Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Oi! You better be careful, there’s a gate reported near the station. The trains might be down.” 

Izuku pauses while packing up his satchel and shoots a wry, tired smile at his well-meaning cubicle-mate. 

“Thanks, I’ll keep an eye out.” 

These days, when a rift appears, on the spectrum of inconvenience to catastrophe, it’s no more terrible than a collision on the freeway. 

Sure, those can be pretty disastrous. There’s a chance of injury, death, but they’re also very, very common. It might only directly affect a handful of people, or less than that. There’s a system in place to handle them now.

When they first appeared some twenty odd years ago, it was this big, terrifying mystery that eradicated thousands, millions. No one knew what they were, why they appeared, or what was inside of them. No one knew the conditions, and most weren’t foolhardy enough to cross through these sudden rips in reality. 

Because that’s what they are, rips—as if the fabric of our dimension has all the integrity of the bottom of a grease-soaked takeout bag. The rifts appeared all over the world simultaneously, a bright and colorful invasion. For the first twenty-four hours of their existence, they shimmer like harmless puddles. Some are no bigger than your average doorway, some are as large as three-story buildings. They vary in shade: blue, green, purple, and red. They were a horrific marvel, something to ogle from the imagined security of your window, until the timer that no one knew existed stopped counting down. 

[ 0:00 ]

It was the greatest, global-scale disaster known to man. 

The rifts are just as they appear to be—doorways to alternate dimensions. Or, perhaps just one other dimension. Perhaps, Hell itself. These dimensions, or dimension, is a monsters’ playground. Creatures of all shapes, sizes, and variety. Some are the type humans have conjured up in multimedia: ogres, insectoids, dragon-like creatures. Others are beyond comprehension. Once twenty-four hours rolls by, it’s as if the padlock on the other side of the rift snaps off.  The monsters pour out like ants from a footprint in their hill. They kill, consume, and destroy. 

While, to this day, we still don’t know why they first appeared, they’re handled with the same sort of professionalism you’d see after a collision on the freeway. They’re roped off, traffic is diverted, the surrounding areas are temporarily evacuated, and the local Guilds are contacted to clean it up. 

When the rifts appeared, called ‘gates’ in these modern times, so did many [seemingly random] people experience a dramatic change. Two new classes saw their debut on the stage of human evolution:

Esper. 

Guide. 

To be an esper is to manifest an energy not of this dimension. It’s speculated to have originated from the dimension beyond the rifts. Just as the gates vary in difficulty, that energy manifests differently in everyone. It can be more or less impressive depending on the person who wields it, and it’s utilized uniquely—no two espers possess the exact same ability, though some might be similar. There is one universal, immutable truth that stands for every esper, however.

The more energy used, the greater the risk. It’s not something the body can process out organically, as it was never meant for a human vessel in the first place. When too much energy is used without proper relief, the threat of a ‘rampage’ looms. It’s exactly as it sounds. The rampaging esper completely, totally loses their grips on sanity and lashes out with every bit of energy left in them. If they aren’t put down by their fellows, that otherworldly energy will eventually rip their physical body apart. 

Enter, guide. 

While espers are overflowing, unable to siphon off their own disastrous energy, guides are empty, bottomless chasms. They have their own brand of interdimensional energy, though it’s based more in the realm of homeostasis—like a processing plant. Hot, volatile power flows in, and a guide’s body waters it down into harmless nothingness. In this way, one is necessary to the other. Espers need guides to live, while guides are motivated by a simple sense of duty and empathy.

[ Well, I can’t let you die, can I? ]

Thus, Guilds were born. The whole affair became commoditized, just another job to do to keep the world turning. It’s illegal to conceal your status, though you can refuse to join a Guild. It’s sort of like...a draft. You’re not obligated to fight or guide, but if the need arises, you can be called upon. There’s a registry that everyone must establish themselves with when that energy emerges, but...

Midoriya Izuku would rather die than be a guide. 

While he has both a strong sense of duty and empathy, a guide’s life is neither enviable nor glamorous. Espers outnumber guides five to one, so the demand is high. They’re overworked, underpaid, and generally mistreated by the Guilds they’re contracted with and the espers they maintain. Guiding occurs through physical contact, and the more intimate the contact, the more thorough the process. Many guides are pressured into sexual relationships because of this, when simple hand-holding is generally enough to get the job done. Because the threat of death and insanity lurks in the shadow of every esper, they can become extremely possessive, competitive, and frantic in search of a compatible guide. 

He doesn’t want that for himself. He doesn’t want to be passed around a Guild or shackled to an esper’s side, living only to wait for them, to drain them of that darkness. It’s a miserable existence, and he’d know—his mother’s a registered guide. Thankfully, she’s retired now, and she managed to avoid imprinting with any one esper. She was a part of that first round of manifestations, when the world was writhing in chaos and everyone was stumbling blindly through this new, unwarranted way of life. When guides were discovered, persons with the ability to prevent a rampage, they were all but stripped of their human rights for the sake of the greater good. 

He’d rather die than be a living drain. 

The station is abuzz with activity, but not the typical hubbub of salarymen in a rush to get home to their neglected families or to Shinjuku for a nightcap. No, a crowd has amassed on the opposite side of the street from that aforementioned gate. The road had been blocked off a hundred yards down at both ends, and the gate itself is given a breadth of fifty feet. That never stops pedestrians and onlookers from swarming the barricades, eager for a glimpse of the returning espers. They’re like superheroes or celebrities to the common folk, especially those in the top ten of the rankings. 

Izuku had come this route in hopes that the gate would be closed and he could take the train as normal. He stops at the edge of the crowd, turning to look across the street as one can’t help but rubberneck at the sight of something unusual and abhorrent. It’s a red gate, categorically the most dangerous. Not only is it red, it’s...massive. Izuku estimates it to be sixty feet high, forty feet wide. That eerie, crimson glow bounces off the glass and metal of surrounding buildings like a giant, neon advert: ”abandon all hope, ye who enter here!” 

His stomach tightens with anxiety. Shouldn’t these people be...cleared out? Why hasn’t the Guild made them—

Oh. 

It’s the Dynamight Guild. 

They’re notorious for scraping up publicity in whatever way they can get it, boasting the country’s most powerful esper in their ranks. Legally, the public must be kept back fifty feet from a gate’s surface, but most Guilds abide by an honor system—no one is allowed within viewing distance of a red gate, even asking nearby tenants to temporarily vacate their homes in case the gate cannot be closed within the twenty-four hour limit. Dynamight, however, is confident that any gate can be closed under that limit by their contracted espers. 

Namely, Bakugo Katsuki. 

To their credit, they’ve kept to that standard. Whether Bakugo was present in a raid or not, they manage to close every gate they’ve been dispatched to. ‘Still...’ Izuku huffs to himself. It’s not safe , anything can happen. He turns to the man closest to him, calling his attention. 

“Sir, pardon me.”

“Yeah?”

“Do you know how long it’s been open?”

“Uh, six hours, I think?” 

So, not long. 

Izuku glances around at the varying expressions of the onlookers. Some are nervous, wary, but most are curious, excited, and eager—awaiting a hero’s return from a brutal, bloody siege. The gates [and the abilities bestowed by them] are a source of fascination, obsession, even after all these years. They’re something beyond comprehension. Something unknown, supernatural, straight out of a manhwa. Izuku doesn’t possess that same enthusiasm. 

It’s hot. The sun is well beyond set. He’s hungry, drained, and sleep-deprived. He doesn’t intend to stick around for the finalé, because loathed as he is to admit it, he trusts Dynamight to close this gate just like everyone else does. Swooping his neck in a stretch and hammering out a knot from his shoulder, he turns to leave the scene with nary a look back. There’s a cup of very appetizing instant noodles with his name on it. 

“Oh, look, they’re—I think they’re coming out! It’s glowing!”

A cacophony of voices lifts at his back as the crowd begins murmuring, commenting, and shouting upon the party’s return from the red gate. True to their observations, the gate is beginning to shimmer into a ghost of itself. That terrible, vibrant red is fading into translucency and will inevitably disappear as if it’d never been at all. Unable to help himself, Izuku turns back to watch the espers emerge. It’s something he’d normally only see on the news, and sure enough, there are a string of reporters lining the front of the barricade, their polished lenses poised to capture whatever sight washes out of that carmine hell. 

Shockingly, it’s one man. 

Bakugo Katsuki closed the gate [a red gate], alone. 

He looks...awful: shoulders slumped and trembling with exhaustion, clothes hanging off his large frame in ribbons, soiled head to toe in gore. His expression is impossible to gauge behind the grimy, blonde fringe pasted to his brow, but Izuku imagines he’s scowling. He always seems to be scowling. He’s swarmed by members of his Guild [Gate Operators], those tasked with controlling the scene, communicating with the necessary authorities, and providing medical attention and emergency guiding. Izuku tunes into the commentary around him without meaning to.

“Holy shit, it’s Bakugo!”

“He looks beat, I can’t believe they made him close it solo.”

“Made him? I’m sure he probably wanted it that way, you know...how he is.”

“But they let ‘im do it, because he’s the only one who can!” 

“Damn, I’d hate to be one of his G.O.’s. He’s tearing that poor bastard a new one.” 

True enough, Bakugo is barking and snapping at anyone who gets too close. While Izuku can’t make out what’s being said, the natural volume of Bakugo’s rasp carries. He practically shouts everything he has to say, even under normal circumstances. Tonight, it’s different, somehow. He seems more than just angry or tired. Something about him now is wild, desperate. His expression isn’t so much a disgruntled scowl, but a pained twist. His eyes—

Oh. 

They’re bright, unnaturally so. It’s obvious even to Izuku, who stands over fifty feet away. Before long, the scene becomes dire. It isn’t just his eyes, it’s—his entire being, fire-bright energy licks off of him like smoke curling over a campfire. The G.O.’s for Dynamight are in a frenzy, and more than once, one of their guides attempts to encroach into his space. Bakugo lashes out like the fire he’s becoming, whipping flames in an explosive arc. It’s so bright, it’s as if lightning struck in the middle of the street. It’s so hot, it’s felt by the onlookers behind the barricade. Izuku flinches back, as it feels like someone had shoved a torch in his face. 

The order comes on a loop through a speakerphone: “Evacuate the area immediately! I repeat, evacuate the area—!” 

Bakugo Katsuki is about to rampage, and no one is stupid or curious enough to wait around and watch. 

While Izuku doesn’t keep up with every new, disparaging headline, neither does he live under a rock. Despite Bakugo’s status as the most powerful esper in the country, he bears a hefty stigma. He refuses to be guided regularly, therefore posing a huge risk to public safety. He’s widely regarded as a ticking time-bomb. No one outside of his Guild knows why, but he’s only ever guided on the brink of a rampage, and even then he sometimes has to be sedated. However, as far as public knowledge goes, he’s never been this close to the brink. If he emerges from a gate with any sort of indication, he’s forced to submit to on-site guidance by an S-class guide. 

