Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Izuku. Calm down.”

Izuku barely registers the words over the noise in the platform, stopping his pacing and snapping his head up to stare at his purple-haired companion.

"I— I am calm!”

Hitoshi snorts, the ghost of a smirk tugging at his lips. “You’re clearly not.”

He opens his mouth to counter when their train arrives, crowds of people pushing past them and into the packed carriage. They follow in, squeezing their way into a corner near the doors, grabbing onto the hand straps as the train departs.

They stand in silence, Izuku restlessly shuffling his feet against the dirty floor and shifting on his legs every two seconds, the late-spring heat and the stale, sweat-soaked air of the carriage doing nothing to calm his nerves.

“Izuku, seriously. Relax,” Hitoshi urges when the train stops at the next station, stepping closer to him as a new wave of people rushes into the carriage, squeezing them further into each other. “I’m not lying when I say he’s exactly like me. You don’t have to be scared.”

“I… It’s not that,” Izuku says, releasing the strap in favour of holding onto Hitoshi’s arm instead. “It’s just, well… you know, I’m not the best at first impressions, and…”

“I’m not so sure about that,” Hitoshi mutters, inching closer to him. With the sheer amount of people inside the carriage, it is perfectly, conveniently excusable. “You had me sold from the first moment I met you.” 

Izuku huffs, looking unconvinced, yet a blush mars his cheeks. “If I recall correctly, you used to do nothing but complain about how annoying and clingy I was.” 

“Are. How clingy you are,” Hitoshi corrects, smirking at the pout that makes its way onto Izuku’s face. In between blinks of those big, green eyes, Hitoshi leans down, kissing the pout off his lips before quickly leaning away.

“H-Hitoshi! We’re in public!” 

Hitoshi chuckles, lifting a hand to the back of his neck and shrugging, unbothered. “No one seems to mind, do they?” 

Izuku huffs again, but says nothing. Averting his eyes, he presses himself further into Hitoshi as the train starts moving again.

Twenty minutes later finds them in front of Hitoshi's house. Izuku is still shaking a little, both nervous and excited about finally getting to visit his boyfriend's home and meeting his father. After almost four months of dating, it was about time. Izuku had been a bit discouraged at first, as they only hung out at his own place — well, it was closer to the school and they had more…privacy, since his mother always came back late from work — but he knew that Hitoshi probably had his reasons. A strict, conservative father, for instance. However, as their relationship progressed, the purple-haired boy had eventually assured him that his father was perfectly okay with them being together; he'd just been waiting for the right time to introduce him. 

“Dad, we're home,” the taller teen calls as soon as he pushes the door open, Izuku following behind him with curious, hesitant steps. He lets his eyes sweep over the large, empty entryway for a second before he leans down to slip his red sneakers off his feet, moving on to place them next to his boyfriend's.

“Hitoshi.” 

Out of nowhere, a voice calls; Izuku startles, eyes snapping up to its owner. Standing in the hallway is someone who was most definitely not there a second ago; a tall, tired-looking man with a mess of black, unruly locks cascading over broad shoulders. Dark, bloodshot eyes underlined by puffy circles hide behind bored, half-closed lids, sharp yet holding the same nonchalance Izuku has become so used to seeing in Hitoshi’s own violet eyes. 

And, yeah, Hitoshi was not kidding. The resemblance between the two of them is so uncanny that if Izuku didn’t know who this person was, he would've still been able to immediately tell he was related to Hitoshi.   

The cat-like sneakiness, the perpetual state of exhaustion and the vaguely intimidating aura clearly run in the family. And, uh… so do the good looks.

“You must be Izuku,” the man says, and Izuku can't help to stiffen momentarily as his black, impassive eyes fall on him.   

"Y-yes! That's me! I-It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir," he stammers out, mentally kicking himself for his poor eloquence. He hides his flush under his bangs, offering Hitoshi's father a curt bow. 

As he raises his head back up, he almost misses the way the man quirks one thin eyebrow up at Hitoshi and the casual, almost smug shrug that the purple-haired boy sends his father in return.

The man flicks his eyes back to Izuku a second later, an odd glint in them as he says, "The pleasure is all mine."

Hitoshi snorts, the corner of his lips twitching into a faint smirk. Izuku doesn't really have time to mull over it because it's gone as quickly as it appears, his boyfriend turning to him with a, "Come, Izuku. I'll give you a tour around the house." Then, glancing at his father, he adds, "We'll be upstairs." 

The man nods, saying nothing else as he walks away, disappearing into the room he'd probably come out of when he and Hitoshi had arrived. An office, Izuku learns later. 

After the tour around the small, sparsely decorated first floor, they head up to Hitoshi's room, which is just as bare as the rest of the house. Izuku looks around, excited, not missing the chance to tease Hitoshi for the slightly messy state his bed and desk are in.

They talk for a little while before Hitoshi pulls out the game he'd been telling Izuku all about earlier that day, a limited edition Izuku had been dying to get his hands on ever since it'd been released. He fawns over it for a good five minutes before they finally move on to play it, settling over Hitoshi's small bed. Hours fly in a blur, Izuku feeling light and warm as they play and joke around, laughing and throwing jabs at each other every time one of them gets killed, their arms brushing together and Hitoshi's knee bumping into his own every now and then.

Soon, Izuku's having quite a hard time concentrating on the game, Hitoshi's presence next to him all too distracting, intoxicating his mind with warmth and giddiness in a way he has never quite been able to combat. He tries his hardest to keep his eyes on the screen as they play, the warmth only growing and growing, until suddenly there's a hand on his thigh and his breath's hitching in his throat, the heat of Hitoshi's fingers setting his skin on fire even through the cloth of his pants. And then the hand's moving up and up his thigh, the game forgotten as Hitoshi leans in towards him, and Izuku has no time to react before Hitoshi's mouth is on him, firm and warm and gentle as it pushes his lips apart, wrapping his arms around Izuku's waist and pulling him onto his lap.

Izuku barely has time to gasp, "H-Hitoshi! W-Wait, what if your dad comes in-"

"It’s alright. He always knocks."

Before he can get another word in, Hitoshi's mouth is back on his, his movements sloppy and effortless and sweet in a way that has Izuku instantly melting into him, kissing back with earnest, eager enthusiasm and the desire to please, shuddering when he feels Hitoshi slip a hand under his shirt and run it up his chest. He barely brushes it against one of Izuku’s nipples before he's whimpering and rocking down against him, letting out a stifled moan when he feels the growing hardness in his boyfriend's pants. 

"So needy," Hitoshi mumbles, trailing a hand down his back and sinking it under the hem of his boxers, grabbing at the plump flesh of his bottom as he pushes his tongue inside Izuku's mouth, their motions wet and lazy yet easefully coordinated after months of stealing quick, heated kisses in dark storage rooms and in dirty bathroom stalls five minutes before class.  

Izuku moans when Hitoshi's grip on his skin tightens, and grinds down against him even harder, drawing out a grunt from the older boy's lips. Their movements become rougher and hungrier by the second, and Izuku almost forgets where he is and everything around him, until the door flies open.

