith couldn’t quite place.

There was no telling just how long the building had been abandoned, even before the end of the world.

“This way,” Lance says, motioning for Keith to follow as he turns to the left, not bothering to look back to make sure he follows. Not that he supposes he has much of a choice.

It’s a thought that sends a wave of annoyance pulsing through him in time with the aching throb at the back of his head.

Passing through the hall in tense silence, Keith lets his gaze wander over his surroundings, taking in the boarded windows and stretch of doorways covered with mismatched coverings and torn pieces of fabric.

As they move along, he hears the quiet mutterings of people inside.

It takes several minutes before Lance finally stops at the end of the hallway where two heavy metallic doors stand. Settling his hands over the rusting handles, Keith watches as he takes a breath. The depth of it raises his shoulders before they slow come back down around his exhale.

“I know we never quite got along, but give Allura a chance,” Lance says lowly, throwing a quick look back to him before pushing the doors wide.

Over his shoulder, Keith can see the long stretch of a room with several metal tables. Stepping through the threshold, he makes quick work of counting the tables, and taking in their stock.

Three along the back wall are littered with guns and ammunition. Two, one at the very center and one pushed to the front, support out of date monitors and even older computer towers. The final table that stands alone at the side of the room boasts a coffee machine and a random assortment of snacks.

Atop the table set at the center of the room, the monitors stand like a curved barrier around its occupant. It obscures all but the person’s mess of tawny hair above the top of the smallest monitor.

Beside the hidden stranger, a woman stands tall and lean, with darkly tanned skin, white hair twisted atop her head, and striking eyes.

She looks strong, her obvious authority rolling off of her, even as she offers the person to her side a small, secretive smile.

Even without introduction, Keith knows exactly who she must be.

Allura.

Her gaze finds him then, cutting into his chest, almost as if she could hear his very thoughts.

“Good, you’re finally here,” she says, voice strict and accented as she gestures for Lance to close the door. With a quick nod and a small sound in his throat, he shuts the doors, revealing two figures on the other side.

A rush of relief rolls through Keith as he sees that one of the figures is Shiro.

His silvered gaze finds him easily as Shiro offers him a small, reassuring smile. Offering a small nod in return, Keith traces his form quickly, noting how he stands tall, hands free and untied where they hang at his sides.

With another quick dip of his chin, Keith moves his attention toward the man beside him.

Hunk looks the same as he had at the Garrison, only harder, as if he was the visage of the boy he had once known but carved of hardened stone. It doesn’t diminish the slight smile that seems to still tug at the corner of his lips, however.

Silence rolls out through the room as Allura steps around the desk, stopping at the end closest to them. Settling her hip against the corner, she crosses her arms and makes a show of analyzing them both slowly.

Quick clicks punch through the deafening quiet as the person behind the monitors continues to type away.

“I’ve heard so much about you both,” Allura finally says, drawing her attention back up to capture Keith’s stare.

“Keith Kogane, rising star of the Galaxy Garrison. Relieved of your position after an assault on a superior officer. Specializations in hand-to-hand combat and flight,” she states, tone bored, as if she reading was his successes and failures off of a memorized checklist.

Aside from the woman herself, he’s certain no one there needed a reminder about his history, half of them having been there for a front seat view of it all. He feels his lips twitch into a sneer as she turns her attention away from him and toward Shiro.

“And Takashi Shirogane, the Garrison’s brightest. Youngest pilot to land the lead pilot position for a major space exploration. Originally pronounced dead after the failure of the mission.”

The way the words fall from her tongue sounds accusatory, even as she continues to stand there at perfect ease with her arms folded across her front and her eyes bright.

“Seems you know enough about us,” Shiro bites out, the snap of his voice turns his word brittle as he tenses under Allura’s scrutiny. “Anything we should know about you?”

There’s a hollow pause as the edges of Allura’s mouth turn upward into a smile. Sharp and bright, its equal parts welcoming as it is dangerous.

“I’m Allura,” she offers before opening her arms wide to gesture all around them, “and this is New Altea.”

Taking a brief moment to look between them both, she continues.

“It isn’t much, but I assure you, it is only a temporary solution.”

“New Altea?” Keith asks, pushing the foreign name through the wall of his indignation as he flexes against the rope. It earns him her attention once more as her gaze cuts back to him, the startling blue of her eyes catching the light like a blade.

“Our colony. When the city was destroyed, I tried to gather as many survivors as I could. Those here now may be the last of us,” Allura says low and matter-of-fact in the very same way as a doctor giving a terminal prognosis. The statement might have cut deeper if he wasn’t already armored by his own pragmatism.

Keith had given up on the rest of humanity the very same night Shiro had fallen from the sky.

“Why were you looking for us?” Shiro asks, cutting through the silent thread of electricity that had built between Keith and Allura. Both turning toward him, Keith doesn’t miss the way her moth turns into a wider smile.

“You knew,” is all she says, admiration apparent in the lightness of her tone. Shiro misses Keith’s questioning look as he keeps his stare resolute and forward on the woman before them.

“Your men weren’t always subtle,” Shiro shrugs, earning a small tinkling laugh.

“No,” Allura replies, voice filled with mirth as her gaze flicks quickly to the man at Keith’s shoulder. “That does seem to be a bit of a problem for them.”

“We’re still here, ‘llura,” Lance mumbles under his breath, shifting on his feet.

“So what do you want from us?” Shiro pushes, the question lighting Keith’s nerves as he watches the exchange between the two. Two behemoth forces coming together in battle, he isn’t sure any of them will make it out alive before Allura finally looks away. Moving away from the desk, Allura slowly walks toward the computer set at the very front of the room.

“I worked for the government, you know,” she starts, not looking back at them as she taps on the space bar, the monitor attached to it flickering to life. “I was never a part of the Garrison, but it was my duty to monitor them. A handler, of sorts. There was nothing they did that I did not know of.”

Fingers flying across the keyboard, file after file pulls up onto the screen.

“At least, that’s how it was supposed to be.”

From where he stands, Keith watches the brief flash of images across the screen. Some are too blurry to make out, some obvious shots of the open desert, others what looked to be microscopic shots of cellular structures.

One, in particular seems to freeze on the screen longer than others, leaving Keith staring into the depths of the very same photo of Shiro that the media had pasted alongside the announcement of the mission’s failure.

“I had begun noticing some strange notations in their ledgers. Ones that made sense when just fed through the system, but a little less so when combed through by human eyes.”

The image is quickly covered by another, and then another, and then another, each coming quicker than the last as Keith schools his breathing, eyes never leaving the screen.

“After some digging, I noticed that no matter how I followed those breadcrumbs, I always came back to you,” at this, she turns over her shoulder to fix her gaze on Shiro once more.