What happened? 

Why, now, is it any different? 

Izuku is jostled about as the throng of bodies disperses with haste, fleeing in whichever direction is closest to home. He should be doing the same, fleeing. But…

Bakugo is…screaming. 

It’s a throat-ripping, guttural sound wrought with enough rage, fear, and agony to become a new energy source in itself . One could power a small city with that much visceral emotion. He’s on his knees now, gripping his head between his hands like it’s a melon he means to crush. That blistering energy is radiating from him with force and speed, a whipping conflagration hot enough to melt the cement and brighten the night into an unnatural, pseudo-day. 

Perhaps he’s the one stupid enough to loiter about and watch, because his feet are rooted to the sidewalk. Instead of the fear that should be consuming him, he feels…heartbroken. Izuku’s never seen a rampage before, not even secondhand through socials. He purposefully avoided the spectacle. Now, he’s watching a man endure the most painful death throes imaginable. Death by rampage has been described as a nuclear reaction setting off in your core, ripping you apart cell by cell, atom by atom. It’s...excruciating.

Izuku rips his steadfast gaze away, desperate for some sort of miracle on the horizon. Someone, something, that can put a stop to this. The G.O’s that were within fifteen feet of Bakugo have perished, their corpses roasting on the ground in the residual heat. The remaining members of his Guild are scrambling to erect barriers around his perimeter and radioing for outside assistance. More than that, Izuku sees…people. Pale, horrified faces peeking out from the windows of offices, shops, and apartments. They weren’t asked to evacuate on the gate’s manifestation, and now it’s too late for them to do so safely. 

Kids. There are children clinging to their guardians, naïve enough to believe that’s all the protection they’d need in the world. His heart drops like a ten-ton weight into the churning, acidic pit below. Oh, God. Oh, fuck. 

It’s probably…too late for him, too, isn’t it? 

It’s so hot, he can barely breathe. Every inhale is scorching the moisture from his oronasal passages. Not only will Bakugo die, he’ll take a majority of the city with him upon detonation. An esper of his caliber has never rampaged to destruction before. There’s no precedent, so the repercussions are literally unimaginable. 

‘Where are Dynamight’s guides? Where’s his support team? Why haven’t they come to sedate him yet?! He needs a guide, guide, guide, where are the—‘

Izuku’s frenetic train of thought slams into the side of his brain, a screeching halt. 

‘I’m...a guide.’

It’s an objective truth, as much as he wishes it wasn’t. He is a guide, but does that really matter? Bakugo Katsuki is an X-class esper, and as far as rankings go, ‘X’ stands for—too much energy to be quantified, off the charts, over-powered. There are only eighteen espers in the world with this ranking, thirty-five in history. If an X-class guide exists, it’s anyone’s guess. The rankings are as follows, from greatest to least: X, SSS, SS, S, A, B, C, D, E. ‘E’ is the equivalent of—you can sort-of bend a spoon, good for you! Izuku isn’t registered, nor has he guided anyone before. He has no concept of his ranking, but he can’t fathom it being in the same realm as an X-class. For a guide, their ranking system is based on how much energy they can absorb and process at one time [without dying]. 

It seems he’s left with one of two choices—die, or die trying. 

They tend to keep the office a bitter cold temperature, no matter the season, so Izuku keeps a hooded jacket in his satchel. He rips it out, drops his bag, and crams his upper half into the thick material. With the hood cinched around his face, he gathers what little nerve he has. He runs, and it’s like running across the surface of the sun . The pavement is melting through the rubber of his soles, each breath feels like he’s swallowing knives hot off a baking sheet, and the sweat gathering at his hairline drips into his lashes—blinding him, stinging tears from his sensitive corneas. 

Thirty feet.

Twenty.

Fifteen. 

The closer he gets to Bakugo, the more unbearable the pressure, the more deafening his screams. Bakugo’s flesh seems to be...cracking, like the delicate shell of an egg, with pure energy bleeding out between. His vessel is literally bursting. He barely catches the muted shouts of the Dynamight Guild’s G.O.’s, pleading with him to stay back. It’s much too late for that, isn’t it? He wants to, he does, but he’s already this close. Nothing to it but to commit. When there’s less than five feet between himself and Bakugo’s crumpled form, he launches forward. 

They collide, and God, it hurts. 

It’s jumping into a furnace, a vat of bubbling, liquid gold. More than the heat, the pressure of that unnatural energy—it’s flattening him, an impossible blanket of gravity for anyone to exist beneath. Izuku screams through his teeth, eyes pinched around tears that evaporate as soon as they coalesce. He’s here, so just—do it! 

Do it, do it, do it—!

He sandwiches Bakugo’s face between his bare hands, acting on pure instinct. It works, because that energy begins to seep through his hands, rampaging like a river through his arms, settling in his core to be diluted. It’s the worst feeling he’s ever experienced. His body feels tight, thin, around that overwhelming influx of raw, sweltering power. He’s sick and full of dread, as through their physical connection, he’s able to gauge Bakugo’s reserves. 

His energy is boundless. Whatever relief Izuku might provide, it’s no more than pouring a handful of cool water in the middle of a desert. Still, he has the capacity to take more. But, just cradling Bakugo’s face won’t be enough. Lifting onto his knees, he blinks his eyes open. Their faces are closer than he anticipated, and while Bakugo is looking at him, his incandescent gaze is unseeing. He’s either unconscious or no longer sane. Sane or not, his face is tight and gnarled with unbearable pain. There was never any time for contemplation to begin with, so without another useless thought to delay him—

Izuku slams their mouths together. 

He hangs on for dear life, locking his arms together at Bakugo’s nape, as the esper reacts violently to the contact in those first few seconds. Izuku plays the part of that drain he swore he’d never be, choking down as much energy as he can take. It’s like kissing a stovetop, and if he lives through this, he wonders if his insurance will cover grafts. 

Before long, the atmosphere shifts. Instead of Izuku forcibly ripping the energy from Bakugo’s body, Bakugo must’ve instinctively realized the benefit of ridding himself of it. His large, scalding hands are sudden shackles around Izuku’s biceps, and whereas previously their lips were just mashed together limply, it becomes the sort of kiss that shouldn’t be privy to an audience. Izuku barely registers Bakugo’s tongue sliding across his molars through the onslaught of energy that’s being dumped into him. 

It’s like trying to pour the entirety of the universe into a teacup. 

He’s radioactive with it, a live wire. All that visible energy is lighting up his nervous system through his skin, fine lines brightened to intricate branches. His core is on the verge of a supernova: too full, unstable, hot. The scary thing, it’s only a fraction of it—Bakugo’s energy. He feels violently nauseous. His vision is spotting. His hands are cold, clammy. Unbeknownst to him in his foggy state, that intolerable heat is receding. His guidance, against all odds, is working. Whether he lives through it, that’s a different matter altogether. 

Feeling as if he might combust at any moment, and knowing Bakugo isn’t able to stop of his own volition, Izuku tears away from him with what little strength he has left. He scrambles back, sucking in each breath like there isn’t enough oxygen to satiate him. It’s loud, the offbeat huffs and grunts of their ragged, desperate breathing. Izuku lifts his head, and Bakugo is staring at him dazedly, blinking against the blur in his vision. They’re no longer bright with excess energy, and while he’s in terrible shape, he’s no longer an esper on the verge of a rampage. 

He opens his mouth, but the words he’d been trying for don’t come—just a weak croak. He coughs, suddenly attempting to sit or stand. Izuku flinches back, because it’s a wake-up call. His ears are ringing, his stomach is churning, his limbs are gelatin, but—

He has to get the hell out of here. 

“Bakugo, hey! Can you hear me?! What’s going on?!” 

The G.O.’s are starting to breach the perimeter they’d set up, gauging their esper for signs of consciousness or continued rampage. Izuku struggles to get to his feet and replaces the hood over his head, tightening it around his jaw. He staggers in the opposite direction of the approaching G.O.’s. 

“Hey—!” Bakugo tries to shout, voice in a crackle, but interrupts himself with another hacking cough. “Fuck, wait—!” 

Izuku definitely does not wait. He gets away only because the Guild’s G.O.‘s are more concerned with securing the scene and aiding their esper than chasing down a nameless guide. He’s not one to look a gift-horse in the mouth, so he retreats with nothing more than adrenaline pounding through his liquescent muscles. 

He didn’t die immediately, at least. 

—

[ 46:03:29 ]

Despite the different manifestations of their ability, every esper is blessed with some form of accelerated regeneration. The more energy one possesses, the quicker and more thorough they heal. It’s a bit of a conundrum, considering that very same energy has to be regularly siphoned off via guidance. 

This is why, over two days later, Katsuki wakes feeling like a crisp million bucks—despite his body coming close to shredding at the seams not long ago. In fact, he’s never felt quite so good, not since manifesting. The burden of power is often a physical one, and he’s learned to adapt to it over the years. Some days are better than others, but there’s always, always a vague sensation of weight bearing down on him, a threat of being crushed. His shoulders are always stiff with it, his temples always thrum with it, and chronic discomfort plagues him in near every capacity. 

If he’d submit to regular guidance, as the higher-ups are always bitching at him to do, it’d surely be less of an issue. His burden might be eased. But, respectfully, fuck that. 

Guidance hurts. 

It’s fucking torture, actually. It doesn’t matter the guide’s class, he’s never achieved a compatibility rating greater than 27%. He’s been accused of resisting the guide, which might contribute to his abysmal ratings, but that’s blatantly fucking untrue. He does his utmost to tolerate the rating tests and the sessions he’s obligated to participate in. Guidance feels like...each presynaptic terminal in his body is being jabbed with a microscopic cattle-prod. He can’t stand it for longer than two or three minutes at a time, and that’s nowhere near enough to make a real difference. 

Thus, this latest incident.

Despite his stability rating being deep in the red, a whopping 78%, he insisted on dispatching to the gate in Chiyoda. There were stipulations, of course. He’d receive guidance en route, no less than ten minutes of it, and would submit to a thirty minute session upon closing the gate. Except, it didn’t go quite like he expected it to within the gate. The underwhelming, lukewarm guidance he gritted through beforehand did next to nothing for his stability. 

He got...a little carried away, if he’s being honest. The monsters weren’t necessarily challenging, there were just many of them. He’d spent the entirety of those six hours slaughtering endless hordes of goblin-class creatures, each wave a higher class than the one before it. 