"Boys, dinner is-" 

Izuku doesn't think he's ever reacted so fast in his life, pushing himself away from Hitoshi and jumping off of his lap as soon as he hears the door creak, but he soon realises it's nothing to be proud of when his brain registers the fact that he's falling off the bed, his back hitting the floor with a heavy thud.

When he opens his eyes, he sees Hitoshi's father standing by the doorway, a look of surprise bordering on disbelief on his face, his eyes set on his son's faux-casual demeanour and the pillow he'd unceremoniously placed over his lap. Then, he flicks them to Izuku after a beat, an unreadable expression taking over his face as he drinks in Izuku's dishevelled, awkward form sprawled like spaghetti over the ground.

He has never wished for death more in his life.

"… is ready," the man finishes, eyes flickering back to Hitoshi. He stays silent for a second, watching his son try not to squirm under his gaze, voice tight as he finally says, "Come, before it gets cold."

Izuku thinks he's probably gotten a concussion because he definitely must be imagining the weird, almost insinuating and borderline suggestive tone that laces the word, especially because it sounds like some sort of… command? 

The man leaves a second later, making a point that really feels like a warning by shoving the door open all the way till it hits the wall, and honestly, that just makes everything worse because Izuku had hoped that maybe his boyfriend's dad had walked in when he was already lying on the floor and had just thought, 'ah, my son is dating an idiot,' but nope, he definitely saw them tongue-deep in each other's throats and with their hands down each other's pants.

He knew something embarrassing like this would happen. So much for first impressions. 

Before he can stand up from his puddle of embarrassment on the ground and tell Hitoshi a whiney, well-deserved I told you so, the purple-haired boy scrambles off the bed and rushes out of the room without sparing him a second glance. Izuku frowns and sits up in confusion, getting off the floor and following Hitoshi into the hallway just in time to see him lock himself inside the bathroom.

Uhh… okay. Um. Weird.

"Hitoshi?" he calls, stopping in front of the door.

There's no answer for a few seconds. And then, "I-I'll be out in a minute," Hitoshi says, his voice strained and strangely breathless. "Go on without me."

“Oh. Alright, then…” Izuku trails off, rooted in front of the bathroom's door before he pushes his confusion away, amassing the courage to go downstairs without his boyfriend.

When he walks into the living room, he sees Hitoshi's father already sitting at the dining table, eyes set on the bowl of steaming pork stew in front of him, fingers drumming impatiently against his crossed arms. 

Izuku awkwardly shuffles over, almost flinching when the man's eyes snap up to his.

"Izuku," he says, and then frowns. "Where's Hitoshi?"

"H-he's, um, he's in the bathroom, sir."

An odd, almost pleased look crosses the man's eyes, but it's gone a second later. He sighs, sounding somewhat bothered, gesturing for Izuku to take a seat.

Izuku does so awkwardly, sitting on the chair diagonal to him. He keeps his eyes on his bowl as they wait for Hitoshi. Minutes pass in uncomfortable silence, Izuku distracting himself by watching the twirling ribbons of steam coming out of the hot stew and dissipating in the air.

He shifts on his spot, restless, not daring to lift his eyes off the bowl lest he accidentally cross gazes with the man, still very much embarrassed about having been caught mid-make-out session with his son.

His restlessness only grows as the seconds go by, the impatient drumming of the man's fingers starting to drive him mad.

Oh my god, what's taking Hitoshi so long?!

"This, um, smells delicious, sir," Izuku blurts, desperate to fill the silence, grimacing at how loud and chirring his voice sounds.

The man's eyes shoot up to stare at him, a mix of amusement and annoyance on his face. "Kid, you don't have to be so formal, you know." 

A slight flush spreads over his cheeks at the remark. "R-Right! O-Of course! I-I apologise, uh… A-Aizawa-san?"

The man sighs again, but says nothing.

Izuku is saved from the trouble of keeping the conversation alive when Hitoshi finally steps into the living room, sounding almost sheepish as he says, "Hey, sorry for the wait."

Izuku sends him a pouty, reproachful look that the boy brushes off with a roll of his eyes. He sits down next to Izuku and right across from his father, his eyes pinned to the table as he does so, pointedly avoiding the impatient, inquiring look that the man sends him.

He would feel bad for his boyfriend, since he knows this whole situation must be more embarrassing for him than it is for Izuku… if it weren't literally Hitoshi's fault. 

They start eating in silence, Izuku almost burning his mouth when he lifts the spoon up to his lips, thinking to himself that there's no way this stew would have gotten cold any time soon. 

He blows at the spoon for almost a minute, humming pleasantly at the delicious taste that meets his tongue once he takes it into his mouth. 

"So, Izuku," Aizawa starts, looking at him with bored eyes, and Izuku almost spits out his stew. "Hitoshi tells me you're also part of the comic book club."

He blinks, his brain processing the fact that he's just been asked a question, before a smile makes its way onto his lips and he's enthusing, "Ah! Y-Yes! That's actually where we met!" Casting a shy glance at Hitoshi, he adds, "He, um, joined before I did, so he kind of showed me around! We didn't talk that much at first though, especially because I think he kind of found me a little annoying?" he pauses, letting out a laugh at the half-amused, half-unimpressed look Hitoshi sends him. "But once we realised we liked the same kind of stuff, we started hanging out more! Studying together and going to the arcade and the movies, and doing all kinds of fun stuff!"

The man hums, sending Hitoshi a smirk. "I see. Thank you for looking after my brat of a son, then."

"Dad," Hitoshi grumbles, not meeting his father's eyes.

"A-Ah, there’s no need to thank me! Actually, he… he's the one who's been looking after me all this time," Izuku says, cheeks red, looking down at his lap. "He, um… h-he helped me, um, stand up for myself against some of my classmates when they… I mean, he's the reason they no longer…"

Aizawa stares at him in surprise, a look of slight concern in his eyes, but before he can ask anything, Izuku continues, "And he's also helped me quite a lot with school and tests! He's really good at Math and English! He's a great friend!"

"Did you just friendzone me?" 

Izuku laughs, suddenly feeling bold as he turns to him with a, "You're also a great boyfriend, but the reasons for that are… a little different."

Hitoshi actually blushes, his eyes flickering to Aizawa for the tiniest of seconds before he's furiously pinning them to the table, and, wait, what? Sure, Izuku had just said something he probably shouldn't have said in front of the boy's father (revenge!!) but, since when does Hitoshi blush?

"Boys," the man warns, and the tone he uses instantly makes Izuku’s own face flush, regretting ever saying such a thing in front of him. "Eat, or it'll get cold."

It really won't, Izuku thinks but complies nonetheless, picking the spoon back up, hunching in on himself as he resumes eating. 

But Izuku can tell that the ice has been broken. As embarrassed as he still might be, engaging in conversation with Hitoshi's father becomes much easier after that. He enthusiastically replies to the few questions the man throws at them for the rest of the meal, answering them in probably more detail than the man cares to know, stuttering a little here and there at the beginning yet loosening up the more he talks, not missing the opportunity to embarrass Hitoshi by recounting some of their most silly school anecdotes.   

He knew Hitoshi would probably try to get back at him for it at some point, but — but not like this. 