A hush of a sound, low and confused is his only reply as Keith recognizes the scene frozen on the monitor. A science lab, white and sterile, stands as a moment in time, its occupants stuck in varying degrees of movement around a table where a body lay.

Allura’s eyes never leave Shiro as she presses the space bar once more, bringing the scene to life.

Keith watches as the scientists start to shuffle around Shiro’s unmoving body, their hazmat suited forms marking sheets of paper and tapping at tablets. Holding his breath, he lets his lungs burn as he watches one of the forms stop mid step, muscles seemingly locking. It’s a harrowing moment, made more so with the silence of the video, as the scientist’s body twists sharply and unnaturally before crumpling to the ground.

Several seconds pass before any of the other figures seem to notice, the first making quick movement to get across the room, only to freeze and crumple in the exact same manner.

One by one, he watches them fall until none are left standing, their bodies littering the ground.

After several more seconds, another figure enters at the bottom of the frame, coming to a halt just beneath the camera and freezing as Allura taps the space bar once more.

A shudder tickles down the knobs of his spine as he looks at the fuzzy version of himself standing stuck in that moment of time when he had happened on the scene.

Electricity crackles and pops through the room as Allura straightens, rolling her shoulders back and adopting an air of authority once more as she turns back toward them. Her gaze is harder this time, chips of frozen cerulean.

“So, tell me Shiro,” she says, steely toned, “why didn’t you die in that tent?”

Burning unease rockets through Keith, his muscles coiling, ready for a fight.

“What are you trying to accuse him of?” He spits out, pushing himself quickly between Shiro and Allura to covet her stare. Holding it, he feels the quick burn of her apprehension on his skin as he pulls against the rope on his wrists, a deeper burning ache biting deeper in his skin with his futile motions.

A quick coughing sound breaks the moment, shattering it like glass as the person behind the monitors finally stands.

Nothing but wild, tawny hair, and large wired rimmed glasses, Keith feels his breath stall in his throat.

“Matt?” He hears himself whisper, trying to force his gaze away to look at Shiro. Almost as soon as the name drops from his mouth, his vision shifts and his mind catches onto the minute details that separate the person before them from his lost friend.

“Katie,” Shiro hushes, as she pushes her glasses further up her nose with a small smile.

“Hey Shiro,” she whispers, offering him a barely there smile before turning her gaze on Allura. Sharing a silent moment, Allura gives her a quick nod.

“You are both welcome to stay,” she says, almost begrudgingly to Keith before her attention moves behind him, landing on Shiro.

“But on the condition that you’ll let Pidge do some tests.”

The second passes like an eternity as the occupants of the room all seem to suck in a bated breath.

Finally, Shiro answers.

“Alright.”

A/N: Lord, let me tell you, it was like my boss lady and he husband both knew when I was trying to work on this, cuz damn near every time I opened the word doc they came up with some new task for me to do lol Here’s to still getting this bad boy knocked out!

********************************

The shiny silver gleam of the elevator doors seems to taunt Katsuki as he stares at it, anticipating the sound of its arrival as he waits, steaming cup of green tea in hand. Even by his own standards it’s pretty damn early, leaving him wanting for just a bit more time to enjoy his tea alone, but the Administrator had requested he come in first thing in the morning.

Which couldn’t mean too much good.

Toshinori never was much of a morning person.

Sipping some of his tea, Katsuki enjoys the slightly too hot burn of the liquid in his throat as it pushes back the last dredges of sleep down deep into his chest. It lands beside the soft and tempered memory of Midoriya’s eyes as they’d shone a bright, brilliant emerald beneath the sun, looking toward him with wonder and appreciation.

They’d been the crowning jewel of his dreams the previous night after he’d finally made it back home from their outing. It would probably piss him off if he took the time to think about it, but the elevator dings, pulling him back roughly to the hallway and away from the gemstone gaze.

Stepping through the metallic doors after they slide open, Katsuki settles his back against the cool steel of the lift. Pulling another long sip from his cup, he watches as the door begin to close slowly before their stopped by a hand being thrust between them.

The hand pushes gently at the door and the space between them widens, revealing Kirishima and his all too bright smile. Katsuki grumbles low as he scoots to the side to accommodate for the second body in the elevator.

“Hey, Bakubro!” Kirishima boasts, eyes crinkling at the sides as his smile grows impossibly wider around his sharpened teeth. “It feels like it’s been forever! How have you been?”

Looking over his shoulder, the redhead punches a button before turning his attention back to Katsuki. The door quietly close behind him, leaving Kirishima outlined by shiny silver as he awaits his reply.

“Been busy,” Katsuki gruffs, eyes burning as he watches the numbers Ono the floor counter rise painfully slow.

“Yeah, me too man,” Kirishima chuckles, finally moving forward to settle into the space beside him. Placing his hands against the metal railing that wraps around the car, he folks his fingers around it, gripping tightly as he leans back into it as he lets his head fall back against the wall with a soft thud.

They both stand there in silence fo a moment before the redhead turns his head slightly, his grin sharp and troublesome as he eyes his companion. Ignoring the weight of it, Katsuki takes another long drag from his paper travel mug, emptying it of its contents.

“You must really like your current assignment though,” Kirishima says with a wicked tone darkening his words. Almost dropping his cup, Katsuki chokes on the last dregs of his green tea.

“What the fuck makes you say that, asshole,” he coughs, glaring at Kirishima as he laughs loudly and smacks at his back with an open palm.

“Ah, it’s nothing really, man,” he replies, voice tilting up like his smile as he pulls his hand away and shrugs. Katsuki would believe his words more if he hadn’t just made a very blatant attempt on his life.

And here he had thought Kirishima was a friend.

Dick.

“You’ve just seemed a lot happier than I’ve ever seen you is all,” Kirishima continues, gaze going soft in the wake of Katsuki’s hard stare. Dopey grin still spread wide across his face, he shrugs once more as the elevator car shudders to a stop.

“Well, this one’s me,” he says, pushing away from the wall and crossing the short expanse of the lift. Stepping out into the hall, Kirishima turns back to wave as the doors close.

In return, Katsuki gives him the finger.

“Fucking, Stupid Hair,” he hisses as the elevator continues its ascent. Crushing his fingers around his emptied cup, the paper gives to the pressure with a soft crumpling sound as he groans and drops his head back to stare at the ceiling.

“What does he know anyway,” Katsuki says up to the bright fluorescent light before the elevator fills with its soft mechanical hum.

The last few seconds of the ride is filled with a damning quiet before it shudders to a stop once more, this time at the top floor.

Stepping through the threshold, he locks eyes with the receptionist, who doesn’t even bother asking if he has an appointment before waving him towards the Administrator’s door.

Without knocking, he pushes the door open, eyes immediately finding Toshinori in the quiet space. The older man sits there silent as he stares into the distance, mug stalled just before his mouth.