It was fun, until it wasn’t. Emerging from the gate, he could feel the repercussions of weaponizing so much of his energy keenly . He’s come dangerously close to the precipice of a rampage many, many times, but he’s never tipped over the edge before. Even then, there was some instinctive part of him that recoiled from those attempts at emergency guidance. He couldn’t stop himself from lashing out. It was as though that connection from brain to body had been severed, and his energy was a living entity yanking the wheel to and fro. 

“Finally up, huh?”

Katsuki groans through his teeth. 

“Looks like it.” He scoffs. “I’m not in the mood for a fuckin’ lecture, so—”

Aizawa Shota, his direct supervisor in the Guild, drops into the wide-armed chair at his bedside. A tablet is lax in his hands, and he regards Katsuki with his typical brand of apathetic displeasure—though a little sharper. His eyes aren’t as hooded with exhaustion, more thin with ire. 

“No? I won’t bother with the lecture, then. You’re suspended for at least two weeks.”

“Excuse the fuck—?!”

Aizawa smacks the tablet against his upper thigh. “What in God’s name did you think would happen, Bakugo? You’ve never been stable, but that shit you pulled? That wasn’t close to a rampage, you were rampaging. You get the difference, don’t you? There were casualties this time. No civilians, thank Christ, but some of our guys. The general public doesn’t want to see you anywhere near a gate, and the Guild agrees. So do I, frankly. If you won’t accept guidance, you’re forbidden from entering the gates.” 

Katsuki’s mouth tightens into a thin, pale line. Then, he asks, “who was it?” 

“You mean the guide?”

“Who the fuck else would I mean? Yeah, the guide.”

“Don’t be a cunt.” Aizawa sighs, slouching back into the chair. “We...aren’t sure.” 

Katsuki turns big, disbelieving eyes onto the older esper. “How...? Why aren’t you sure? How is that possible?” 

“They weren’t with our Guild. As far as we know, they were a bystander. No one’s come forward, and none of our guys caught a look at their face. They...left the scene.” 

Katsuki gapes. “That bastard was able to walk away after...?”

“Guiding you out of a rampage, yeah. Though, from eyewitness accounts, it seemed they more limped away. Do you remember any identifying information about them? I mean, do you remember anything—?” 

“Yeah, I fuckin’ remember.” 

It was the type of guidance he’s always heard about from other espers, but never thought he’d experience for himself. He always figured his class was too high, that had to be it. Why else would they describe it as the apex of physical pleasure, while it’s never been more than a grueling necessity for him? But, at that time, for the first time, it felt just as they’d said—good, better than anything. Even before his consciousness returned, his reptilian hindbrain recognized the sensation as something addictive, something to be craved. 

It was like cool, crisp water sliding down his parched throat. That feeling of utter relief spread through every corner and crevice of his body, dampening the inferno of his power into a tiny, fragile pilot light in the protective cup of his guide’s palms. Even now, he’s benefitting from it. He’s...lighter. He’s never felt so in tune with his own energy, now a soft buzz beneath his skin instead of a noose tightening about his neck. He’s never felt so powerful. 

“What’s my rating right now?”

“You sittin’ down?”

Katsuki shoots him an acidic look. 

Aizawa looks...vaguely mystified as he glances at his tablet, and that already speaks volumes. “You’re in the green, 27%.”

Bakugo Katsuki has never, not once, been in the green.

Unfortunately, he can barely remember the kid’s face. He was halfway blind when he came to. He isn’t sure of anything [man, woman, young, old], but his gut alleges it was a younger guy—maybe even a teenager. Dark hair, freckles, the sort of rich green that blooms...

Katsuki is sure he’ll recognize the kid upon seeing him again. He’s positive, actually. 

What kind of shit-class esper would he be if he can’t recognize his own guide?

Chapter Text

[ D: “Welcome back to NHK. Tonight, our top story: Dynamight’s Bakugo Katsuki, number one in his Guild, number one in the country, came dangerously close to a full-fledged rampage, the closest we’ve ever seen from him. At approximately one p.m. on Tuesday, a red gate appeared just outside the Chiyoda Line, with Dynamight scooping up the contract in less than an hour after its appearance. It’s anyone’s guess as to why, but Bakugo Katsuki, alone, was dispatched to close the gate. 

Since his debut with Dynamight at the precarious age of sixteen, Bakugo Katsuki has carved out an image for himself—unstable. While it’s an objective fact that he’s kept this country safe from the insurmountable threats beyond the gates, his refusal to accept regular guidance poses just as much of a risk as any otherworldly creature, if not a bigger risk. He’s widely regarded as a ticking time-bomb, a loose cannon, and he reminded us all exactly why that is earlier this week.” 

K: “Yes, but let’s discuss another matter that’s on everyone’s mind: who is the guide? Despite multiple outlets reaching out to Dynamight for their official statement, one has yet to be given. We’re left with a lot of unanswered questions, Daia.”

D: “That’s right. One brave—”

K: “–some would say suicidal.”

D: “Well, that’s journalism, isn’t it, Kousei? One...very determined bystander remained on the premises during Bakugo-san’s potential rampage, even after being asked to evacuate by the Gate Operators on scene. This footage has been circulated online, having already generated millions of views after barely three days. It’s difficult to gauge what exactly is happening through Bakugo-san’s enormous energy output, but that aforementioned guide can be seen in the last forty-five seconds of the clip. It’s a hard watch, folks. An esper’s rampage is...”

K: “It’s tough to stomach. We advise you to look away, change the channel, if it’s something you might be uncomfortable with.” 

D: “As you can see, a hooded figure crosses the street in a sprint. They brave the fire, which many eyewitnesses alleged were difficult to tolerate at over fifty feet away, and throw themselves into Bakugo-san’s personal space.”  

K: “Now, that alone is an impressive feat, but the fact that this individual’s guidance was successful? That’s—”

D: “—insane, truly. Bakugo Katsuki is an X-class, with energy outputs that can’t be scaled on any normal day. To guide him out of a rampage? It’s remarkable, perhaps unprecedented.”

K: “Well, it begs the question, doesn’t it? Who are they? Why did they flee the scene upon a successful guidance of that caliber? They were limping away, clearly injured. Does Bakugo Katsuki have an imprinted guide that he’s kept squirreled away from the world? Is this person working with a rival Guild? 

Or, are they unregistered?” ]

Izuku doesn’t live under a rock. 

He’s seen the news. It feels like everyone in the city is turning stones in search of: “The Guide Who Saved Tokyo.” 

He’s never felt so paranoid in his life. Sure, he lived. Bakugo lived. Most everyone lived. But, at what cost? His privacy? His sanity? His freedom? Will he be fined? Thrown in jail? Or worse, chained up in Dynamight’s basement? He whimpers into the crook of his elbow. What was he thinking? He’s not a hero, nor does he want to be. His spontaneous, last-ditch guidance worked on an X-class esper mid-rampage, great. It’s a miracle. Let’s all move on. It’s been a week, that’s practically a lifetime. 

No one will let it go. It’s the biggest bit of gossip since Todoroki Touya separated from his family’s guild, Endeavor, to join the League [their reputation isn’t great]. His mother gushes about it over dinner. His coworkers gaff about it on breaks. There are memes. Memes! He saw a candid of Ben Affleck mid-walk, tired-faced, toting a cup of coffee, with the caption: ‘when you’re just trying to catch the train, but Bakugo’s rampaging again.’ 

It would’ve been funny if it wasn’t painfully, painfully true. 

Worst of all, he had to throw away the jacket he was wearing. Izuku loved that jacket, but he won’t be caught dead in it now. People are too observant. If he wore it in public, some internet sleuth might notice, then compare his height to the ‘mystery guide’ in that grainy video. Same height, same build, same jacket—boom, data-analyst Midoriya Izuku saved the city, and now the whole world knows it. His own mother doesn’t know he’s a guide. No one knows. He’s taking it to the grave, or he was. It seems impossible now. Maybe they dusted Bakugo’s cheeks for his prints. 

God, he’s losing it. 

“Midoriya, here.”

Izuku picks his head up, only to blink down at the plastic to-go cup placed on his desk. It’s a blended, mocha boba—his favorite. His cubicle-mate, Haori, grins down at him goodnaturedly. 

“What’s this for?”

“No offense, but you look like shit lately. I figured you could use a pick-me-up.”

Izuku’s lip wobbles into a watery smile. “Haori, you’re the best.”

Haori coughs, turns away, and prays Izuku doesn’t catch the rouge tinting the tops of his ears. “It’s just a coffee, geez. But, seriously, you doin’ okay?”

No, he isn’t. Since the worst day of his life, as he’s referring to it, he’s felt...not-so-great. To his pleasant surprise, there was no tremendous physical damage. While he did sustain a few mild burns and bruises, it was nothing to write home about. He suspects it had something to do with Bakugo’s leftover energy. Espers have regenerative abilities, and perhaps Bakugo’s energy circulating through his body healed him of the worst of it. However, he aches. He aches like he ran a thousand miles without pause for water or breath. While his condition has improved since the worst day of his life, his skull still creaks with pressure in the mornings and his muscles still clam up with tension. Occasionally, he’ll experience phantom pains—the memory of Bakugo’s power lighting up his nervous system like the Chinese New Year. 

Outside of the bodily bits, there’s all the stress [as previously mentioned]. He also left his satchel at the scene, though blessedly, there was no identifying information inside of it. His wallet had been in his pocket and his lanyard still hung from his neck. Whoever finds it shouldn’t be able to trace anything in it back to him, though his anxieties keep reminding him: “forensics, forensics, forensics—one hair follicle, that’s all it takes…”

“Ah, well, just…not sleeping so great, for some reason.” 

It’s a lame story, but Haori has no reason to doubt it's anything but the truth.

“I’m sorry, man. Let me know if there’s anything I can help with.” 

“Will do, thanks for the drink. I owe you one.”

“Shut up, no, you don’t.”

—

[ 172:45:02 ]

The pervasive stillness of Toshinori’s office is broken only by the repetitive clack-clack-clack of wooden tiles jumping around the smooth surface of a shōgi ban. Twenty, strenuous minutes into that stillness he’s so fervently clinging to, his playing partner addresses the unsightly elephant in the room: 

“Bakugo’s losing his fucking mind.”

Toshinori sighs, listlessly capturing Aizawa’s lance. He’d sucked the enjoyment right out of his strategy. “I’m…aware.”

“That’s great, it really is, because you’re lack of action was suggesting—“

Toshinori puffs out his massive chest. “I most certainly am acting.” 

“Okay, so you’ve found the guide?”

“…”

Aizawa braces his palms against the floor, slumping his weight into them. He sighs loud enough to rattle Toshinori’s teeth in his gums. “Look, it’s getting to the point we’re going to have to keep him sedated, and that’s not even a quip. He’s refusing to accept guidance of any kind, for any length of time. He claims it’s even more unbearable than it was before. Even without him running gates, he needs some form of guidance at least once a week.” 