"It was actually him who set it on fire, so it wasn't exactly our fault, and-" Izuku freezes as soon as he feels his boyfriend’s hand on his knee, slowly moving up and up, his head jerking to stare at Hitoshi in shock and incredulity. Those feelings only intensify when he sees that Hitoshi isn't even looking back at him, pretending to focus instead on his almost-finished bowl with uninterested eyes. Time stops for a moment and everything just feels so surreal, because, what is he doing? Izuku would think he was imagining things if he wasn't literally feeling the solid, hot weight of Hitoshi's hand slowly creeping up his thigh. He has to hold in a gasp when he feels it stop at his lap, right over his crotch.  

"Kid, you alright?" 

Oh God.

"Y-yes!" Izuku rushes to say, snapping his head back to the front, his voice wobbly and almost hysterical. 

Hitoshi's father, he— he's right there! What the hell is Hitoshi doing??!

Said man only quirks up an unconvinced eyebrow, his eyes narrowing. After a second of silence, he says, "So? You were saying?"

Izuku can feel himself starting to tremble, arousal coursing through him as Hitoshi rubs the heel of his hand against his growing erection, managing to stop the moan that almost slips out at the right moment. He feels the weight of Aizawa's concerned eyes on him, and Izuku has to make an effort to keep himself from squirming or jolting up to meet Hitoshi's hand, his body burning up with shame and need. 

"I- a-ah, I-" he bites his lower lip, trying to contain the whimpers that threaten to escape his mouth as Hitoshi puts more pressure into his movements, "I-I, uh, I… w-what was I saying? I-I- nngh- I don't r-remember-"

"You were talking about your friend, the pyromaniac?"

"A-ah, y-yes, K-Kacchan!" At the mention of the name, Hitoshi rubs down hard, and Izuku chokes back a moan, barely able to cover it behind a cough. He snaps his eyes back up to meet Aizawa's, afraid he's given himself out this time, his face burning deep red as he sees the concern on the man's face only growing, his eyes drinking in every flicker of emotion on Izuku's flushed, scrunched-up features. "I-I, h-he's had this- t-this tendency of, u-uh, setting things on fire since he was l-litte, me included-"

"What?"

"-h-h-he stopped after m-middle school though! B-But the habit still pops up a little every now and then, a-and-" he gasps, resisting the urge to close his eyes as the pleasure grows, the friction and roughness of the cloth against his skin driving him crazy, Hitoshi continuing to grind his hand down against him.

Aizawa's frown deepens and Izuku can't help to panic, because- how hasn't he noticed his son's hand suspiciously moving under the table and Izuku's completely abnormal behaviour yet?!

And Hitoshi's not stopping, he's not even saying anything, abandoning him to the task of keeping up with the conversation as if he weren't giving him a clothed handjob under the table right in front of his father!

It only becomes worse when he feels the telltale sign of his climax approaching, and- what?  No, nononono, is he- is he seriously about to come?! From this? Right- right here?!

Because at this rate he seriously will, he's like 10 seconds away from coming, but there's just no way he's going to be able to disguise that. All Izuku can think to do is to jolt out of his seat, hands covering his lap as he immediately turns around and runs towards the stairs, throwing a p-please excuse me, I— bathroom! as he climbs up to the second floor and locks himself inside the room. 

He comes as soon as he closes the door, his knees buckling under his weight as he slides down to the ground with a strangled cry, the proud smirk on Hitoshi's face and the strangely knowing glint in his father's eyes the last thought in his mind before his orgasm ends.

He lies there on the ground for a couple of seconds, breathing heavily as the growing realisation that he just came in his underwear sinks in, disgust and mortification eating him up. 

Oh my god, oh my god, why does life hate him this much? That- there's no way Hitoshi's father didn't notice what was going on! He’d clearly spoken too soon before because nothing would ever be as embarrassing as this!

As he wallows in his misery, he notices from the corner of his eyes a black lump sprawled over the ground, which, upon closer inspection, is actually a-

Izuku’s whole face flushes deep red — even more than it already was — as he lets his eyes trail over the piece of cloth. He recognizes the garment: those are Hitoshi's boxers, the pair he'd been wearing earlier today; he remembers catching a peek of them when they'd been making out, and- wait. Oh my god, there’s a white thing sticking to it, is that- is that…

Izuku shudders. Why would Hitoshi leave his… when did he even … 

Wait.  

Was this — was this what he came here to do before going downstairs for dinner…? 

Jesus Christ.

Okay, Izuku, just- calm down. That's — not that weird. And it's hot — no, no, shush! 

Besides, he's no better, he literally also just came in his pants — oh God, right! What is he gonna do now? 

In the middle of his panic, a wild, wild thought pops into his mind.

In a moment of utter irrationality and lunacy, he takes off his pants and his underwear, his heart pounding like crazy as he picks Hitoshi's boxers up from the ground and places his own right where the other boy’s pair had been. His hands shake as he cleans the residues of cum still sticking to his thighs, putting his pants back on and tucking Hitoshi's dirty underwear into his pocket before leaving the bathroom, adrenaline and a strange thrill rushing through his body. 

When he runs back into the living room, he notices that Hitoshi's father is no longer at the table. A small mercy from the universe, Izuku thinks in relief, quickly sitting back next to Hitoshi. His boyfriend watches him with an amused, much too smug look on his face, and Izuku responds by sending him a frown and his best attempt at a glare. 

Hitoshi laughs, shaking his head. "Don't look at me like that, Izu. You know you liked it."

"Whether I liked it or not is not the problem here!" he says — whines, practically — looking around the living room before adding in a whisper, "I can't believe you actually did that to me in front of your father!"   

"And I can't believe you actually came from it."

Izuku flushes, his mouth falling shut in flustered indignation before he splutters something inarticulate, picking the spoon back up and sinking it into the bowl. 

Hitoshi watches him with mild interest, a spark of satisfaction in his almost-bored eyes. 

Once he's taken the spoon into his mouth, Izuku grimaces. The anger melts off for an instant, and he feels silly instead. "Oh."

"What's wrong?"

"It— went cold."

Hitoshi simply smirks in response.

—x—

"Hitoshi."

The purple-haired boy looks up from his computer, a smile making its way onto his face upon spotting his father leaning against the doorframe.

He walks into the room, the creak of the door as it falls shut echoing in the silence along with the sound of his footsteps. Stopping by the bed, he stares down at Hitoshi with a dark sort of excitement, lips slowly curling into a grin.

"Your little friend left us a gift."

Chapter Text

It's only when he's back in his own house that Izuku remembers he still has Hitoshi's underwear safely tucked inside his pocket — yes, the dirty underwear he just freaking stole, oh my god. 

He paces around his room for a good ten minutes, absolutely freaking out, eyeing the lump of black fabric lying on his bedside table every time he passes by it; the more he looks at the piece of cloth, the more he regrets ever bringing it with him.