If Katsuki was being honest, he looked like he had been hit by a fucking truck.

“Hey old man,” Katsuki bites out, kicking the door closed behind him and dropping his disposable cup into the trash beside it. He watches as Toshinori startles, putting down his own mug and eyeing him as Katsuki drops down into the bean bag before his desk.

The dark circles beneath his eyes seem a bit darker, highlighting the hollowness of his expression before it flickers to something warm as he smiles.

“Good morning, young Bakugou!” He cheers loudly, dipping his chin in quick greeting as Katsuki rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, yeah, cut the crap, what do you want?” Katsuki growls, sinking so low into the bean bag that his knees jut out and his spine curls into a tight c.

“I can’t want to check-in with you?” The Administrator asks, eyeing him closely, a single blonde eyebrow creeping up towards his hairline in silent question and challenge.

“With anyone else? Sure. Me?” Katsuki says, leaving the rest unsaid as he returns the look. Crossing his arms across his chest, he waits, watching as Toshinori’s expression eases into a look of tired resignation.

“You’ve always been far too perceptive, young Bakugou,” he relents before taking a sip from his mug. The quiet thickens in the air, clinging to him like a second skin as Katsuki traces his gaze over the bright smiley face on the mug’s surface.

“So, what is it?” He finally prompts after the Administrator resurfaces. Setting his coffee down with the gentle tap of porcelain on wood, he turns his gaze back to Katsuki.

“How is your assignment going?” He asks with a forced casualness. It’s just a question, one that he’d ask for any case, but something about it now makes unease zing through Katsuki like a spark of lightning. Toshinori’s bright blue eyes seem to cut straight through him as he fixes his own gaze just over the older man’s shoulder, finding a grounding solace in the off white paint of the office wall.

“It’s going fine,” Katsuki says, voice damning in its earnestness. A muscle twitches in his jaw as he grinds his molars against the taste of his sincerity before trying to rectify it with a dry laugh.

“Who do you think I am, some extra? Of course it’s going great.”

Humming low, Toshinori nods as he steeples his fingers, resting his chin against them as he leans forward into his desk.

“Would you say Eri is progressing well?” He asks, ignoring his quip. Unable to help the proud smile that stretches wide across his features, Katsuki gives a quick nod as he sits up straighter in the bean bag chair.

“Hell yeah, that little shit is probably one of the best kids I’ve had,” he exclaims, chest puffing out just slightly. A light sparks in the depths of the Administrator’s eyes as Katsuki speaks, his chin dipping slightly with a small nod as his smile softens.

“Is she happy?” Toshinori asks quietly.

“Of course she’s fucking happy,” Katsuki scoffs, glaring at the older man. “I wouldn’t be doing my job if she wasn’t.”

Toshinori’s booming laugh shakes the room, causing him to jump slightly at the sudden sound of it.

“You seem to be happy too,” he says simply, answering the unspoken question in Katsuki’s stare, and it causes him pause. The administrator’s words echo that of Kirishima’s not even 15 minutes ago, and he isn’t quite sure how to wrap his mind around the fact that they were right.

He was happy in a different way than he’d ever been, and if he was being honest, he didn’t know what to do with that.

Didn’t even know who he had to thank for that.

A small voice at the back of his mind quips that he might have some idea of who might be the culprit.

Crossing his arms across his chest, Katsuki’s vision narrows as he imagines burning a hole at the center of Toshinori’s forehead with his stare.

“Yeah, I guess. It’s nice to have such an easy case, what’s it to you?” He says slowly, ignoring the collection of sweat at the nape of his neck. The early morning meeting suddenly feels like a sentencing as his mind wanders to Eri, and to Izuku.

He had had his suspicions that administrators knew everything, and could see everything, but he’d never gotten the chance to confirm that. Now, sitting there pinned beneath Toshinori’s stare, Katsuki isn’t sure he wants it confirmed.

Friendship terminated.

Silence bleeds into the cracks and spaces of the office as they hold each others gazes. Moments pass in silent standoff before the Administrator looks away first, gently shaking his head before ducking behind the lip of his mug for another sip.

“It’s just nice to see you loosening up, young Bakugou,” he says, tone full of meaning as he resurfaces from behind his cup.  

“Yeah, yeah,” Katsuki brushes off, cutting his gaze down to his knees. “Is that all?”

“You tell me,” Toshinori replies. “Is there anything else I should know about this case?”

It draws lines of goosebumps across his skin as he bites at the full of his lip, swallowing down the sudden burn at the back of his throat before shaking his head.

“No, that’s it,” Katsuki says lowly. “The kid is doing great, as they always do thanks to my amazing work.”

Another loud laugh echoes through the room as he looks up to the older man in time to catch his kind smile. Rolling his eyes, Katsuki tsks softly before pushing himself out of his seat.

“Then that’s all I need to know. You’re doing well, young Bakugou,” Toshinori says warmly, gaze set on him with silent amusement as if he knows he’s ready to bolt. “It shouldn’t be too much longer that you’ll need to be with her.”

The statement goes through him like a lance, cutting through muscle and bone before catching deep in his lungs and stealing his breath. With his eyes wide, his mind flits from Eri’s bright eyes to Midoriya’s small smile before landing back heavily in the office with Toshinori and his expectant stare.

No, he wants to say. I need more time.

Instead, Katsuki nods curtly before turning on his heel and walking slowly toward the door.

“Next time pick a later time,” he growls as he pushes the oak door open. “You’re shit with mornings.”

The Administrator’s laugh follows him into the hallway, but any retort Katsuki might have is cut off as the door clicks shut.

***

A sense of deja vu twists around Katsuki as he finds himself glaring at door. Carving shapes into the boring white paint with his gaze, his fingers curl into a fist but it stays stubbornly at his side.

He doesn’t know why he’s here, if he’s being honest. He’s Bakugou fucking Katsuki. He doesn’t need anyone to help him untwist the tangled heap of confused emotions settled low in his gut, put there by the Administrator’s words.

This was all part of the job, after all. Katsuki was meant to show up where he was needed, to help while he was needed, and then to leave once he wasn’t.

Wash, rinse, repeat.

That much has never bothered him. Why would it?

But now, the thought of leaving Eri has left shrapnel bits of dread running through his blood.

Swallowing down an annoyed sound, Katsuki clenches his fist tighter, focusing on the bite of his nails at the meat of his palm as he wills it to move. Instead, it stays frozen at his side.

After several moments of crushing immobility, he takes it as a sign. Growling in defeat, Katsuki turns over his shoulder to head back toward the elevator. He doesn’t even make it two whole steps before he hears the lock of the door click, and then open.