“Right, so, quite dire.”

“Quite.”

Toshinori sticks his tongue between his molars, something he’s known to do when thinking deeply. “Let’s review what we do know.”

“The guide is young, male. Bakugo’s best guess puts him somewhere between seventeen and twenty-five, which is, again, a guess. He was barely lucid. He was originally a part of the crowd that had gathered across the street, which means he either lives or works in Chiyoda. Given he was near the line, he could’ve been headed for the train—so, possibly works. From the video, he looked…short, at least for an adult male. His shoes were noteworthy, visible even on that shitty video—red, bright.”

“Yes, yes. And we’ve checked the registry.”

“Right, we’ve narrowed down the possible candidates: young, short, male, dark hair, green eyes. Bakugo swore up and down, it was none of ‘em. He didn’t recognize any of the guides in the registry.”

“Which means Bakugo’s memory is in error, or this young guide isn’t registered. Which do we think is more likely?” 

Aizawa sighs again, as he tends to do. “I can’t say, but I’ve never seen Bakugo with more conviction than he has about this. He says he’ll absolutely recognize the guide when he sees him again, even a picture.” 

“What of the bag that was recovered at the scene? Eyewitness accounts?” 

“They’re conflicting. Offering compensation might’ve done more harm than good, as apparently everyone’s son, brother, and cousin is the guide we’re looking for. No one’s been able to verify their claim to the bag, though one gentleman claimed to recognize it. He says the owner of that bag asked him how long the gate had been active. The description he gave vaguely matches Bakugo’s description of the guide.”

“So, we’re on the hunt for a young, male, unregistered guide who possibly lives or works in Chiyoda Ward, wears red shoes, and is…short.”

Aizawa heaves a sigh for the third time. Toshinori massages the harsh, square lines of his jaw between a thumb and forefinger. “Well, we can’t exactly publicize this. The other Guilds would certainly swoop in like vultures, eager to poach some promising talent. I suppose...the best course of action would be to assign one of our’s to a tracking detail.”

“Right.” Aizawa agrees flatly.

“I’m glad you agree! It’s a good thing I assigned young Keigo to such a detail yesterday evening.”  Toshinori guffaws, clutching his stomach like he’s dropped this century’s hottest punchline.

“Why didn’t you just—?!” Aizawa bites off the rest of it, scowling for all he’s worth. “I don’t get paid enough for your shit. Give me a raise, or I’m leaving you for Endeavor.”

Toshinori feigns offense. “Shota, come now, let’s not be rash.”

There are many classifications for an esper. Combat types are the most revered, generally afforded celebrity-like treatment by the public. They also tend to exert a higher energy output than other types, which scales them higher in the rankings. Bakugo Katsuki is a prime example of this, as are the Todoroki crowd—high-class element manipulation, fire and ice. Takami Keigo is a reconnaissance type with an affinity for combat. It’s a useful manifestation, but someone of this type cannot solo a gate of any caliber.

Keigo, frankly, is a little uncomfortable with his task of snooping on the run-of-the-mill public. Toshinori’s description was so vague, it’s a real needle-in-a-haystack gig. Short, adult male between the ages of seventeen and twenty-seven. Dark hair, green eyes, freckled. Red shoes. The latter three details are the only unique identifiers, and there’s no guarantee this kid will still be wearing such obvious footwear—especially if they’re keen on not being found. Going unregistered is a big deal, not to be taken lightly. He does feel a bit bad for digging this kid out, but it’s a rush order. 

Dynamight’s top dog, best-seller, prime-cut esper—Bakugo Katsuki. He’s always been a prickly pear, but he’s a good kid at heart. It’s insider information, but Keigo knows Bakugo is struggling to get by without guidance. He doesn’t refuse it for fun, but because it causes him immense pain. According to Aizawa, since receiving proper guidance for the first time in his life, he’s unable to sit through a single second of it with anyone else. The longer it takes to find this kid, the longer Bakugo’s on house-arrest. It’s a detriment to his health, of course, but it’s a money game. 

No Bakugo, less contracts.

No Bakugo, slower closing times. 

No Bakugo, more casualties within the gates.

Shit, it might reach a point where there’s a monster breach, if a red gate is left open beyond the twenty-four hour mark. There have been such incidents in the past, in other districts and parts of the country. Red gates remain open, perilously close to a breach, and Bakugo is called in last-minute to close it when previous raids fail to do so. He’s an irrefutable asset, and not just to Dynamight. 

Keigo’s manifestation is long-range telepathy, as well as flight. Flight, however, isn’t as special. Most espers can fly, or at least hover, but what sets him apart is the coalescence of his energy into visible wings and feathers. The feathers are multipurpose. He can use them in physical ways: transport, projectiles, and rescue. They’re also a beacon of sorts. The feathers are an extension of him. He can see, hear, smell, and feel through them. Keigo floats one such feather in his palm, studying the wispy phantom of his energy as if he’s never seen it before. 

They’ve been planted all over Chiyoda Ward, though he focuses primarily on the ones placed near and on the line. He’s been at it for two days, and any promising suspects catch one of his little stowaway plumes. So far, nothing’s turned out. Every male, dark-haired, green-eyed youth he’s come across hasn’t fit the bill: they’re either common [no energy to speak of] or they’re already registered. On the third day, while Keigo’s yet to unearth this elusive guide, he does spot a familiar mug loitering in the terminals of Omote-Sando Station.

Keigo sits up suddenly, straightening from his slouch against the rafters. “I’ll be damned…” 

Shimura Tenko of the League Guild, huh? Well, that can’t be good. Keigo sincerely doubts a man as busy as Tenko would be hanging around the station for fun, as he’s making no moves to board any of the trains. It’s little more than a soft guess, but Keigo would bet his paycheck that the League’s after the same thing he is:

The guide.

For the sake of better safe than sorry, Keigo attaches a plume to him. Despite their energy all sourcing from the same place, supposedly, his feathers are undetectable to other espers unless he wants them to be—or if that esper is of a higher class than him. He and Tenko are both S-class, not much difference in their overall output. If the League is looking for their mystery guide, they could have new information or other methods of sniffing him out unbeknownst to Dynamight. They’re a crafty bunch. 

The League is...good at what they do, which is closing gates—plain and simple. The public has no reason to dislike them, but amongst those in the industry, they’re a misbegotten bunch of grifters. Shigaraki, the League’s founder and G.M. [Guild Master], has some ugly history with Toshinori. Keigo doesn’t know the details, as it’s above his pay-grade, but they’re at each other’s throats on any given day. The espers employed by the League are also a bloodthirsty bunch. They’re not just difficult to work with, they’re downright hazardous. Joint operations between their Guild and others, for those massive gates requiring an equally massive raid force, have produced a number of unexplainable deaths—always an esper from an opposing Guild, never one from the League. 

Legally, they can’t be held responsible. Stepping foot through a gate, death is more than just a risk. It’s expected. Guilds can only make loose conjectures about what lies beyond a gate based on the color and size. They’re still very much a mystery, and it isn’t possible to be completely prepared for a raid. If two espers go in and one esper comes out, it can be explained away as death by monster.

With the League, it happens far too often, and they’re blacklisted because of it. No competent Guild will cooperate with them on large-scale raids. To that end, they poach contracts through bribery and blackmail. It’s a money game, at the end of the day. 

Through the eyes and ears of his plume, Keigo observes Tenko as he abandons his post at the station and makes the trip back to his Guild’s headquarters. His espionage will be revealed if Tenko meets directly with Shigaraki, an SSS-class esper. He sticks it out in hopes something juicy will happen before Tenko returns, and lo and behold:

“I’m coming back.” He drones into his phone.

His plume is close enough to catch the opposite end of the call, and it’s a saccharine voice that never fails to tickle a shiver down his spine. 

“Did’ja see him?!” Toga Himiko, that little leech. 

“What the fuck do you think?” 

“You don’t have to be so snippy.” She huffs. “I’m disappointed, too, y’know?! He’s such a cutie, I can’t wait to meet him!” 

Keigo leans forward, eyebrows lifting in alarm. He’s...a cutie? 

They know what he looks like. 

But, how?

Keigo’s leg bounces against the railing, his brain churning out a string of possibilities. Tenko was staking out the station, just as Keigo was. They know what the guide looks like, but no other identifying information. If they knew the kid’s name, surely they’d have beaten his door down already. It has to be—

Toga’s ability. She’s a shapeshifter, requiring only some form of bodily fluid to manifest a transformation. Blood is her go-to, but some monsters don’t bleed in the same way humans do. During raids, she’s able to take the shape of any creature within a gate. Said creatures are unable to identify her as a counterfeit. Technically, Toga is a reconnaissance type, just like Keigo. She can root out a boss monster’s location and potential weaknesses by infiltrating their ranks. 

So, the kid must’ve bled at the scene of Bakugo’s rampage. If not blood, he left something behind—something Toga was able to consume. Christ, how’d they manage that one? The League certainly keeps their finger on the pulse, that’s for sure. In light of this discovery, Keigo decides to reroute his efforts. He’ll put a plume on Toga as soon as she emerges in public. Toga has a big, big weakness, and it’s one Keigo’s fully prepared to exploit. She’s obsessive. 

If she thinks this guide is cute, she’ll absolutely transform into him again—just for fun. 

—

[ 240:27:58 ]

Katsuki’s on lockdown. 

Katsuki is forbidden from coming within three-hundred yards of a gate. 

Except, Aizawa’s lost his goddamn mind if he thinks Bakugo Katsuki is going to sit on his hands in the dorms and patiently wait for his guide-in-shining-armor to be found. Katsuki’s a hunter, a go-getter. Lions don’t lay around and wait for a pretty, freckled gazelle to stumble into their thicket. Sharks don’t tip their nose at the smell of fresh blood, expecting their injured prey to drop by on the next current. Katsuki’s of the same mentality. If his guide wanted to be found, he wouldn’t have hobbled off like the federales were on his ass. 

He ran away, so effort is required. Katsuki’s effort, no one else’s. That’s his guide, no one else’s. To his credit, he did wait not-so-patiently for three, miserable days after waking up. No headway was being made, so he’ll make his own goddamn headway. Unfortunately, he’s a pure combat type. There isn’t anything subtle or covert about his manifestation, so unless he intends to blow up the entire city ward by ward, he’ll have to put ol’ fashioned boots to the ground. 

Katsuki knows he isn’t exactly...popular, right now. He’s limited on what he can and can’t do. 

Can’t:

— Blow things up.

— Fly. There are always eyes in the sky. 