Unfortunately, all the regret in the world couldn't stop the ache that prickles at his skin upon seeing the garment from the corner of his eyes, or the warmth that slowly engulfs his body as it stares right back at him in all of its obscene, tantalising glory…

And all of a sudden it just becomes too much, because before he knows it he's approaching the table, bringing the cloth up to his nose with a sort of wild desperation unbeknownst to him, and he's taking in a whiff of that damp, saturating musk. It smells so strong and salty and undeniably Hitoshi that it instantly has Izuku's mind spinning, and before he can stop himself he is slipping a hand down his pants and licking a strip of dry come off the fabric.

He keeps the cloth firmly pressed against his face as he jerks himself, moaning upon being assaulted with the image of Hitoshi's pretty, unblinking violet eyes staring down at him, watching him dissolve into a mess of drool and stifled cries. He slides down to the ground, his hand moving up and down his cock at a rough, desperate pace that edges just the right amount on painful.

In between the haze of pleasure consuming him, he pictures another pair of eyes watching him alongside Hitoshi's, pitch-black and impassive, yet shining with a glint of something menacing that has Izuku's whole body shaking with fear and arousal. His hips jerk up with abandon, desperate for something he can't quite put a name on, and he doesn't even have enough time to grab a tissue before he is coming all over himself, the pair of underwear now wet from the sweat and drool trickling down his chin.

For a few seconds, he breathes heavily as the high slowly wears off. And then he's suddenly hit with the realization of what he'd just done. How he'd just masturbated to the boxers he'd stolen from his boyfriend… while thinking not only of him, but also his father.

He feels his whole body heat up in shame as he stands up from the ground with wobbly feet, locking himself in his bathroom to take a warm, hopefully mind-clearing bath.

He wonders just when he'd become this much of a pervert. 

The next day, he can't quite meet Hitoshi's eyes when they greet each other during recess, the faint smirk on his boyfriend's face as they walk up to the rooftop only making him wallow even deeper in his shame. 

As soon as they sit down, Hitoshi says, "You can keep them, if you want. Just let me keep yours."

Izuku chokes on his orange juice, not having expected him to bring up the subject so suddenly — or to bring it up at all.

"I-I-I'm sorry! I- shouldn't have done that! I don't even know why I did it, I just- I-I didn't-"

"Izuku, it's fine," Hitoshi brushes off, his lips stretching into one of his charmingly cryptic smiles. "It was a nice surprise."

Izuku flushes deep crimson, not really knowing what to say, and can't help to flinch when Hitoshi leans closer to him, their lunch forgotten. He feels the purple-haired boy's lips brush against his ear, his hot breath tickling his skin.

"So, is that a yes?"

"…W-What?"

Hitoshi laughs, as if entirely aware of the effect he has on Izuku — because he is. "Will you keep them?"

With a whimper, he feels his whole body shake when Hitoshi slips a hand under his shirt.

"Y-Yes."

—x—

A couple of weeks later, Izuku's at the mall, strolling through its long, wide corridors in search of a store where he might find what he's looking for, when he hears a familiar voice.

"Kid?"

He spins around, his eyes widening in surprise when he spots Hitoshi's father standing a few meters behind him. The first thing he notices is that his mess of black locks is tied into a low ponytail, his form clad in considerably more formal clothes than the ones Izuku had seen him wearing the day he'd come over. He probably just got out of work. And, wow, he looks rather… good in a dress shirt and slacks, Izuku thinks with a faint blush. 

"A-Aizawa-san!" he greets, walking towards him with a mix of hesitation and excitement in his steps. The shock at stumbling upon him is enough to keep any embarrassing memories from surfacing, thankfully, (like, you know, memories of the most awkward dinner of his life, or the fact that this man's face has been popping into his mind every time he wanks).

"W-What a coincidence to see you here, sir! Are you doing some shopping?"

"You could say that," Aizawa says, his tone clipped, yet not unkind. "What about you?"

"Ah," Izuku laughs, averting his eyes. "Um, kind of? As you know, Hitoshi's birthday is approaching, so I'm actually here to buy him a present…"

A look of surprise flashes in the man's eyes, accompanied by something Izuku would call delight, if it didn't make him feel oddly… unsettled. "What a coincidence, indeed," he says, offering Izuku a smile that's even more puzzling than the ones he's so used to seeing on Hitoshi's face. "I am here for the exact same purpose."

And, oh, wow. That's weird. Incredible, but weird — what even are the odds?

Well… who is he to question the twists of fate?     

Eyeing the lack of shopping bags in Izuku's hands, he adds, "I take it you haven't had much success in finding anything yet?"

Izuku bites his lip, unsure of what to respond, not wanting to give the man the impression that he doesn't know his son well enough to find him a decent gift. 

"Um, n-not yet, no… I-I do have a couple of things in mind though! But I haven't been able to find anything special yet…”

"Is that so? Perhaps we could help each other out, then. I haven't quite managed to find him anything satisfactory, either."

For a few seconds, Izuku doesn't quite know what to say, taken aback by the proposition. 

That's — that's something normal, right? Hanging out with your boyfriend's father to help each other out with finding a present for said boyfriend? 

Uh… Probably. Maybe he's just overthinking it. Aizawa is just being kind, like any father would be to their future son-in-law.

Sounds awfully movie-like, though.

"That's— that's a great idea, t-thank you, sir!" he stammers, a faint blush inevitably settling over his cheeks, while a wave of anticipation washes over him. "So, u-um," he clears his throat, "what do you have in mind?"

The man grins, pleased. "A couple of things."

It's a little awkward at first, walking in silence with this man he hardly knows anything about except for the few things Hitoshi's told him, but the awkwardness melts little by little as they stop in front of store window after store window, his excitement and curiosity getting the better of him and (thankfully) distracting him enough to make him forget his unease. And soon, he is running into the different stores that catch his eye, wandering around the place and practically dragging Aizawa along whenever he spots something particularly interesting.   

They spend a while inside a clothing store with really nice scarves and sweaters, until Izuku decides he'd rather give Hitoshi something he can make better use of (he hardly ever wears anything as heavy and woollen), despite Aizawa assuring him Hitoshi would have loved the one he'd picked.

Next, they stop at a few stores of Aizawa's choice, and Izuku can't hold his excitement at being able to learn more about Hitoshi's interests through the perspective of the one person who knows him best in the world. They even walk into a videogame shop at some point, Aizawa looking a little lost as Izuku shows him around, introducing him to the games he and Hitoshi usually obsess over. All of which Hitoshi already owns, unfortunately. 

After a couple more stores, Aizawa apparently finds something that satisfies him in the form of a sleek, beautiful black watch with silver and indigo details carved into the metal. Izuku doesn't even want to look at the price tag, because he's sure he won't be able to pick his jaw from the floor if he does. 

"Wow. That’s—wow." 

Aizawa turns to him with a little smirk, seeming amused by how floored he looks. Izuku dazedly follows him to the checkout counter, thinking that he'll never be able to top that. Not that it’s a competition, he tries to reassure himself.

Now that Aizawa's present is out of the way, he accompanies Izuku to the next couple of stores of his choice. In the one they're currently at, he stands to the side as Izuku looks through a variety of items, seeming mildly impressed by his choice of potential gifts. Izuku feels a flash of pride upon noticing so.  