“If you leave now, I’ll spend the rest of the day wondering what you wanted,” Todoroki’s voice is dry with the barest touch of humor. It causes Katsuki to freeze, mechanically turning his head to look to where the other man stands in his doorway. Tucked into an oversized cardigan and a pair of faded jeans, Todoroki is a picture of comfort as he watches Katsuki, waiting to see what he’d decide to do.

Honestly, it pisses him off.

“Like hell you’d give that much of a fuck,” Katsuki snarls, glare tightening as he sees the smallest beginning of a curl at the edges of Todoroki’s mouth.

“You’re right, but I’m sure no matter what I’ll end up dealing with your bad attitude, so might as well get it over with,” he replies with a small shrug before stepping to the side and ushering him forward. Flicking his gaze to the entryway of the apartment, Katsuki feels the unmistakable tug of curiosity deep in his gut.

“Well?” Todoroki prods, arching a brow.

“Fine,” he growls, pushing by Todoroki as he stomps loudly into the apartment. Turning his back to the man as he carefully shuts the door, Katsuki kicks his shoes off at the shoe rack before making his way further into the home.

He’d only ever been to Todoroki’s a handful of times, but it still looks the same as ever. Tidy and sparse, with a worn leather couch, matching armchair and coffee table, it feels less like a home and more like a stopping spot.

“Can I get you anything to drink? You’ve been out there so long, you must be parched,” Todoroki asks as he passes behind him, sliding into the kitchen just off the entryway.

“Hah hah, funny, IcyHot,” Katsuki says low, moving into the living room and looking over the counter that stands between the two rooms. “If you knew I was out there so long, why didn’t you open the goddamn door?”

Todoroki shrugs again before opening the fridge and grabbing a pitcher.

“Wanted to see if you’d swallow down your pride and finally knock,” he says smoothly, shutting the door with his hip and moving toward the counter. After grabbing two glasses from his drying rack, he flicks his mismatched gaze to Katsuki as his mouth stretches into an all knowing grin.

“Surprise, surprise, you didn’t.”

The sound of water filling glass fills the room as Katsuki moves to the couch, dropping down into it with a soft, squishing thud.

“Fuck you,” he says without heat as Todoroki appears at the side of the couch, putting down one of the cups on the table before him before sitting in the armchair. His gaze never leaves him as he takes a sip from his own water.

Ignoring his look, Katsuki keeps his attention focused on the plain wall ahead of him, all to aware of the weight of his hands where they sit on his thighs. Somewhere, a clock ticks loudly, counting the seconds of silence for an undetermined amount of time.

“So,” Todoroki finally says, breaking the silence, “not that I dislike the company, but I can’t help but feel you aren’t here to pretend like we’re friends.”

Sucking his bottom lip between his teeth, Katsuki chews at it, letting the seconds tick further by before letting out a long, growling sigh.

“What would you do?” He asks, hoping Todoroki understands what he’s asking, if only because he isn’t sure he can force himself to elaborate. It had already taken all he had to make it this far. Hesitating for a moment, Todoroki cocks his head to the side and studies him. Staying like this for a handful of breaths, a look of realization finally eases across his face.

“Is this about that other person seeing you?” He asks, curiosity bright in his voice. It grates at Katsuki’s nerves as he gives a sharp nod as his foot starts to jackrabbit impatiently. A thoughtful sound escapes Todoroki as he leans forward slightly.

“Have they seen you since?” He pushes, interest thick and evident as his eyes spark with intrigue.

“Yeah,” Katsuki huffs, looking down to the coffee table and his untouched water before adding, “a lot.”

With his attention turned away, he misses the way Todoroki’s brow arches high.

“So, there’s no way to avoid them,” it’s a statement, not a question.

“If there fucking was, do you think I’d even be in this situation?” He bites out, heated stare cutting back to Todoroki in time to see him hold up his palms in show of acquiescence.

“Have you talked to the Administrator yet?” Todoroki asks then, echoing his question from that night as he intertwines his fingers and braces his forearms on his knees. Blanching at the question, Katsuki shakes his head.

“Fuck no.”

Another thoughtful hum fills the space.

“So you like them.”

It’s another statement, one that makes Katsuki’s blood burn, the epicenter of it right over his heart.

“The hell did you say?” He snarls, trying his best to swallow down the scorching ache as he jerks halfway out of his seat. Hands fisted and teeth clenched, he glares down at Todoroki waiting for the excuse to fight.

“If you didn’t, you would have told the Administrator,” Todoroki says, matter-of-fact. And dammit all if he wasn’t right. Katsuki knows that, no matter how much he wishes he didn’t. Sigh heavy with the weight of defeat, he falls back down into his seat as his companion continues.

“Maybe you wouldn’t have told him first, but you would have told him after your curiosity was sated. So, you must like them.”

Fucking Peppermint Head.

“Yeah, well even if that’s the case, fat lot of fucking help that will do me as his kid’s imaginary friend,” Katsuki growls lowly, running a hand over his eyes. As his fingers press into his eyelids, a flash of green sparks across the darkness, making him growl again.

The quiet settles over the living room again as they both fall into the silence of their separate thoughts. Todoroki is the first to break it again, speaking slowly, carefully.

“If he can see you, that must mean he needs you.”

He says it with a small lift of his shoulders, as if the simple statement hasn’t just upended Katsuki’s thoughts. Distantly, he hears the echo of Eri’s own words the other day, when her words had amounted to something very similar. The burn explodes, racing out across his chest and through his veins as the two voices twine together.

“Imaginary friends are meant to help those who have forgotten how to smile,” Todoroki quotes, eyes gleaming. Katsuki hears his teeth audibly click as his mouth snaps shut.

Another lengthy pause wraps itself around him as he stares down at his hands, tracing the length of a scar that runs across his knuckles. Reveling in the way fire licks along his ribs, his mind gets caught on the brambles of Midoriya Izuku. He had been a fool to ignore the amount of space the other man had preoccupied, and with those words twisting and turning between the spaces that he didn’t, Katsuki found himself wondering if maybe, Midoriya wasn’t the only one that needed someone.

Tearing his attention away from his hands, he looks to Todoroki to see the curious glint still captured in his stare as he watches him.

“Well thank fuck you know the friend motto,” Katsuki finally says, grabbing for his water and throwing the whole thing back. Without waiting for a reply, he slams the glass back down onto the table’s surface before standing.

Making his way to the front door, he doesn’t bother to check if Todoroki is following him, instead focusing on tugging on his shoes. After making sure they were secure on his feet, Katsuki pulls the door open before stopping.

Coolness eases across his palm as he stands there at the door, hand on the knob as he counts three breaths before turning a look over his shoulder. Leaning against the entryway wall, Todoroki has his arms crossed over his chest as he watches him.

“Thanks,” Katsuki growls begrudgingly, only waiting long enough to catch Todoroki’s acknowledging nod before stepping over the threshold and slamming the door shut behind him.