— Show his face. 

— Shake down the other Guilds. 

— Be a public menace, which tends to come naturally. 

Can:

— Stomp around Chiyoda Ward [on foot, like a fucking moron] in a hat and glasses. 

— Stalk the gates, in case his guide likes to play ‘unregistered vigilante’ in his spare time. Maybe he goes around swapping spit with any ol’ esper on the verge of a rampage. 

Katsuki scowls at the thought, before promptly banishing it. He’s being petty and he knows it, but it’s been ten days. Despite keeping a tight fist on his energy output, his status is in the orange now. It’s not unusual for him, but that greener grass on the other side was fucking nice. He got too used to feeling good. He knows what good guidance feels like, and he can finally understand why espers go crazy over that shit. Compatibility, imprinting. 

It’s addictive as fuck.

With a rising status, his chronic ailments are returning one by one. He’s a pressure cooker with no release valve. Before, he could at least tolerate a few minutes of necessary guidance. Now, it’s somehow worse than it was before. Katsuki’s never been flayed, but that’s what he compares it to. It’s like being flayed alive. Four days ago, he accidentally sent a guide to medical with third-degree burns. It’s a multifaceted dilemma. He’s in constant pain, he can’t fucking fight, and lives are at stake—his, other espers, and the public. He can’t keep going like this. 

chirp-chirp-chirp-chirp—

Katsuki slaps his phone against his ear after a quick glance at the screen to confirm the caller. 

“I swear to fuckin’ God, if you rat me out to—”

Keigo laughs down the line. “You’re stupider than I thought if you think Aizawa’s not tracking you his damn self. That’s not why I’m calling.” 

“What is it?”

“I’ve got his picture, sort of.” 

“Sort of—? What, the kid’s face?”

“Yeah, your shitty description wasn’t getting us anywhere. I know what he looks like now.” 

Bakugo jackknifes to his feet, hissing into the receiver, “did you find him?!”

“Not yet, Christ, relax. But, with his actual face, it’s just a matter of time.” 

—

Midoriya Izuku, the most sought after guide in the city, is—

—hiding at his mother’s house. He decided to use some of his accrued vacation days, too stressed to work properly. He took a week, as surely a fortnight is enough time for this whole hullabaloo to die down. If he isn’t found, he’ll fade back into obscurity. That’s the plan, and he’s sticking to it. 

Currently, he’s made a burrito of himself on Inko’s sofa, using the comforter from her bed. It smells strongly of her detergent and shampoo, and Izuku buries his face in it—desperate to wrench some peace of mind from its fibers. In a counterproductive move, he’s scrolling through his socials. His attention is snagged by an article with the unfortunate title of: “Dynamight Guild’s Official Statement regarding the Incident in Chiyoda.”

Don’t read it, Izuku, come on, you know better—

click—

“Finally, a week after the ‘red gate incident’ in Chiyoda Ward, we’ve received Dynamight Guild’s official statement in regards to their X-class esper, Bakugo Katsuki. He was allowed to enter a red gate, one of the largest we’ve seen since Shibuya this past May, alone, despite an unstable status of well over 70%. They’ve been under fire in the past for making similar concessions for their top-ranked esper, accused of favoritism and placing monetary gains over the public’s welfare. Yagi Toshinori, Dynamight Guild’s G.M., had this to say:

We’d like to thank everyone for their patience in regards to this matter, as I’m aware there are many, many questions and concerns that need to be addressed. We’ve been accused of allowing our espers, namely Bakugo Katsuki, to run rampant for the sake of profits gained from closing a gate. While he is a special case, I can assure you, that is not so. Bakugo-san’s issues with guidance are public knowledge by this point in time, and while I intend to protect his privacy as best I can, as both his Guild Master and mentor, Bakugo-san does not refuse guidance in the name of being difficult. 

Espers of any caliber need regular guidance to survive, just as we require water and air. We all understand the consequences if this condition isn’t met, Bakugo-san especially. He is always made to meet the minimum guidance requirements before and after closing a gate, whether he’s performing solo or in a party. This most recent time was no different. Bakugo-san received guidance en route to the gate, and as he had closed gates of this size and class with no issues in the past, he was allowed to enter. 

I’d like to remind you all: nothing is certain within a gate. They are not of this world, and while we predict their perils as best we can, unexpected results are always liable to occur. Every esper is prepared to die upon entering a gate, all for the sake of preventing a breach. Espers die. Espers rampage. These are irrefutable facts, whether we like them or not. 

In any case, Bakugo-san has been removed from duty until we can achieve a more sustainable solution in regards to his guidance, and we believe we’ve found that solution. This Guild, and I’m sure many others, are searching tirelessly for our mystery guide. We have confirmed that this guide is unregistered, and under normal circumstances, that might solicit some repercussions. These are not normal circumstances. For the first time since his manifestation, after receiving guidance from that person in the height of his rampage, Bakugo-san was completely stable at a rating of 29%—green. Bakugo-san has never been able to achieve such a rating, no matter who has guided him or how much guidance he’s received. 

We’ve ascertained some details of this guide’s identity, so we don’t expect the search to drag out for much longer. 

Please, bear with us as we try to resolve this situation. 

Thank you.”

“Oh my God.”

Chapter Text

Izuku’s in deep, deep, deep undercover—i.e., his week off has turned into a flat-out sabbatical, and he’s temporarily sheltering in his childhood bedroom. It’s been two and a half weeks since the worst day of his life, two days since he read Dynamight’s damning statement. 

Inko had become fed up with his squirrelly antics that same day, especially since his mood had taken a nosedive. When she’d left for the market, he might’ve been described as mildly nervous. When she returned, he was borderline hysterical. A coming-to-Jesus-meeting was held. 

“Izuku, baby, what’s going on with you? You’re not acting like yourself. No excuses, be straight up with me. Did you…borrow some money?”

God, if only it was something as simple as crippling debt. By that point, the nerves had eaten him alive. He no longer had the ability to lie, at least not to his mother. Izuku folded like a bad hand, and while his next words were the truth, they were barely discernible. 

“I’m—so, you know that…” He scrubs the meat of his palms up and down his face viciously. “Mom, I’m…a guide, and—and I never registered, so, I…the news, and…it was me. I…guided…in Chiyoda—“

Inko claps a hand to her mouth, justifiably shocked. “Izuku, that…you’re saying that was you? You’re a—a…guide? Since when? How long have you…known?” She breathes, and Izuku can tell she’s working hard to calm herself. 

“I’ve…known for a while, a few years.” He mumbles. “I was just…on the way home. I knew a gate had appeared, but I thought it might be gone and I could take the train like…I normally do. It was still there, and Bakugo-san came out, and—he just…”

“I know, baby. I’ve seen the video. You must’ve been so scared.” Inko had successfully reigned in her surprise. She knew it’d be harder for Izuku to get his story out otherwise. She firmly reminded herself—this is her precious son, whatever else he may or not be. Guide or not, registered or not, he needs someone in his corner. It’s always been her job to be that someone, though it’s never felt like a job. Izuku, thoughtful and kind, is a privilege: to birth, to raise, to love, and to support. 

Izuku sensed this change in her. He cried, because he’s always been a bit of a crybaby. But, at that moment, it felt especially safe to weep. 

“I-I’m sorry, I’m…so sorry I didn’t tell you. I just—I don’t want to…I never wanted to be one! But I—I had to! I had to do something, or he would’ve died! Everyone would’ve—!” Izuku hiccuped his flimsy explanation, but Inko didn’t press him for more. 

She took him in her arms, and he cried until he fell asleep. No more questions or answers were needed, at least not until tomorrow. Heads will be more level, emotions more in check. Their discussion the following day was much more fluent, coherent, and detailed. Unfortunately, no solutions were reached. Inko claims she’ll support him through whatever decision he makes, but after getting it all off of his chest, Izuku feels displaced in his convictions. While in hiding, he’s often left with nothing but his doubts and anxieties. He doesn’t shy away from the news as he did before, but any sudden, loud noises still send him scrambling like an outside cat out of a flea-bath. 

By the week’s end, there’s a new ‘breaking’ story. Finally, the spotlight is no longer burning through his scalp, but it’s…the worst kind of news. 

“Welcome back to NHK. Tonight, there’s breaking news out of the Miyagi Prefecture. In the city of Sendai, a new gate has appeared. It’s a red gate with energy outputs that cannot currently be measured. It’s the largest gate this country has seen in the past decade, nearly a kilometer in height. The last time a gate of this magnitude appeared was off the coast of Kyoto, resulting in a breach that nearly wiped that prefecture off the map. It’s been officially declared as a state of emergency by the incumbent prime minister as of one hour ago. Stay tuned.” 

[ 24:00:00 ]

— 

There’s a protocol. 

In the aftermath of Kyoto’s near complete destruction, a new government body was created: the Department of Guild Management, directly overseen by the parliament and Japan’s prime minister. Every Guild, big or small, falls under the umbrella of this department’s authority. If a state of emergency is declared in relation to the gates, there’s a protocol. 

The top ten Guilds in the country are to mobilize a force of no less than two-hundred espers, with every A-class and above obligated to fill those spots. The Guilds ranked nationally between numbers ten and twenty must also provide this same number of espers as a support force. With this, there are at least four-thousand bodies available to put themselves between humanity and the monsters beyond the gate. The top ten Guilds are as follows:    

no. 1—Dynamight Guild

no. 2—Endeavor Guild

no. 3—United Front Guild

no. 4—Jeanist Guild

no. 5—League Guild

no. 6—Overhaul Guild

no. 7—Hokkaido Liberation Guild

no. 8—Metaphase Guild

no. 9—Fourth Kind Guild

no. 10—White Lightning Guild

Additionally, every registered guide not already associated with a Guild must make themselves immediately available. Guides B-class and above are selected at random, made to report to the gate’s location. There are transit systems in place to move this staggering number of people from one end of the country to another, if such a distance is necessary, in less than two hours. 

There’s one question that’s plaguing everyone’s mind. 

Will Bakugo Katsuki be allowed to participate?

Which is a more terrifying possibility? Bakugo’s rampage, or the breach of otherworldly horrors onto our soil? Funny enough, it’s a tough call to make. After significant, heated deliberation lasting no longer than an hour, the Department of Guild Management publicized their decision. Bakugo Katsuki will be allowed to participate only as a last resort, if the gate remains open with less than six hours until a breach. If returning raids deem the gate too difficult to close without the support of an X-class, Bakugo is authorized to fight.  

Beforehand, however, he must be stabilized—no higher than 40%. He must submit to guidance, whether he be shackled or sedated for that to happen. Of course, enduring prolonged guidance doesn’t mean he’ll achieve a satisfactory rating. Compatibility has always been an issue for him. 