Finally, after about ten minutes of rummaging through the piles of garments, he finds something that he likes: a dark blue, sober bag with a few cat-shaped prints here and there, practical yet cute in a way he's sure Hitoshi will adore. Especially since his current bag is practically coming apart at the seams from wear and old age. 

Satisfied with his pick, Izuku turns to Aizawa, presenting him with the bag with a shy smile. It's leagues behind the gift the man had just bought for his son, but, well, it's the best Izuku can give him with his current means. 

The man hums, seeming to approve of the gift. "Are you sure you can afford it?"

Izuku would feel a little offended if he didn't know the question probably stemmed from actual concern. Probably.

"I-I've been saving! This is an important occasion, after all!" he assures, his heart skipping a beat at the way Aizawa's face almost softens at his words. 

After he pays and they walk out of the store, Izuku is about to thank the man for his help and say goodbye, when his stomach rumbles.

His cheeks immediately redden once he registers the noise, wanting the earth to swallow him when Aizawa raises both eyebrows at him. "Are you hungry?" 

"I… um, a little. I kinda… forgot to have lunch?”

"You forgot to what?" Aizawa repeats, and Izuku knows he shouldn't feel this charmed by how fatherly he sounds, but he does, for some reason he'd rather not think about. "Kid, it's almost 5 o'clock. That's not okay. We're having something to eat right now."

"W-What?" Stunned, he wonders if he heard that 'we' part right. "W-wait, no, i-it's fine! I can just grab something quick and simple for myself, you don't have to come with me!"

"What, at a fast food place? No way, kid. I can't have you eating some of that cheap, greasy trash you teenagers love. You need a proper meal. It's almost time for dinner, anyway." 

Izuku can only blush deeper, feeling like he just got chastised. He wants to keep refusing but knows that it won’t lead anywhere, so he just nods weakly, and follows behind Aizawa as he starts walking away. 

That's how they end up at one of the mall's restaurants, an Italian place that's fancier than the ones Izuku is used to, much to his growing embarrassment. 

They sit down and read the menus in silence. Izuku awkwardly looks around the dimly lit place, fidgeting with his thumbs and feeling entirely out of place. The lamps hanging over their heads shine like soft candlelight, casting a warm, amber glow over the checkered tablecloths and glassware, washing the place in a much too cozy, almost intimate atmosphere. Izuku doesn't know if it's because it's still too early, but the place is almost empty, save for a few people here and there, most of which are… couples. 

This— this feels awfully like… like some sort of date. 

Which is plainly ridiculous, he knows. This is Hitoshi's dad. The man is just being kind and fatherly. 

But. It's still… kinda weird. And—and exciting. 

Wait, what? 

Bad thought, bad thought!

"Kid?" he hears Aizawa say, pulling him out of his thoughts. When he looks up, the waiter is standing to the side with an annoyed frown, notepad in hand. He rushes to tell him his order, flushing crimson for the millionth time that day. 

Aizawa follows suit, ordering something that's all too familiar to Izuku; that probably explains why once the waiter leaves, he finds himself blurting out, "That's Hitoshi's favorite pasta dish!"

“It is mine, too.” The man grins lazily, regarding Izuku for a long second; so long it makes him want to squirm in his seat, self-conscious and confused. Despite the monotony in his voice, his gaze is sharp and appraising, a much too intense look in his eyes as he adds, "We happen to have very… similar tastes."

Before Izuku can fully comprehend the words, a fierce blush is already spreading through the entirety of his face. 

"O-Oh."

He is pretty sure Aizawa's not talking about food.

They stay silent for a couple of minutes as they wait for the server to return. It's… extremely awkward. 

As he stares down at his lap, he can feel the heavy itch of the man's gaze on his skin, yet tries to convince himself that there's nothing… weird going on, that whatever insinuation he thinks he understood is just a figment of his imagination. His heartbeat doesn't seem to agree with him though, deciding to keep wildly jumping in his chest despite his efforts to stop his mind from freaking out.

"S-So," he breaks the silence once it becomes unbearable, risking a glance up at Aizawa. He has to resist the urge to look away once their eyes meet. "I-If I may ask, what do you, uh, do for a living, sir? I-I think Hitoshi once mentioned something about law enforcement…?"

"I'm a private investigator," the man says, taking a sip of water.

"Oh! Wow, really?" He is slightly taken aback, yet incredibly amazed. “That—that's so cool! It must be a really exciting profession!"

"Not really," Aizawa replies with a little shrug. "I mainly work on domestic and child abuse cases, infidelities, that sort of thing. Nothing you'd call 'exciting'." 

"Still!" Izuku insists, unconsciously leaning forward over the table. "I know it's different from what we see in the media, but… you must, um, deal with pretty disconcerting things on a daily basis. All the sad things you must see, the dirt you must uncover… I can't imagine it being easy. I-I think the fact that you're willing to stick through such a line of work is really admirable!" 

Aizawa blinks down at him, shaking his head in something like disbelief. "Geez, kid. Are you always this spirited?"

"A-Ah, sorry… I just can't help it," he chuckles, rubbing at his neck, embarrassed. "People always tell me that I never know how to shut up… well, not with those words exactly—uh, except for Kacchan, he sometimes says, um, worse things, but the meaning isn't really all that different-" 

An amused huff stops him in the middle of his soon-to-be ramble. With his face resting on his palm and a glint of fondness in his eyes, Aizawa mutters, "I can see why Hitoshi likes you.” 

Izuku can only blink, taken aback, once again feeling at a loss for words. Somehow, that compliment makes his skin burn hotter than anything the man had said to him till that point — well, he doesn't even know if it's a compliment, but his brain definitely takes it as one, if the little smile that's desperately trying to tug at his lips is anything to go by. 

He's quite grateful when the waiter arrives with their food, allowing him to shift his focus onto something less heart-accelerating. Silence engulfs them as they eat, only the sound of the fork clinking against the ceramic reaching his ears.

They exchange a few more words here and there throughout the rest of the meal, Aizawa asking him about school, exams, plans for summer break, his family; going back to entirely mundane and generic topics, much to Izuku's relief.

Soon enough, they both finish eating, and to speed things up, Izuku takes out his wallet and places it on the table while he searches for a couple of bills, when suddenly a hand reaches across the table and catches his wrist.

His head immediately snaps up to stare at Aizawa in shock, the contact making his body both freeze and heat up.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

With eyes as wide as plates, Izuku can’t keep the confusion and trepidation from his voice as he stammers, “I- I’m going to take out some bills to, to pay for my… m-my part of the meal, s-sir?”

“You will do no such thing.” 

As they stare at each other, Izuku becomes hyper-aware of the heat of the man’s hand against his skin. The touch burns, sending a wave of shivers down his spine. He can’t help noticing how strong Aizawa’s grip is, how large his fingers are — larger than Hitoshi’s — and how they fully circle his wrist; can’t help thinking how they’d probably fill him up so nicely, too-

“I-I’m sorry if I offended you!” he practically screeches, hysterical, willing those thoughts away as he snatches his hand back. “I-I just thought it would only be fair if we split…” 

“Fair? You’re a high school student. I'm an adult with a job. I’m paying.”