Shoving his hands deep in his pockets, Katsuki frowns down to the ground as he watches his feet step one in front of the other in the direction of his own apartment. All the way, his thoughts spin precariously around what Todoroki had said.

If he can see you, that must mean he needs you.

A/N: Alternatively titled, Don’t Dead Open Inside.

*****************************

Darkness, thick and suffocating, clings to every line of the once thriving city, coloring it a shade of death and decay that made Keith’s skin crawl.

After days of trekking through the desert, they’d come across the silent city, nothing but garbage and rotting gore littering the streets. It left all the tell tale signs of a horde that had moved through, scattering the dead in its wake.

Snaking between the buildings and wrapping them with a forceful hold, the eerie quiet catches in his throat, choking Keith as he continues to walk forward through the emptied streets.

Being trapped in the urban expanse of concrete and steel was far from an ideal. Putting space between themselves and anything that had once resembled civilization had been the only thing to lessen their encounters with those things, but they’d had to pack light, and rations were already low.

Casting a cursory glance over his shoulder, Keith catches Shiro’s attention long enough to signal him forward. Waiting for his nod of confirmation, Keith turns back to face ahead, taking a steadying breath before moving once more at a careful pace.

The darkened husks of emptied, destroyed storefronts mark the buildings as they pass, pushing across the cracked concrete with a singleminded focus until they come across what was once a restaurant. Shattered glass sparkles across the dark ground, remnants of the large window that looked out over the street.

Eyeing the heavy coat of shadows that seep into the restaurant, Keith’s nerves set alight, leaving an ever present thrum of adrenaline that he can feel in his teeth. A sharp, electric tingle works through his limbs with the unused rush as he quietly steps over debris.

Lifting a leg over the window’s ledge, he carefully sets one foot into the abandoned diner. Shiro’s presence is a steady warmth at his back as he takes in the scatter of toppled chairs and tables.  Keith can almost see how the occupants must have fled, can almost hear the screams, as the undead had crashed through the windows. Stinking of rot and covered in blood, he can almost imagine the palpable sense of dread as they’d begun to tear the flesh from their victims’ bones.

Quickly shaking the image from his mind, Keith pushes his other leg over, ignoring the sharp sting at his thigh as his leg catches on some of the leftover glass jutting out from the window pane.

It’s something to take care of later, he thinks, as he feels the warmth of blood seep slowly into the fabric of his jeans. Sidestepping more broken glass, Keith throws a quick look over his shoulder to make sure Shiro makes it over the window’s ledge before turning his attention back to the space ahead of him.

The gaping maw of an entryway stands proud ahead of them, its shape giving way to an indescribable black. A thrill rolls through his body, spreading a cascade of goosebumps along his skin as he silently makes his way towards what he can only assume is the kitchen.

Pulling his dagger free from its sheath at his hip, Keith holds it at the ready as he reaches the entrance, pausing long enough to listen for any noise. Met by the near unbearable sound of silence, Keith pushes himself through the kitchen door.

Several moments pass as he lets his eyes adjust to the lack of light, the pounding of his heart in his chest a steady drumbeat that battles the thick silence. Making a move to head further into the kitchen, Keith jumps slightly as he feels a soft tap on his shoulder.

Turning to look back at Shiro, the taller man fixes him with a meaningful stare as he gestures down to Keith’s leg. Not bothering to turn his attention to the cut, Keith rolls his eyes before mouthing “don’t worry about it.”

It earns him a scoff as Shiro drops down to his knees before him, looking up in silent warning as he pulls a bandana from his jacket pocket. Keeping his eyes trained on Keith’s, he slowly rolls it into a thick strip of fabric before wrapping it around his thigh over the cut. Ever so gently, he ties it, catching Keith’s slight grimace as the pressure makes the wound sear once more.

Finally flicking his gaze down to his work, Shiro leans in tortuously slow and brushes his lips over the fabric. The gesture makes Keith’s heart squeeze as a sudden burst of flames ignites his blood.

Almost as if he knows what he’s done, Shiro cuts his silver stare up toward him with a wicked, scythe of a smile. It buries itself deep in Keith’s chest, punching the very breath from his lungs.

Frozen there, in the dark with Shiro’s hands at his thigh, he swallows down the sudden flaring desire.

“Asshole,” he hisses lowly without much bite as he pushes his head gently away.

Shiro’s low, rumbling laugh is a light in the darkness as Keith turns away to begin his search for supplies.

A thick layer of grime and dust blankets the steel surfaces of the kitchen’s appliances, rendering them even more dull in the unlit room as Keith slowly makes his way through the space. Discarded utensils lay strewn across the ground, and litter the counters, painting a havoc ridden portrait of what had happened here.

Something catches the corner of Keith’s boot suddenly, shattering the quiet with the sharp grating scratch of metal against tile. The unnatural shriek of it freezes his muscles, locking him into place as his breath stalls in his throat.

Stuck still under the crush of the awful silence left in its wake, Keith waits.

For something.

For anything.

Any sign that the sudden sound may have given their position away.

Waiting until the aching burn in his lungs is unbearable, Keith finally lets his breath out, low and slow, before looking toward where Shiro still stands at the doorway. Watching the careful way he shakes his head in silent answer, Keith turns back to his task, making quick work of looting the kitchen.

Rucksack slightly heavier with an unopened pack of beans, a two half filled containers of pasta, and a baguette that hadn’t molded too badly, Keith quickly pushes back through the chaos of the ruined kitchen to return to Shiro.

Offering the taller man a small, victorious smile and a quick jerk of his head, it’s then that he hears the soft scrape of wood against linoleum. Thrill going through him and forcing his body rigid, Keith watches as a divot digs itself deep between Shiro’s brows as his eyes go steely. The barely there reach of moonlight sparks as he cuts his attention to the main area of the restaurant.

Following his eye line, Keith tracks the length of dirty tile to the far side of the dining area. Dim moonlight cuts through the shadows, illuminating a stumbling figure as it pushes against the corner of a table, eliciting another soft moan of its legs against the ground.

The zombie’s hair is thin and brittle, clinging sadly to its scalp in patchy clumps and exposing the grey of death that has turned its skin a pallid color. Sections of muscle and bone peak out through the decaying, shedding flesh, no longer a healthy red but a sick, deathly black.

Keith’s gaze continues down over its body towards the creature’s hands where they sway at its waist curled into claws, and from them, loose skin hangs like limp cloth.

The smell hits him next, burning the back of his throat with the acrid scent of rot. Swallowing down the tang of bile that tickles the back of his tongue, Keith continues to watch the way the zombie fumbles forward aimlessly.

It doesn’t seem that it has quite caught onto their existence in the space yet, most likely only pulled toward the restaurant by the sound of the utensil he’d kicked earlier.