Three hours after the gate’s discovery, espers arrive in Sendai by the flock. Some fly, some come by jet or shinkansen. Katsuki is manhandled into the back of one such craft, as he’s forbidden from burning through his energy on needless flight. It’s fucking humiliating. Were he allowed, he could’ve made it to the gate site in ten minutes flat. Instead, he’s exiled to a G700, watching NTV’s ground-view footage of the Endeavor crew burning a new hole in the ozone layer with their flashy, rooftop departure. 

He’s so pissed, he’s vibrating with it. That should be him putting contrails in the lower atmosphere. He should be the first one through the gate. Fighting is the only thing he’s fucking good for, and he’s not allowed to do it. He can only watch for the first twelve to sixteen hours as raid after raid tries and fails to close this behemoth of a gate. Espers will die, rampage, or never be seen or heard from again—swallowed up by an alternate dimension. 

He’s benched, all because they couldn’t find his shitty guide.

Midoriya Izuku: twenty-two, graduated from Nihon University last year, employed by IntelliGroup Marketing as a Junior data analyst. With his face, they were able to run that image through a number of employee databases until a match was found. However, he’s taken an extended leave from work. His apartment was empty. Then, the gate appeared, and they couldn’t keep looking. That cowardly motherfucker is making Katsuki’s life a living hell. If he’d registered in the first place, like everyone is legally obligated to, then there’s a good chance the two of them might’ve matched a long time ago. He could’ve been receiving high-quality guidance all this time!

If he gets through this without rampaging, he’s going to turn Tokyo on its ass to find this kid. 

From the opposite sofa, Aizawa grunts: “Bakugo, please, can you reign in the murderous intent? It is what it is for now.” 

“It is what it is, are you shitting me?!” 

Aizawa isn’t moved by his outbursts, as they’re frequent and predictable. “I understand your frustration, but try to think about this logically. We’re not the same country we were a decade ago, and there are many powerful, well-trained espers other than you. I advise you to hop off that pedestal, as this is a situation where you’re left with no choice but to trust in the abilities of others.” 

Katsuki scoffs. “Tch, you really fuckin’ believe that, Aizawa? Or, is it just some pretty words to make me feel better? You really think they’ll all be fine without me?” 

“I didn’t say that.” Aizawa replies flatly, somewhat grim. “I’m under no illusions that this can be resolved without a loss of life, but I do believe our chances of closing a gate of this magnitude is much greater now than it was back then. We’re organized, espers are stronger as a whole. Even if you were participating from the jump, some espers will inevitably lose their life in a situation like this.” 

“It wouldn’t be near as many, and you know it. If that piece of shit guide would just—”

“Frankly, I wouldn’t want to be your guide either.” 

Katsuki balks. “...the fuck did you just say?” 

“We’re espers, you and I, so we can never understand the unique strain placed upon those guides who keep us sane, alive. You know nothing about this person, Midoriya Izuku. Despite going unregistered, he risked his life to try and guide you. There was a very, very strong chance it wouldn’t have worked, and I’m sure he knew that. He saved countless lives that day. He did it even knowing there would be personal consequences. Try and have some compassion.” 

“Compassion?” Katsuki barks a sharp, grating laugh. “Guides are supposed to fucking guide, it’s the only purpose in their manifestation. The only reason he tried it in Chiyoda was to save his own ass, because he would’ve died anyway, even if he ran off like the rest of ‘em. It was pure fucking luck that it worked. Whatever strain you think he’s suffering, it ain’t shit compared to what I have to endure every fucking day, every time I have to submit to subpar guidance. Constantly living in the orange, red, it’s a nightmare, so no, I don’t have a lick of compassion for this shithead who’s keeping his head buried in the sand.” 

They touch down in Sendai five minutes later, and the tension is no less abated. 

The city is in a state of pure pandemonium. 

Common citizens are evacuating in massive groups, directed by the local authorities in accordance to guidelines set by the Department of Guild Management. The gate site is in the center of Tsutsujigaoka Park, and it’s as much a hotbed of activity as one would expect. The gate is so enormous, it can be glimpsed from miles off—a stark, menacing red glow that peeks over the summit of scrapers and darkens the noon sky with its bloodshot halo. 

It’s a harbinger of anarchy, a monument of death. 

It’s the largest gathering of Guilds any of them have ever been a part of, and while Katsuki doesn’t recognize most of the faces present, many he does. Todoroki Shoto, his father and G.M. Enji, from Endeavor. Chisaki Kai, G.M. of the Overhaul Guild. The shitheads from the League Guild, ugh. There are plenty of faces from his own Guild. Kirishima and his imprinted guide, Mina. Kaminari, Iida, Tokoyami—all the extras are present and accounted for. 

Except, now, he’s the extra left to rot on the sidelines. 

An entire shantytown had been thrown up around the gate’s perimeter, each Guild with their own encampment. There are first-aid pavilions, privacy tents for guidance, food banks, and good ol’ fashioned armories should a breach or rampage occur. It’s exactly what it looks like—war. 

Raids will initially consist of one-hundred-and-fifty espers: ten from each of the top Guilds, five from each of the supporting Guilds. The cream of the crop is reaped for the first raid, moreso in an attempt to flesh out the innards of the gate than actually trying to close it. If it’s determined that a larger party is necessary, more bodies will be added to the next raid. At least two Guild Masters must participate in each run, and they take turns in doing so. 

The first raid, under the leadership of Todoroki Enji and Yagi Toshinori, is gathering en masse in front of the gate. Pocket formations of fifteen are created: five defense-types, two reconnaissance-types, two recovery-types, and five combat-types. 

“Look, man…” Kirishima starts, grave. “If I die in there…tell Mina I love her.” 

“She’s right next to you, nimrod. Tell her your damn self.” Katsuki gripes.

“I love you, too, Kiri…” Mina bemoans tearfully, clutching wrinkles into the back of his shirt. 

“Now, which one of you is wiping my hard drive?” He looks between them, his gaze settling on Mina when Katsuki offers little more than a flat glare. 

Mina shoots him a thumbs up. “I gotcha, babe.” 

They’re two peas in a fuckin’ pod, boasting a compatibility rating of 89%. They imprinted on each other within three days of meeting, which is essentially getting married on a second date. Imprinting poses a huge risk to the esper, as they can only receive guidance from their partner. Should something happen to their guide, they’ll inevitably lose their life in a rampage. Only those with a compatibility rating of 80% and above are eligible to imprint. Before, Katsuki couldn’t wrap his head around it. Now, he…gets it.

Katsuki attempts to offer comfort in the only way he knows how to: “You’re strong. You won’t die.” 

Kirishima stares at him, big-eyed. “You…you mean it? You think I’m strong?” 

“Yeah.”

Kirishima sniffs. “But, but, even if the monsters don’t get me, I’m in Toga’s group. What if she…stabs me in the jugular while I’m distracted?!”

Neither Katsuki nor Mina have anything reassuring to say, as it’s…a possibility. Toga Himiko is clinically insane. The monsters should pose enough of a threat to keep the League’s espers from gleefully murdering their compatriots, at least. Mina thumps him on the back mournfully. “Good luck, baby.”

Three hours after the gate’s manifestation, the first raid begins. 

One hour later, it concludes.

Of all the espers who entered, ninety returned. 

To lose sixty of the country’s best espers on a reconnaissance run is, to put it lightly, devastating. When they come trickling back out of the gate, a thick hush falls over the site. Many of them are beyond worse for wear: unconscious, mangled, and midway to a rampage. Urgency settles in, and there’s a flurry of activity to stabilize those espers in disrepair. Kirishima is one of them, bleeding buckets from a hole punched through the shoulder and eyes reflecting the sinister, scarlett glow of the gate—89% in the red. 

He’s winking in and out of consciousness atop a cot, professionals scrambling to staunch his hemorrhaging and administer a transfusion. Mina grips the color out of his limp hand with both of hers clasped in prayer. Her mouth is a tight, pale line. Sweat beads at her hairline, and tears burn the corners of her eyes. Kirishima’s excess energy electrifies the fine veins in her forearm, and she looks pained through the process of draining him of it. One could swivel their head in any direction and find a similar scene, as it’s happening by and large in every encampment. 

Live broadcasts capture this gruesome spectacle for the nation, the world, to watch. 

Fortunately, the reconnaissance was a success, if it can be called that. Maps of the gate's interior were immediately drafted. This is Toshinori’s statement, regarding the inside of the gate: 

It’s the burning ruins of an unfamiliar cityscape, a fire-class gate. There are ten levels, and one level doesn’t need to be completely cleared to ascend to the next as with some gates. The levels take you deeper inside the city’s wreckage, towards what appeared to be a massive, multileveled temple. There are no monsters classed below ‘B’, they are all B-class and above. We suspect some of this gate’s creatures exceed our current ranking system. They are as follows: ogre-type, orc-type, demon-type, dragon-type, and elf-type. The ‘boss’ is classified as a Demon King, with three SSS-ranked dragon-types at his disposal. The total number of monsters could not be accurately counted, but we suspect no less than ten thousand.  

[ 20:00:00 ]

—

Once the news broke, Izuku suffered two hours of gut-wrenching, nail-biting, hair-pulling indecision. 

He has to get there, to Sendai, somehow. 

Bakugo isn’t allowed to immediately participate in the raids because his compatibility ratings are too low for proper guidance. People are dying without his help, and he can’t help because Izuku’s hiding from him—like a coward. The sooner he can get there, the sooner he can guide Bakugo into the green. The better chance they have of closing the gate. Less lives will be lost, probably. There’s a big issue, however.

How is he supposed to get there in time?

Once evacuations are complete, no one who isn’t registered will be allowed inside the city. The shinkansen won’t be operational. He doesn’t have the means to hop on a private jet. Driving will take him nearly five hours, and again, he won’t be granted entry into the city. No one knows who he is. He could try...calling the Guild’s headquarters, but will anyone even be there? 

Pacing a new footpath into the guest room’s carpet, he pinches his phone between his shoulder and jaw. The dial tone feels like it’s rattling his eardrum loose. 

“Thank you for calling the Dynamight Guild in Minato Ward. If you’re attempting to report an active gate in your area, please press zero. Currently, we are unable to take your call. Please leave a message, and we will return your call as soon as we’re able to do so.” 

Izuku presses zero, praying for a live person to pick up the call. 

The line rolls out a few more monotonous rings, before—

“You’ve reached the Gate Operator’s line. We’re sorry, but we’re unable to take your call at this time. Please state your name and the location of the gate you wish to report, and we’ll return your call as soon as we’re able—” 

Izuku hangs up, snatching his bottom lip between his teeth. What’s he supposed to do now? Five hours by car, the gate’s already been active for three. There would only be...sixteen hours left until a breach. Better late than never...? He shuffles out into the living room, and Inko lifts her head from where she’s monitoring NHK’s live broadcast of the gate site. “Anything...?”