Dizzy and ashamed, Izuku reluctantly accepts — not like he really has any choice with this man, he's quickly come to learn. As they wait for the waiter to bring the bill, he sinks a little in his seat, his heart racing. 

He can’t wrap his mind around how… how inexplicably hot it was, the way Aizawa had spoken to him. So sternly, like a reprimand… He replays that moment in his head like a broken record; the firm pressure of his hand, the heat of this skin, the piercing look in his eyes… God, the thrill that had rushed through him was like nothing he’d ever felt before, not even with Hitoshi, and that thought both confuses him and fills him with an incredible amount of guilt.

It’s just a need for fatherly attention, he tells himself. He grew up without a father figure after all, which must make his brain cross wires… Yes, that must be it. Nothing more. 

When they finally leave the restaurant, Izuku feels so relieved, and doesn't waste a second to thank Aizawa for the meal, before sputtering out a rushed goodbye and fleeing the scene.

His heart still beats a mile a minute even as he lies in bed later that night, staring up at his white ceiling, his hands aching at his sides. He has to consciously keep them planted on the sheets, trying to drown out the urge, the need to sink them into his pants and drive himself to completion while thinking of a man he shouldn't want.

By the end of the night, with the image of stern, dark eyes pushing him over the brink of pleasure, he realizes it was futile to even try.

Chapter Text

"Are you cold, Izu?" 

Izuku curls further into Hitoshi’s chest, burrowing his face in the crook of his neck. Closing his eyes, he relaxes into his warmth, breathing in the faint, soothing scent of lavender soap and mint that clings to his skin. 

“Mm-hm… just a little.”

He feels Hitoshi tighten his hold around him, as if wanting to give him more of his body heat or shield him from the withering wind. The sweet, protective gesture has Izuku's chest warming, and he finds it entirely too easy to melt into the other boy's touch.

The expanse of grass they sit on is cold and wet, the rainy season looming upon them with the end of June despite the smothering weather that is soon to follow. 

They had spent almost an hour sitting against the slope of the riverbank they crossed every day on their way to the station, watching the sun set over the horizon. Red and orange hues bleed onto the waters, the sky slowly losing all colour and wrapping the world in blankets of obscurity. No lamposts line the riverbank; only the faraway city lights and the headlights from passing cars cut through the darkness, looking like flickering light bulbs over the waters and casting a shy, intimate glow across their faces.

The minutes pass in silence. They stay there, huddled together, enjoying each other’s company and the quiet lull of the current after another tiring day of school.

It's like a spell of calm and tranquillity has befallen them; that is, until Hitoshi turns to him, a hint of concern on his serene features.

“Tomorrow…” he starts, sounding almost hesitant, like he's toying with a thought he's been mulling over for a while. “You are coming, right?”

Izuku’s hand involuntarily clenches around his, and it’s like the spell has been broken. 

Tomorrow. Saturday, July 1st. Hitoshi’s birthday.

The day he’d been asked along to eat out and celebrate the occasion with Hitoshi… and his father.

He still remembers when Hitoshi had invited him a few days ago, naturally and without giving it much thought, unsuspecting of the turmoil it would unleash within Izuku. Of how he would have to fight and swallow down the nerves and apprehension for the following days, trying to push Saturday's imminent arrival to the back of his mind, to no avail. 

Seeing that man again… after being assaulted for the past week with thoughts of him, of his low, dark voice whispering filth into his ear; of his large, smothering hands pinning him to the bed, pushing his legs apart, thick fingers burying themselves inside him—

No. 

Don’t, Izuku. Don't think about it.

“Of course," he smiles, soft and genuine, tilting his head back to look into his boyfriend’s eyes as he asserts, "I wouldn't miss it for the world."  

And he means it. Every word. But that doesn't erase the ugly taste it leaves on his tongue.

“I’m glad.” Little wrinkles form around Hitoshi’s eyes, his lips curling into a faint smile. "I mean, it wouldn't be much of a celebration without you." 

Biting his lip, Izuku can't stop himself from testing the idea, “But, it would be nice too, wouldn’t it? Just– just you and your father—” don’t think about him, “—without me. Maybe even better. So you can celebrate properly with only your family…” 

Not that he wants that. As he said, he wouldn't miss it for the world. But if it were Hitoshi who didn't want him there, that'd be a different story…

His boyfriend frowns, appropriately confused. “But you’re family.”

The statement fills Izuku with an immeasurable amount of joy, yet it doesn’t help his cause. “Y-Yes,” he concedes, a small blush on his cheeks. “But, well, not really. You know what I mean.”

With a quirk of the eyebrows, the purple-haired boy jokes, “Is this your way of telling me you want to be something more?” And, with a cheeky smirk, “Wait. Don’t tell me this is a marriage proposal? Isn't it a little soon for that? You do know we're only in high school, right?"

“What? No! Wait, that's not what I-!” The laughter bursts out of Izuku's chest before he even notices it's rising up his throat; taken by surprise, he shakes his head in disbelief, skittering closer to Hitoshi with a woozy, incredulous grin on his face. “That’s so unrelated! Why would you even–” 

“Oh? So you don’t want to marry me?” 

“Come on, Toshi!” His cheeks hurt from how big he’s smiling, little laughs spilling from his lips as he wraps his arms around the other boy’s neck, feeling giddy, love-struck all of a sudden. Any worries, anxieties and parasite thoughts of a certain raven-haired man disappear from his mind in that little instant, as if they’d never been there to begin with.

All that exists is Hitoshi. Hitoshi and the warmth of his body, pressed taut against Izuku’s; the pretty shape of his lips, parted and inviting; the playful glint in his wide, dilated eyes.

And right then, the only thought that crosses his mind is how much he loves him. How much he wants him, only him. 

"I mean, I don't dislike the idea," he exhales against Hitoshi's lips, his eyes dripping with emotion as he inches closer and closer to him, until they’re practically breathing the same suffocating air.

“You only 'don’t dislike' it?” The smirk on Hitoshi’s lips stretches into a full, taunting smile, and all Izuku wants to do is kiss it off his pretty face. "Such hurtful words, Izu." 

With a roll of his eyes, he grips the back of Hitoshi's neck with one hand and plants the other on his chest, the smile on his own face only widening as he watches the sparks of want come to life in his boyfriend's eyes.

Feeling faint with growing desire, Izuku breathes, "Just shut up and kiss me." 

Something he loves about Hitoshi is how he doesn't have to ask twice. 

Their mouths crash into one another like they'd been waiting for an entirety to come together, hungry and with an exhilarating sort of desperation; a bruising roughness that always leaves Izuku without any breath in his lungs. Warmth consumes him as he drowns in the all-encompassing weight of Hitoshi's presence, his heated touch and the softness of his lips, their mouths moving alongside each other in a well-practiced dance. 

Any sensations outside of their little bubble are inexistent; he pays no mind to the chilly evening winds, the distant noises of the city or the damp grass beneath their bodies, too engrossed in the way Hitoshi’s hand slowly trails down his back and stops at his hip, where his school shirt's hiked up ever-so, brushing his skin in a way that’s simultaneously tender and rough, possessive even in its softness.