Mentally chiding himself for the mistake, Keith watches as the undead finally pushes past the table, freed from the minor barrier as it continues its blind shuffle toward the small hall opposite of where they stand.

Looking quickly over to Shiro, he raises a finger to his lips before pointing it over to the door straight ahead of them in signal. There’s a weighted pause, as Shiro keeps his gaze locked toward the zombie on the other side of the room before he finally tears it away to nod.

Moving swiftly and quietly through, they keep their attention toward the groaning sound of the undead until they’ve pushed past the broken door and out into the cool night.

Sharp, dry air pushes against them, almost as if ushering them to move quicker to their bike and its hidden position at the entrance of the city. Stinging worry creeps itself along the collar of Keith’s jacket, tickling his nape as he shifts his gaze back and forth along the street.

Searching the inky tendrils of night that stretch the moonlit shadows across the dark concrete, Keith lets his hold on his dagger tighten as he presses forward.

It isn’t until they’re a couple hundred feet from the restaurant that he lets his lungs expand around the first real breath he’s taken since stepping into the building. It’s a shaky thing as it slips between his teeth.

Halting his forward motion, he turns to face Shiro, catching the way a small smile, tender and sweet, has turned his lips up in quiet success.

The moment of it lasts for the single, small eternity of a second before it all comes crashing down.

A scraping, guttural sound caught between a shriek of blood curdling rage and a moan of pain cuts through the night. It’s a call, one signaling an oncoming death and it makes his veins go cold with dread.

The scream raises high into the sky again, louder, already closer and now Keith hears the stamping sound of running. Flipping quickly toward the sound, knife already raised before him, he sees the quick moving bodies of the undead as they clumsily charge forward.

“Fuck,” Keith breathes, tracking the couple of blocks that stand between them and the hoard. At the rate they’re moving, he knows there’s no way to outrun them.

They’d have to fight.

Reading the situation, Shiro moves to his side, pulling the long hunting knife at his thigh from its sheath. Knuckles going white with his grip, he’s silent as he studies the approaching hoard and its loose formation.  

Keith watches as one of the undead toward the front lets its jaws crack impossibly wide around the piercing sound of its scream.

“Take the two coming up on the left, and I’ll take the two right here front and center,” Shiro says, tone strong and authoritative as he keeps focus on the oncoming stampede. Flicking his gaze toward him, Keith takes in the strong set of his jaw and the sureness of Shiro’s stance. The command of his presence is almost intoxicating, and Keith can’t help but bite down on the edge of his knifed grin as he nods before taking off.

With his boots pounding loudly against the pavement, he catches the attention of the moving zombies as they pull even further ahead of their group. The smell reaches him before the undead do, turning his stomach and almost forcing a painful retch from his mouth.

It’s a stronger stink than the one in the restaurant, only proving that these ones have been dead for far longer.

Time seems to peter out and stall, as they converge on him, both running toward him from opposing sides. He sees the attack with a bright clarity, waiting until the last possible second before spinning over his shoulder, moving out of the way just in time to force them into each other with the full brunt of their movement.

There’s a snarl and the vicious snap of teeth as one tears a piece of flesh from the other’s cheek, leaving coagulated blood smeared across their decaying faces.

Taking advantage of the moment, Keith moves lithely behind the pair, plunging his knife into the back of the closest zombie’s head. The bone crunches as the metal breaks through, releasing black viscous fluid around the dagger and the concentrated stench of rot from inside the zombie’s body.

Gritting his teeth against the burning bile that fills his mouth, Keith pulls his knife free as the undead’s companion turns on him, mouth gaping wide around a dry roar. Lunging forward, the zombie’s teeth click together loudly as they just barely miss his wrist.

The zombie screeches as it tumbles forward, losing its balance before Keith snakes an arm quickly around its middle. Stumbling ever so slightly with the sudden shift in weight, he pushes the dagger deep into the side of its neck until it meets the hard resistance of its spine.

Growling lowly, Keith twists the knife, separating its spine from its skull.

As if turning off a switch, the undead goes limp in his arms.

“Keith!” Shiro calls out, panic turning his name sharp on his tongue. It pulls his attention behind him just in time to see one of the creatures bound toward him, breaking free of the group with its teeth bared.

Without the time to move out of the way thanks to the limp body still in his arms, Keith braces himself for an impact that doesn’t come as a gunshot shatters the air.

A cool wetness hits his face as blood and viscera spatters dark across his skin.

Then it falls, crumpling at his feet with a dull thud.

“What the fuck?” Keith whispers, pulling his dagger free and dropping the carcass in his arms beside the one before him.

Quickly spinning around another zombie, he blindly attacks, sinking his knife into unseen flesh as he sweeps his gaze back and forth across the street in search of the the source of the gunshot.

Another rings out, clear and deafening as it cuts down another close by zombie.

Then another.

And another.

They continue until bodies litter the street, and the dark, congealed blood turns the dark pavement a darker, sinful shade.

Keith finds Shiro quickly, their breathing mirrored as the sound of their heaving is the only thing left in the once again silence of the night.

A steady pulse of adrenaline marks the heavy beat of his heart as Keith keeps his dagger at the ready. Dragging his gaze up towards the tops of the buildings, he searches the dark windows and vacant roofs for any sign of life.

“Keith,” Shiro says under his breath, snatching his attention back to the ground. Following his gaze toward the alley just diagonal from where they stand, he sees a figure moving forward from the shadows.

Military gear hugs the stranger’s shape, adding bulk to a skinny frame. Dark cloth covers half of their face, leaving nothing but bright blue eyes and a mop of messy brown hair exposed. A rifle, long and deadly, hangs idly across the stranger’s chest, as they continues to move toward them with their hands up.

“No need to thank us, buddy,” the figure— a man— says. The voice is gratingly familiar as Keith tightens his grasp on his knife. Keeping his gaze on him, he feels like the man’s name is on the tip of his tongue.

“Who—” Keith starts, too preoccupied to note the sudden presence behind him. Sharp pain explodes at the back of his head, spotting his vision with flashes of light before everything fades away to black.

A/N: Sorry I missed last week, y’all. I ended up stuck here at my parents’ house longer than expected, and then this chapter gave me hell >.< I really like it now but boy lemme tell you, it was touch and go for a second there lol

******************************

Katsuki chews on his bottom lip as he follows behind the father daughter duo, his hands shoved deep in his pockets as he watches the way their linked ones swing as they walked.

So far, so good, he thought, tracing their steps through the dimly lit room of the aquarium. When they’d pulled up at the parking lot after an hour of finesse and careful instruction on his part, he’d watched both Midoriyas as their eyes had lit up in equal measure at the sight of the attraction. That same excitement had still clung to them almost two hours in, and something about it made the pit of Katsuki’s stomach warm as he’d watched them walk together, lost in their own little world as they’d explored the different types of sea creatures.