“Can I...borrow your car?”

“Oh, please, like I’m not coming with you.” She huffs, climbing to her feet. 

Inko has, what’s colloquially known as, a ‘lead foot’—she shaves twenty minutes off their five hour trip. Even so, four hours and forty minutes is more than enough time for Izuku to overthink and have the world’s most nerve-shattering existential crisis. There’s no guarantee of anything. How is he supposed to get through the roadblocks? How is he supposed to approach the heavily-vetted gate site? How is he supposed to convince them that he’s ‘that one unregistered guide from that one time in Chiyoda’? 

Then, what about afterwards...? 

What if...he makes it, and it works? He guides Bakugo, then what? 

Will he be able to close the gate? 

What if he can’t?

What if he can? 

What...what’s going to happen to him? 

One mile from Sendai’s city limit, they encounter their first roadblock. It’s Inko who greases them through it. Despite her status as a retiree, she convinces the officer that she’s the imprinted guide of a support esper on site. When asked why she wasn’t already in accompaniment of that esper, she weaves a tearful tale of being caught up in the ICU with her ailing mother—who’s apparently taken a turn for the worse, having developed respiratory failure after struggling to recover from a bad bout of pneumonia. Izuku’s in awe of her acting chops. 

This earns her a clearance pass to see them through the remainder of the barricades, all the way to the gate site. Residents are still bleeding out of the city, so it isn’t the ghost town Izuku had been imagining. That twenty minutes Inko managed to spare them is now wasted on navigating roadblocks and oncoming traffic. The longer it takes, the more anxiety festers in his gut. He isn’t sure if he’s eager to get there, or terrified of going there. 

Once at the outskirts of the gate site, Izuku’s positive—he’s going to vomit. There are so many people, and everyone is busy with something that seems terribly dire. Inko makes to get out of the car and join him, but he swears up and down that he’ll be fine. He isn’t fine. He’s anything but fine. But, she can’t hold his hand through this. He’s allowed her to coddle him through his cowardice enough as it is. Steeling himself, he broaches the perimeter of the site, and—

…is immediately overwhelmed. He hasn’t the faintest idea of where to go, who to talk to, or what to do. Aimless wandering is just another time-killer, and he already wasted so much in getting here. Besides the huge, turbulent crowds of very-official-looking people, the gate itself is both distracting and frightening. It’s monstrous in size—the live broadcasts don’t do it justice. It stretches upwards into the sky, too big to see from end to end when on site. Its lambent, holographic face bathes the park in red, to the point he wonders how injuries are picked out from that crimson cast. It’s…a horrifying thing, and he has a newfound respect for those who willingly walk through it. 

Pushing on, he approaches one of the checkpoints. These are operated by the Guild’s G.O.'s in lieu of local police, and he’s promptly stopped by one such official. It’s a stern-faced woman dressed in a drab gray uniform. She glances up at him, then drops her eyes to a tablet she balances in her palm. 

“Name, class, affiliation, and registration number.”

“Midoriya Izuku, um…I’m not…registered—“

She snaps her face up, and Izuku flinches back from the harsh, angry twist of her expression. “Why haven’t you evacuated yet?” She hisses. “Commons are prohibited from coming within a three kilometer radius of the site, I’ll call for an escort—“

“Wait, please! I’m—I’m a guide! I’m just…not registered, and I really need to get in! I have to, uh…there’s someone I really, really need to…guide…?” He trails off, as this woman is looking increasingly irate, nowhere near the realm of belief. 

“Kid, I’m sorry, but even if what you’re saying is true, we don’t have the time—“

“Please! I’m begging you, please. Just…can you contact someone from Dynamight? They can verify me, I swear. Tell them an unregistered guide is here, and—they’ll know what that means, please.”

Or, Izuku hopes they’ll know. 

—

[ 17:59:02 ]

Two more raids have made an attempt on the gate.

Of the four thousand espers present, they’re down to three thousand. One thousand espers have perished, either: disappeared within the gate, bled out, or rampaged to their death. Recovery-type espers and guides have exhausted themselves in an attempt to get the injured back on their feet. The gate site is a certifiable maelstrom, order and professionalism losing out to visceral panic. Nothing is being accomplished within the gate, and with what’s at stake, twenty-four hours feels like nanoseconds on the grand clock. 

Katsuki is, frankly, showing his ass. 

“Let me go in!” He thunders. “This is complete bullshit! 50% is goddamn great for me, but because it’s ten percent off, you’re just going to keep trotting your little lambs in there to die?!”

“It’s at least 40%, only as a last resort in the final six hours left until a breach. Those were the conditions set forth by the Department.” Toshinori reminds him, though even he sounds chagrined by it at this point. 

“We could let him go in, then just blow his head off if he comes out rampaging.” Chisaki shrugs. 

He’s met with dry silence by everyone in attendance, which are the top ten Guild Masters sans two [League and Fourth Kind are readying up for the next raid] and three officials from the Department. 

“Just a suggestion.” He shrugs.

Katsuki looks back at said officials expectantly, as they’re the only ones who can allow him any concessions. “Well?! Is it enough of a ‘worst case’ for you fuckers yet?”

The three men are perched behind a plastic, white-topped folding table as if it were some grand oak affair. They’re what’s referred to as ‘textbook bureaucrats’: three-piece, colorless suits that seem to repel the grime of their surroundings, faces incapable of contorting for anything more than subtle disgust, and all the empathetic capacity of a JavaScript program. With the loss of every esper, they might procure a handheld calculator from their pocket protector to tally up the expense of another replacement, clicking tongues and muttering something like, “unfortunate…”

Katsuki hates their guts, and he isn’t alone in this. They’re not a well-liked bunch. In response to his question, the trio’s spokesperson says: “In light of the developments here, which is next to none, a new ‘worst case’ has presented itself. Bakugo-san, we understand that you hold yourself in high-esteem. You seem to think you’re impervious to any threat beyond any gate. Has it occurred to you that, with or without guidance, even you might be incapable of closing this gate before a breach occurs?” 

Their query is met with stiff, uncomfortable silence. Whether the Guild Masters present had considered such a thing, it isn’t clear. Katsuki is supposed to be their secret weapon, their closer when all else fails. Katsuki himself, rather than refusing to acknowledge the possibility, simply doesn’t understand the concept of losing. He really, truly believes he is unable to lose. There’s no gate that could ever appear that he wouldn’t be able to close. There’s no monster he wouldn’t be able to crush. 

“As it stands, you’re without a compatible guide. It took hours of guidance just to get you down to 50%, and you had to be heavily sedated during that process. Our new worst case scenario is this—Bakugo Katsuki is unable to close the gate, and upon his return, he is unable to be guided down from a rampage. It would be like a nuclear bomb setting off, wiping out our forces, just before enemies by the tens of thousands invade—“

“That’s fucki—!” He starts to roar, energy lifting from his skin like puddles baking off hot cement, but the delegate presses on.

“From those of you who’ve seen the gate for yourself, please, your honest opinion. Is Bakugo-san capable of closing it?”

Toshinori shifts in his seat, the flimsy metal groaning in protest beneath his substantial weight. “Not…alone, but I believe he’s capable of it.”

Enji scoffs. “I’m sure you do. As long as your X-class can get in there and save the fuckin’ day, what are a few hundred lives in pursuit of that end, eh?”

Maintaining his role as the genial voice of reason, Hakamada [Jeanist’s Guild Master] adds, “it’s an…uncomfortable thought. None of us have had to deal with losses of this magnitude, but it’s…it’s unavoidable. Our priority is to close the gate, one way or another, and I personally believe that Bakugo-san is an asset to us. We’d be shooting ourselves in the foot to exclude him.” 

“Ooohhh,” Chisaki drawls through his mask, “so, what’s your contingency plan then, Denim Darko? You think your little fibers will get the job done if he goes off? Yeah, yeah, we can wrap him up in a big ol’ pair of jeans and launch him into space, Toshinori can throw him like a football—!” 

“That’s not at all what I meant—“

“Being deliberately belligerent won’t get us anywhere—“

“Ha!”

“You lookin’ for a fuckin’ fight—?!”

“Excuse me.” Aizawa stands in the tent’s entrance, lifting the flap with his wrist. “Bakugo, you’re needed.”

Aizawa’s presence seems to mimic his manifestation, as the tense energy in the canvas is vacuumed out beneath his dark, level gaze. While Katsuki generally struggles to read a room, he knows better than to make a fuss. Aizawa’s using that ‘I’ll beat the shit out of you if you talk back right now’ tone. He squeezes his teeth together and marches over. Aizawa claps a firm, meaningful hand to his shoulder. 

“Go with G.O. Saiko, I’ll be right behind you.” 

Aizawa hovers, and the occupants of the tent understand he’s waiting for Katsuki to be out of earshot. Once he deems him so, he addresses the group:

“The guide is here.” 

—

“What the fuck am I needed for?” 

G.O. Saiko shrugs. “No idea, Aizawa just said to bring you towards our guidance pavilion.”

“Guidance pavilion…?” He mutters to himself. More guidance, then. He needs a rating of 40%, so they must be intending to strap him in for another go of it. Color him thrilled.

The field is swarmed with bodies, espers clustering up in preparation for the next raid. For some of the higher classes, it’ll be their third run. Because of the vast amount of people coming to and fro, Katsuki doesn’t immediately notice the little huddle happening outside of their pavilion. The closer he gets, however, it’s obvious something is amiss. White-clad Gate Operators, Keigo…? 

They’re surrounding something, someone—

“You really gave me a run for my money, kiddo! You should be proud!” Keigo laughs. 

Kiddo? Run for his money…? 

Like a divinely cast moment of cinematic magic, Katsuki sees him. Midoriya Izuku, in the flesh. Keigo’s not a tall guy, but this kid is looking up at him. First impression: puny, mouse-like, jumps at his own shadow, coward. Glimpsing him now seems to sharpen up his blurred-out memory of the Chiyoda incident, and he’s suddenly gagged by a fistful of mixed emotion—straight to the gut. Relief, excitement, and enough rage to make him faintly sick. He’s so pissed, he’s starting to destabilize further. 

His energy is sloshing around inside his body like gasoline, flammable fumes permeating through his skin, waiting for a lit match to drop. The air around him saturates with pressure, putting a strain on those nearby, but Katsuki makes no effort to reign it in. He can’t, even if he wanted to. The worse his emotional state, the less control he has over it. He brushes past Saiko, clearing the short distance to their little circlejerk in less than three strides. Keigo sees him first: “Bakugo, wait—”

Shoving through the G.O.’s, they come toe to toe. Looking down, Katsuki has murder on his face. Looking up, Izuku’s nothing short of terrified. 