Izuku is only brought back to the present by the sound of a speeding car racing by, its wheels screeching against the pavement in a long, grating wail, the headlights illuminating the scene for a split second; long enough for Izuku to catch the sight of Hitoshi’s flushed, lust-stricken face, his eyes ablaze as he rises to capture Izuku’s mouth in another heated kiss.

The river roars below them, its turbulent current the only noise in the silence aside from their laboured breathing and the rustling of clothes coming undone, Hitoshi’s hands travelling down and down Izuku's body until they’re slipping underneath his school uniform. 

And before he can stop it, Hitoshi pulls him into his lap and yanks his pants down to his knees, his other hand fully hiking his shirt up until the bare expanse of his chest is exposed. Goosebumps break across his skin as he’s met with the night cold, yet all he can focus on is the smothering heat of Hitoshi’s lips as he peppers him in kisses and brushes his hands all over his skin, gripping and kneading the supple flesh of his chest, hips and thighs like he just wants to hold him, possess him and never let go.

“Oh God, please,” he whimpers, not caring about how desperate he sounds, about where they are or who might see them, a nauseating kind of heat pooling into a simmering pit in his groin.

With a proud smirk and a delighted lilt to his voice, Hitoshi taunts, “Please what?” 

Not that he has to ask. He can read it on Izuku’s face — in the way his eyes scrunch closed and how he squirms in place, grinding his hardness into Hitoshi’s leg like a dog in heat.

“P-Please just touch me,” he whines, frustrated and aching with need, his insides churning as the smirk on Hitoshi’s face turns impish, something dark twisting at its edges.

“Out here, in the open?” He tuts in mock disapproval, yet his eyes betray his elation. “So indecent… You’d just let me take you here, where anyone could see?”  

Izuku nods his head like he’s been possessed, the salacious words sending a jolt of arousal straight to his cock. It strains in his boxers, hard and already leaking pre-cum into a wet, sticky patch over the cloth.

"Please," he repeats, practically begging, too far gone to care about how pitiful he sounds.

Almost in a blur, he is pushed onto his back, little sounds catching in his throat as Hitoshi descends upon his body, yet still doesn’t touch him where he needs. His tongue is warm against his fevered skin, lapping at his jaw, sucking at the taut skin of his neck and biting at his thighs, not caring if he leaves any marks — almost as if he makes a point of leaving as many as he can.  

“Toshi, plea—” He chokes on the word when he finally feels a hand wrap around his hardness, the contact rough and dry yet oh, so satisfying.

With eyes that watch him with rapt attention, Hitoshi moves his hand up and down Izuku's cock at a firm but leisurely rhythm, pulling the skin along as his thumb rubs at his slit in a way that leaves him shuddering, wanting more. Izuku's wish is fulfilled just a few seconds later, as Hitoshi’s pace quickens, pumping him furiously as if wanting to milk him dry; his other hand comes up to Izuku’s mouth, two fingers pushing past his lips with no resistance from his part.

“You have everyone fooled, Izuku.” His voice is low, breathless, delight permeating his tone as he relishes the way Izuku obediently sucks on his fingers, wetting them thoroughly. “Everyone. But not me.” 

There is no explaining how those words shake him to his core. They make him feel transparent, shame blistering beneath his skin, yet he offers no rebuttal or attempt at defending himself — there would be no point when Hitoshi knows him as well as he does; and when he knows that Hitoshi is just like him.

Even in the darkness, he can see the desire in his eyes; how they burn as he stares up at Izuku through his lashes, lowering his body till his face is nuzzled between his thighs. He kisses his way up Izuku’s crotch, along his shaft and all the way up till his lips reach the flushed tip of his cock, taking it into the warm, wet tightness of his mouth. And as he licks and sucks at it, head bobbing up and down in a way he knows will perfectly rile Izuku up, his other hand prods at Izuku’s entrance, the touch feather-light as he circles the rim with an almost teasing gentleness.

All thoughts vanish from Izuku’s mind then, only pleasure remaining; it saturates ever singly one of his neurons, turning him into a squirming, blabbering mess of pure and hopeless need beneath Hitoshi.

“Please! Please Toshi, just, I-I need more,” he moans into the silence, his hands brushing over the grass blades on the ground next to them, searching for something to hold on to — some form of purchase to keep him grounded against the onslaught of sensations assaulting his body while Hitoshi slowly, torturously works him open.

Finger by finger, he stretches him so thoroughly, so deliciously that it leaves Izuku’s mind spinning, his voice quivering in his throat and spilling past his lips in the form of pathetic little whimpers that soon turn into pleas, begging for Hitoshi to stop torturing him, to fill him properly. 

His pleas don’t get him far, for before he can even wrap his mind around what’s happening, Hitoshi presses a palm over his mouth, his movements completely stilling.

“Oh! Okaasan, look! The water looks so pretty!” 

For a second, nothing around them moves; not even their chests, as if their hearts had stopped beating.

And then Izuku sucks in a horrified breath, realisation hitting him like a bucket of cold water.

The voice belongs to a child, he can tell even over the deafening sound of his heartbeat in his ears. And although it’s hard to see in the darkness, he can make out her silhouette as she runs down to the river’s edge, far away enough for her not to notice their sprawled, indecent forms… unless they make a noise to call her attention, that is.

“Careful, dear!” another voice calls — probably the girl’s mother — and Izuku feels the little blood he has left rush away from his paling face, the situation just becoming ten times worse. “Don’t get too close to the edge!” 

His eyes shoot up to Hitoshi in alarm, the look in them screaming ‘ohmygod, what do we do?! ’ as his body freezes despite how his lower half still burns from the stimulation it’d just endured.

The purple-haired boy’s eyes are just as wide and shocked as his are; however, unlike Izuku’s, a speck of something dangerous flickers to life inside them as they follow the two strangers.

It only takes Izuku a second to realize what exactly that look means.

Oh my god, he can’t be serious?!

"No!" he silently mouths the word at Hitoshi, scandalized. In response, the boy merely grins, devilish and shameless, his hands falling back to Izuku’s still-fevered skin. Panic immediately shoots through him along with a betraying jolt of arousal, intense and unexpected in a way that really shouldn’t be anymore, his eyes flickering in alarm to the pair standing a mere few meters away from them. 

“Hitoshi, w-wait,” he wheezes under his breath, “don’t- don’t even think about it—”

Of course, his demand is ignored, a gasp following instead as two fingers are harshly thrust into his hole. 

At least, Hitoshi plants his other hand firmly over his mouth; a true blessing, considering how Izuku openly moans at the assault, having no time — or will —  to control his voice. No amount of panic is able to overshadow the immense pleasure that erupts through his body, set ablaze both by how good Hitoshi’s fingers feel inside him and how wrong the situation is. 

The thought of being caught makes his heart almost break out of his ribcage, yet it has him harder than he was before the interruption — and, unfortunately, the older boy notices.

“Look at you, moaning like a whore in front of this mother and her child… I didn’t really think you meant it before, but you’d truly let me do anything to you, huh?”

Izuku can’t contain the moan that bubbles out of his throat, the taunt going straight to his groin. Desperate for some friction, he rocks his hips up until he's rutting against Hitoshi’s leg in a pitiful display of need, not even the shame or fear of being noticed stopping him from pursuing relief.