“Daddy Izuku!” Eri says loudly, pulling Midoriya over toward the glass wall to their left. Katsuki swallows down a bite of laughter as he watches Midoriya stumble slightly as the small girl pulls him.

“What are these?” She asks excitedly, pointing at the school of brightly colored fish swirling behind the glass. Whirling around the water with their kaleidoscopic coloring, Katsuki watched as she looked up at them, eyes wide and mesmerized.

“Let’s see,” Midoriya says, making a show of leaning towards the lighted plaque beside the tank before making a loud aha! sound. “Mandarinfish!”

His voice is a quiet, gentle hum as he reads off the information to Eri, oblivious to the the watchful gaze on them.

Something shifted uncomfortably in Katsuki’s chest as he watched over them, coloring his emotions a strange, shimmering shade that rivaled that of the fish in the tank before he turned toward the wall opposite of the father daughter pair.

A fast, flickering flash of green caught his eye as he moves closer, watching as the small creature danced around a cluster of small, pearl-like eggs that dotted a large rock on the aquarium’s floor. Swaying before it was a bright yellow fish, doing its best to avoid the quick, jerking movements of the green fish as it continued to move back and forth between the yellow one and the eggs.

Flicking his gaze to the guide on the wall beside him, he quickly found the photo of the green fish, an apparent variation of a damselfish.

While a friendly fish, the Blue/Green Chromis is known for its protective nature over its eggs, he reads.

So that’s what this is about, Katsuki thinks to himself, turning back to watch the chromis as it continued its protective dance around its eggs as it kept its attention fixed on what was apparently a Yellow Tang.

The green fish pauses for a moment in its movements before rushing forward and butting the Tang and sending it sideways. Snorting loudly at the moment of obvious confusion as it rights itself, Katsuki shakes his head slightly.

Poor bastard, he thinks as he turns his sharply carve smile over his shoulder.

“Hey, Deku,” Katsuki calls out, feeling the rush of warmth through his veins as Midoriya immediately turns to look at him. In the short span of the week, he’d grown all too comfortable with how quick the green haired man would acknowledge him. It was altogether different from being seen by a charge, or his friends.

Pinned beneath Midoriya’s forest stare, it always felt as if he was truly being seen.

Light zings along his bones as he watches the duo move toward him, only turning after he hears Midoriya’s quiet hum at his back.

“Look at this little shit, fighting the hell out of this other little shit for it’s kids,” he points out as Midoriya settles in at his side, tucking Eri between the two of them. A small sound of awe escapes her as she leans into the bar that separates them from the tank’s glass.

“Remind you of anyone?” Katsuki laughs, cocking his head just enough to look at Midoriya. The blue light filtering through the water dances across Midoriya’s freckled face, painting him an ethereal color as his mouth cracks wide around a smile. It’s wide and all encompassing, pinching the corner of his eyes and causing Katsuki’s heart to stutter as he finds it aimed his way.

“How many times do I have to tell you sorry about that?” Midoriya asks, voice lilting with his mirth. The joyous tilt of his voice feels like a calculated attack that catches him sharply in the sternum as he rolls his eyes, using the opportunity to tear his stare away from Midoriya’s stupidly bright smile.

“As many as it takes to make me actually believe you, nerd,” he grinds out with a quick shrug. Midoriya’s laugh is barely a breath as it dances down his spine. Fixing his gaze on the fish before them, Katsuki watches as the two fish bob gently with the tank’s currents, attention fixated on each other before the yellow tang finally swims off.

Warmth wraps around his fingers as a small hand grabs his own, causing him to jump at the sudden contact. Looking down, he’s met by Eri’s ever bright smile.

“Can we see the penguins?” She asks up at him. The question is accompanied by an excited sound that urges Katsuki to flick his gaze upwards. Midoriya’s eyes sparkle in the same way as his daughter’s, and for once, the dark circles that seemed to plague his eyes and aged him didn’t seem to cling to his skin. A sharp pang ripples through him as he’s reminded that Midoriya was still just a young man.

“Well why are you looking at me for,” he growls without an real fire as he tilts his chin toward the exit of the room, “lead the way stupid Deku.”

“Kacchan, be nice,” Eri says in warning, giving his hand a small squeeze. Katsuki returns the gentle pressure as Midoriya starts to move, pulling their linked hands as he walks toward the hall marked with a small penguin silhouette.  

“Yeah, Kacchan,” Midoriya laughs, voice filled with teasing and danger as he turns his head just enough to fix his gaze over his shoulder, “be nice.”

Heat seeps and burns along the bridge of Katsuki’s cheekbones as his stare lingers for just a moment too long before Midoriya looks back to the hall before them.

Letting out a shaky breath, Katsuki grumbles under his breath as he lets Eri tug him along in their small human chain, eyes set on the broad expanse of Midoriya’s shoulders.

***

The bleeding watercolor of the sunset sky painted the backdrop for the park as Katsuki shoved the last corner of his sandwich in his mouth, eyes on Eri as she explains away something nonsensical to the large stuffed penguin at her side. Her excited hum had been a constant since they’d left the aquarium’s gift shop, both hands occupied by Katsuki’s and Midoriya’s while the latter had been regulated to stuffed penguin duty, not that he had seemed to mind.

Hell, Katsuki thinks that maybe if he hadn’t been there, he’d have walked out with a stuffed animal of his own if the way he’d lingered over over a stuffed yellow fish had been any indication.

“You sure you don’t want to go back and get that fish? I’m sure they would understand if you told them you were a 5-year-old stuck in a 26-year-old’s body,” Katsuki bites, raising a brow at Midoriya during a pause in Eri’s excited musings as she sips some of her melon soda.

“Shut up,” he replies, bumping his shoulder into Katsuki’s as his eyes roll upward towards the sky. His fist closes around the convenience store wrappers of their picnic meals, their sharp crackle loud in the calm quiet of the park.

“You’re just mad you aren’t any fun,” Midoriya continues, gaze flickering with the same look of challenge that Katsuki had become all too familiar with over the last couple of weeks. He had the air of a goody two shoe, but Midoriya Izuku had a bit of a mouth on him. One that always managed to say things in just the right way to get under his skin.

“Fuck you, fun is my job,” Katsuki growls, slamming his fist down on the table to emphasize his point. It makes his own drink wobble slightly with its force. Bringing a finger up to his chin, Midoriya’s look goes thoughtful for a moment as he taps it.

Katsuki counts one, two, three taps before he finds himself the object of his attention again.

“They must not pay you a lot then,” Midoriya says matter-of-fact, lips spread wide and grin far too toothy as if his quip is the best thing to ever be said. A bitter roll of annoyance and something else a bit warmer runs through Katsuki.