Hitoshi only lets him suffer for a few more minutes before he finally takes pity on him and curls his hand around his unattended cock, stroking him at a slower, more torturous rhythm than the first time, his movements perfectly synchronized with the thrusting of his fingers into his insides. It becomes too much and too little too quickly, but never nearly enough. He makes sure to drag his movements in just the right way to keep Izuku on the very edge, never quite tumbling but never safe from the fall, either.

Too caught up in the desperation, he barely even notices the sound of the women's voices becoming fainter, silence engulfing the scene once more, yet the lingering fear still makes him fight to keep his voice down, biting his lip so hard he can taste the blood in his mouth. And as Hitoshi’s pace increases, he can feel himself grow restless and frantic, aching to be filled with something bigger, harder, a mere two fingers not nearly enough for him to obtain the sort of relief he so craves–

“So lewd, Izu… You love being on display, don't you? Such an exhibitionist. And you just have to take it one step further every time… Clearly, jerking you off in front of my father that one time wasn’t enough—”

No. No. 

Oh God, please, not this— not now.

It’s inevitable. Like a broken dam, the image floods his mind before he can stop it— pitch-black eyes, cold and dangerous, watching him dissolve with a staggering sort of intensity; a voice that rumbles so deep it makes him shudder just thinking of it; a touch that burns so hot he just wants to melt in it.

And once he lets it in, it’s too late.

The sound that comes out of his throat is as unexpected as it is shameful; it feels more like a wail than anything else, spilling past his lips before he even notices it’s there, ripples of pleasure crashing through his body like a wave that knocks him head-first onto the shore without any warning, leaving him to gasp out for air after almost drowning in its saturating, horrifying ferocity. 

From one second to the next, he goes limp underneath Hitoshi, warm trickles of white pooling into a sticky mess over his heaving chest.

There is nothing but silence for a few seconds. Izuku pants, exhausted and numb from both the bliss of climax and the tension released after his brain finally catches up to the fact that they’re no longer at risk of discovery. For a moment, he just stays there, feeling ridiculously at ease, weightless, almost even giddy. 

It all crumbles when Hitoshi speaks. 

“Did you just—” He sounds winded, and not from the exertion. Like he can’t believe what he just saw, his voice so disconcerted that it makes Izuku startle as if he'd just been electrocuted; all at once, reality comes crashing down on him, leaving his still-numb brain in too much shock to properly process what just happened.

“I’m— not even inside you yet. You’ve never… this soon…?”

He sounds so shocked. Concerned, almost distraught.   

“I…” Izuku trails off, trying to think of some explanation, some form of excuse to justify his unnaturally premature orgasm, yet his mind is thoroughly blank.

He cannot conjure up a single thing to say to explain what just transpired, not even to himself, too stunned to even think properly. And even if he weren’t, the dry lump in his throat would prevent any words from rising out of his mouth. 

He braces himself for the disgust. For the anger. Surely, Hitoshi has put the pieces together… he knows him well enough to do so, at this point. Well enough to finally realize why he’s been acting so weird lately, why he practically jolts at the mere mention of a person who should be nothing but inconsequential to Izuku.

But none of that comes. 

Instead, a wide, almost conspiratory grin stretches across his face, a glint of fascination in his eyes. “You’re worse than I thought.” 

It sounds… like a compliment? Dumbstruck, Izuku blinks, unsure of how to interpret Hitoshi’s words. Thankfully, he doesn’t have to wonder much, for the purple-haired boy adds, “I didn’t know doing it in the open and in public was such a turn-on for you. You should have told me.”

Oh. Oh.  

That’s what he- thank God. 

“I— didn’t know either,” he practically chokes out, not one to waste such a generous opportunity — and it shouldn’t be this easy to lie to Hitoshi, but it is, and it makes him feel horrible. 

Still, he can’t erase the sensation that he’s just escaped some sort of death sentence; how the tension leaves his body once he realises that, no, Hitoshi doesn’t know he’s been fantasizing about fucking his father — doesn't know he just came from the mere allusion to him. The relief is only short-lived, however, in the face of the mind-staggering guilt that slowly spreads through his body like melted butter. 

He is acutely aware of Hitoshi’s gaze studying him as he sits up, disoriented and still very much in shock. He turns his abashed face away, searching in his bag for a tissue to clean himself with while trying not to grimace or recoil as he does so. He has to fight the shame, not wanting to give Hitoshi any reasons to suspect him beyond what he’s already concluded.

And as if perfectly proud of said conclusion, Hitoshi teases, “Oh, or was it because of the child? She was pretty, but couldn't have been older than ten. That's a new low even for you, Izu.”

His head snaps up to stare at him like he just spoke blasphemy, feeling insanely offended. 

“What?” he cries out, “No! You— it was you who almost exposed that little girl to— it was your fault that I-” 

He is cut off by laughter, light and carefree, genuine amusement reflected in the way the smile reaches Hitoshi’s eyes. 

In any other situation, Izuku would be relieved that, clearly, he’s just being teased — Hitoshi doesn’t actually think he’s that kind of… degenerate. But right now, he can’t help feeling like even that would be better than Hitoshi finding out what really happened. 

Unexpectedly, it's that thought that makes him halt.

Because, actually, it’s not like… not like anything has happened.

He’s done nothing. No actions, words, or even real thoughts can incriminate him. Because, above anything, he will do nothing.

He would never betray Hitoshi like that. And, realistically, it's not even like the opportunity would present itself — after all, why would Aizawa-san be interested in him, his son's underage, not to mention very plain-looking and ordinary boyfriend?

Like an epiphany, those facts light up his mind, slowly bringing along some much-needed clarity and specks of comfort. 

Sure. He thinks of things he shouldn’t, but it doesn’t matter. It's just thoughts. Intrusive thoughts — like when you contemplate pushing the old lady next to you into moving traffic, or when you think about throwing yourself off the rooftop of an 8-story building. 

Just thoughts. Nothing actually damning. It doesn’t mean he is a bad person. A cheater. 

And as they put their clothes back on — well, as he does, since Hitoshi had barely undressed in the first place — he feels the weight of guilt slowly evaporate off his body, his mind now able to embrace the situation with a hopeful kind of resignation. 

It won't come easily, but Izuku decides to let go of his worries; eventually, without giving them any attention, all those pesky, troublesome thoughts will disappear on their own. He is sure of it. 

It's considerably easier to face his boyfriend after that. 

The walk back to the station is quiet, pleasant; hands held together the whole time, the thrill and adrenaline from their little tryst has now mostly dissipated, only a phantom rush remaining. 

Hitoshi’s skin is warm, his grip tight around their interlaced fingers; they stay locked together until the very last moment before they part ways to get onto their respective trains, and even then Izuku's hand still aches with the ghost of his touch. 

And when Hitoshi bids him goodbye and a ‘see you tomorrow’, he is once again reminded of the very occasion he’d been trying to evade for the past week, yet finds that he is no longer afraid. 

He doesn’t have to fight the thoughts anymore — they can’t harm him.

After all, he truly loves Hitoshi.