“Die,” he huffs, throwing a weak punch that Midoriya dodges with a bright laugh. Eyes slanting as Katsuki glares, he opens his mouth to say something else that will bite when Eri speaks up.

“What’s fuck?” She asks, curiosity making her gaze large and encompassing as she looks to her dad, who freezes with his eyes widened by shock. He doesn’t move for several breaths, and Katsuki swears he can see the gears as they churn furiously in his mind before he turns away from the small girl to fix him with a sharpened, accusatory stare.

A brusque crackling cackle lights the space between them as Katsuki shrugs.

“It’s a very bad word—” Midoriya starts, voice sounding choked as he tries to explain, only to be cut off.

“It’s an adult word, when you’re old enough, you can say it,” Katsuki says, authoritative yet gentle, as he slings the same quick shrug in Eri’s direction.

“Oh,” Eri replies simply, letting it go almost as soon as she’s brought it up. Turning back to her her penguin, she smiles as she brushes something off the top of its head. The heat of a stare warms his skin as he turns to see Midoriya’s bewildered look on him. Leaning his forearms into the table, he presses forward as he raises an eyebrow.

“You ever tell a kid something is bad?” Katsuki asks flatly. Confusion twists across Midoriya’s face before he shakes his head slowly, as if unsure where the question would lead.

“Amateur,” Katsuki admonishes. “You say something is bad, they automatically want to do it. Tell them they’ll be able to when they’re an adult, they’re fine.”

As he talks, he stabs at the table with a finger as emphasizing everything he says with the brutal assault on the plastic tabletop. The confusion slowly bleeds from Midoriya’s face, giving way to gentle amusement as he watches the assured way Katsuki talks.

“Is that so?” Midoriya says, tone bursting with unsaid humor as he props his elbow on the table and rests his cheek on his open palm. The pose sets Katsuki as the point of his focus, something he doesn’t miss as he tears his stare away, instead fixing it on the treeline that separates the park from the city streets.

“Damn well has to be if I say so,” he boasts, sitting up and puffing his chest out. Something molten drags down his spine as he hears the soft laugh that it earns him.

“Guess I can’t argue with that,” Midoriya hums. From the corner of his eye, Katsuki sees that he’s also turned his focus toward the trees, a small secretive smile curling the edges of his lips. A gentle ebb of something warm washes out from the center of his chest, before rolling down through his limbs and lighting the tips of his fingers and toes.

“Daddy Izuku,” Eri speaks up, stopping whatever comeback he might have come up, “can we get ice cream?”

“I think we can make that happen,” Midoriya nods after a brief pause, pushing to stand up from the picnic table. Eri mirrors the movement with a bit more bounce before reaching her small hand out for his.

“Want any?” He asks, throwing the question over his shoulder to Katsuki. He doesn’t really. Ice cream has never been something he much liked, or went out of his way to partake in. But there’s something about the soft curl of the question and the tempered stare on him, and he finds his mouth moving around words he doesn’t even think to say.

“Sure, surprise me.”

The upturned edge of his smile pushes higher, pressing a dimple into Midoriya’s cheek before he turned his face away.

“Watch Mr. Pingu!” Eri orders loudly with a point in his direction. Chuckling lowly, Katsuki gives her a sharp salute before the duo starts to walk toward the ice cream stand on the opposite end of the park from them.

With their backs to him, Katsuki can’t help but watch the way they walk together, hands still swinging back and forth as they’d done earlier in the day. The gentle golden light of the sun touches them both as he watches them, Eri gesturing wildly with her free hand as Midoriya’s head falls back with a booming laugh.

From here, they look like nothing less of a happy family, and for a brief shimmering moment, Katsuki wonders if that’s what everyone else sees when they see the three of them together.

A sudden aching bloom of something dark aches at the center of his chest as the fleeting thought disappears with the realization that no one else could see him. It’s a strange sensation, wholly new as Katsuki tries to remember how to breathe around the raw and jagged hole behind his sternum.

Longing, he would think, if he let himself imagine that there was something that Midoriyas had for him to long for.

Tsking loudly to himself, he pulls his focus from where the pair is grabbing the ice cream to look at the lifeless stare of the penguin across from him.

“The fuck are you looking at?” Katsuki growls, not expecting an answer and not getting one. “Yeah, I thought so.”

Quiet settles around the table in the same way as the fading sunlight, accompanying the purple shadows that begin to draw long across the plastic and his stuffed companion before the Midoriyas finally return.

A small paper bowl of pink ice cream lands in front of him with a soft sound, wobbling slightly as he looks up to to Midoriya’s smile. Nodding in silent thanks, Katsuki picks up the brightly colored spoon that’s stuffed in the dessert as Mirdoriya returns to his seat with his own cup of what looks like mint chocolate chip.

Taking a large scoop from the ice cream, Katsuki shoves it all in his mouth, letting the freezing burn as he swallows beat back the lingering ache that clings stubbornly to the space just to the right of his heart.

It tastes better than the bitter longing and his last memory of strawberry ice cream.

As they eat, the quiet still hangs over them, comfortable and companionable as they both watch Eri inspect the flowers just a few feet from the table, all the while licking her own ice cream cone.

“Thank you.”

It’s said lowly, so low that Katsuki might have missed it if it weren’t for the steady soundtrack of silence around them.

“For what?” He asks around the last gob of ice cream as he turns to look at the green haired man beside him. An open look of honesty meets his gaze as Midoriya gestures around them with his spoon.

“For all this,” he replies easily. “Eri loved it.”

Midoriya pauses then, holding Katsuki’s stare almost as if sizing him up before letting loose a breathy laugh. It trickles across Katsuki’s skin like a cooling rain.

“I loved it,” he finishes quickly, looking up through his lashes at him. “So, thank you.”

The words land so close to the hole in his chest, filling it until Katsuki is sure he might explode with it. It’s longing, but now it’s also something else as he keeps his gaze trained on Midoriya. It’s then that he sees the very last rays of the day as they catch the gemstone coloring of his eyes, making them glow as they etch the weight of their stare into him.

He feels it in his bones, that stare, and he swears it razes something in him, leaving behind a space that’s no longer his but the man’s before him.

Fighting against the sudden magnetism of Midoriya’s attention, Katsuki looks down at the melted remains of his ice cream.

“Shut up, nerd,” he grumbles, pushing the pink goo around with his spoon. “You have nothing to thank me for. Eri came up with most of it anyway.”

Midoriya laughs, this time more full bodied, and it shakes the table. Katsuki watches as the sound of it makes Eri look up and over to them curiously, one tiny brow up in question before she sees that he’s looking her way. Lifting a small hand, she waves, then makes a bright happy sound when he waves back.

“Thank you anyway,” Midoriya says after watching the exchange. Katsuki can hear the finality in it, so he doesn’t say anything at all, instead just nodding in reply as he carefully commits the moment to memory.