“Little late to the fuckin’ party, huh?”

Izuku flinches. “I...had to drive. It was a long...drive.” 

“Right. What about the last three goddamn weeks, huh?” 

“Bakugo, that’s enough, you’re leaking energy like a fucking faucet.” Aizawa snaps, shouldering through the small crowd. “He needs to be measured—”

“Haven’t we wasted enough time as it is?!” He snaps over his shoulder, before returning his supernaturally-bright glare to his shitty, late-as-fuck, coward of a guide. “He’s here now, all that other shit can wait. Guide me, asshole.”

Izuku’s first impression: douchebag, prick, bastard. 

He suddenly scowls, surprising everyone present. “I was actually just here to sight see.” He snaps. There’s a short moment of stunned silence. 

Katsuki snaps. He snatches fistfuls of the kid’s shirt and wrenches him onto his toes, bringing their faces in close. In a low, scathing hiss: “You think you’re in any kind of position to talk shit? Huh? Look around, Deku, do you know how many espers are fuckin’ dead? Because of you? If you hadn’t run away in the first place, hid like a little bitch, I could’ve closed this shit hours ago. You get that, right? So shut the fuck up and guide me.” 

Izuku had gone wide-eyed, pale-faced, during his tirade. Then, he clamps hard on his bottom lip and averts his gaze, a reflective pool of unshed tears. In the back of his mind, Aizawa’s words tickle his brainstem: ‘try and have some compassion.’ Katsuki has none, and that tickle in his chest isn’t guilt. Bold enough to mouth off? He needed a reality check, harsh as it was. 

“Yeah, okay.” He agrees in a tight voice. 

“Bakugo, maybe somewhere else—” Keigo starts to suggest, as they’ve become something of a widespread spectacle. Even the nearby scattering of journalists have their intimidating ENG lenses zeroed in on their direction. 

“No.” He addresses Izuku directly, “you’ve lost that privilege—privacy, anonymity. There’s nowhere else to hide, so fuckin’ do it. Guide me, now.” 

Izuku hardens his expression, nodding. The entire site feels like it’s holding its breath as he brackets his hands at Katsuki’s jawline. He releases a shaky breath, closes his eyes, and proceeds to operate on raw instinct. The skin-on-skin contact between them becomes a bridge, and without needing to beckon it forth, Katsuki’s energy begins leaching into him. Beginning in his fingertips, his palms, his wrists, his arms—it’s a trickle, then a gush, then a wave slamming through him. 

“Hngh—” He breathes, gritting his teeth. 

“Hah, that’s it, don’t—” Katsuki mutters. 

Big, hot hands come to encircle his wrists, and their foreheads knock together. Izuku cracks his eyes open, and Katsuki’s are glazed, half-lidded, and unnaturally bright. Just like that, his entire personality is flipped on its head. Less than a minute ago, he was like a rabid, snapping beast ready to rip Izuku’s face off. Now, he’s a...docile kitten, or something in that vein. His mother had explained as much when he was younger.  High-level guidance is like a drug for most espers—a potent relaxant, promotes sensations of euphoria. Izuku’s watching it happen in real time with Bakugo Katsuki. Fortunately, it isn’t nearly as unpleasant as it was before. He guesses it’s due to Bakugo’s stability rating, as he was mid-rampage in Chiyoda. 

This is just...normal guidance. It feels...sort of nice. Bakugo’s energy fits neatly in the extra spaces of his body, neither too much nor too little. It’s warm, humming like circuity beneath his skin. It isn’t uncomfortable, so he doesn’t stop, not realizing how strange and shocking that actually is. 

Katsuki expected him to bitch out within the first two or three minutes, but Izuku’s...continuing to guide—with little more than a pinch between his brows. It feels so fucking good, his head’s a balloon floating weightlessly above his torso. Izuku’s energy is cool, crisp water replacing the fire and ash in his cardiovascular system. His own energy isn’t gone, but...spreading into a smooth, even layer. Katsuki’s never felt so in touch with his own power before. They could’ve been at it for seconds, minutes, hours—he’s completely lost track of when, where, why, and for how long. Finally, finally, there’s a breathtaking release, a padded lock nestled in his core comes undone, and it feels…feels…

It can only be described as total equilibrium. 

Izuku must sense this as well, because the guidance stops. 

Katsuki blinks his eyes open, wondering when they’d shut. Izuku is staring up at him, just as dazed. It’s quiet, far too quiet for an active military installation. It isn’t known to them right away, nor their astonished audience, but history was just made. History will continue to be made. What is apparent to everyone, impossible to miss, is the newfound manifestation of Katsuki’s energy. To see an esper’s energy outside of combat is one of the first signs of an oncoming rampage—those smoky, effervescent plumes of color whispering into the sky as if from a great fire. 

Katsuki stares down at his hands, basking in the transcendence of his unfettered power. He laughs, soft and shocked, “what the fuck…?”

“Did…did it work? Did I do it?” Izuku asks, mystified. Bakugo seems…sane, conscious. That’s a good thing, isn’t it?

Bakugo Katsuki, stabilized at 0%.

Chapter Text

In the last vicennial, since the manifestation of gates, espers, and guides, the lowest recorded stability rating of any esper is 5%. Espers who receive regular guidance from a compatible guide tend to average out somewhere around 25—30% during non-combat. For an X-class, the lowest recorded rating is 17%, and that person had a compatibility rating of 95% with their imprinted guide. 

Katsuki was measured ten times to verify his 0% rating, on ten separate devices. It’s unheard of. It’s unbelievable. It’s history in the making.

In the privacy of Dynamight’s guidance pavilion, Izuku and Katsuki were then tested for compatibility. The result of this test would fill out the very next page of future history books, as their compatibility rating was remarkable, inconceivable—100%. This, too, was tested multiple times. The highest recorded compatibility rating was that aforementioned 95%, and most imprinted pairs land somewhere around 83%. 

To Katsuki’s mounting fury, it took another hour of heated deliberation between the Guild Masters and the delegation before he was greenlit to enter the gate. With Bakugo Katsuki in peak condition, he was assigned a party of only one-hundred espers—the best of the best on site. With fifteen hours left until a breach, the third raid began. The accounts of Katsuki’s time within the gate from those acting as his support would also be chronicled in that historical text, perhaps a whole chapter’s worth:

It’s—he was...I used to think being an esper made me strong. I used to feel like I was...better than other people, like this power made me better. Even among espers, I’m considered top tier, you know? When we were in that gate, I’ve never felt so weak, so useless in my entire life. It was wave after wave of some of the most vicious, bloodthirsty creatures I’ve ever personally come across in a gate. They came at us in literal armies, one monster riding another, by the thousands. Dragon-types rained fire and lightning from overhead, and the brimstone was so fuckin’ thick, I was gagging on it. I couldn’t see. 

But, you know what? It wasn’t any of that, it wasn’t the monsters that had me shaking in my damn boots, pissing myself. It was Bakugo. I think—no, no, I know it was...fun for him. He obliterated them. I mean, you had guys like Shoto, Touya, Tomura, the big dogs, y’know? They played there part, took ‘em down in droves—walls of ice splintering one way or another, buildings crumbling away. But, Bakugo? He was in the air the entire time, and I swear to God, anything that breathed in a fifty yard radius just—exploded, burst into flames. He didn’t slow down, he didn’t fatigue, he—he was having the time of his goddamn life in there. He was untouchable. 

The gate’s boss was supposedly a Demon King, but I never saw ‘em. Bakugo was out of sight for, what, thirty minutes? Then, the city was crumbling, the gate was closing. If you walked in there not knowing any different, you’d have a tough time telling who’s who. Bakugo is made of the same stuff, more than any of us, y’know? 

He’s a demon.

The gate was successfully closed in two hours and fifteen minutes, no casualties. 

Meanwhile, Izuku was writing a chapter of his own. 

Aizawa escorted him into a separate part of Dynamight’s encampment, a more official looking part. He tells Izuku they’ll be administering a few tests to verify his class. Izuku, barely able to gauge which is left and which is right, agrees. Countless, prying eyes follow his every move, to a point he’s feeling extremely self-conscious and frazzled. He sticks a little closer to Aizawa than one normally would with a complete stranger, but Aizawa doesn’t mention it or seem to mind. 

They enter a large, enclosed space in the deepest part of the encampment, away from the voyeurs, and Izuku heaves a relieved breath. “Bear with it for now, Midoriya. I know it’s overwhelming, but you’ve—there’s just a lot happening.” 

“...right.” Izuku quietly agrees, because it’s obvious neither of them know what to say. 

“Take a seat on the stool there. The equipment used to measure compatibility is pretty similar to what we’ll be using now. You’ll place your hand, or hands, on the instrument, and instead of guiding a hotheaded, X-class asshole, you’re essentially guiding the machine. Does that make sense?”  

Izuku huffs a little laugh, as he can tell Aizawa’s trying to break the tension in his own way. “It does, yeah.”

“I won’t lie to you, it can be an uncomfortable process. There’s also a risk of passing out. Unlike with most espers during routine guidance, this machine generates massive quantities of energy very quickly. It might feel similar to what you experienced with Bakugo in Chiyoda. We’re trying to determine how much energy your body is able to process at one time.”

Izuku stiffens. He’d been sore for days after Chiyoda. If it’s anything like that, he might have a few more rough days ahead. “Right, o-okay. I’m…ready when you are.” 

“Go ahead and place your hands on the instrument. If you feel dizziness or pain, let go.”

Izuku does, gripping the bulbous knob of the measuring device between his hands. 

“Here we go.” Aizawa warns him.

The machine gently whirs to life, and Izuku’s a little disarmed by the soft sound. He was expecting it to rattle about like a freighter barreling down some tracks. Just as Aizawa said, he feels the influx of artificial energy from the machine. Though he’s only ever guided one esper, the difference between this and the real thing is obvious to him. Whereas Bakugo’s was warm, filling, this energy is almost…tacky, oily. He’s neither dizzy nor pained, however, so he keeps at it. The test continues for several minutes, and the longer it goes on, the more flabbergasted Aizawa begins to look. 

“It’s been…seven minutes.” Aizawa starts. “How—are you…alright? How are you feeling?”

Izuku frowns. “I feel a little nauseous, but that’s it.”

“You can let go.”

Izuku blinks at him, but promptly releases the instrument. His sleepy-eyed attendant scrutinizes him closely, before glancing down at his tablet. “Now that the test is concluded, any after effects? Dizziness, discomfort, vertigo?” 

“Um, no…? I can—I can go for longer, if you need me to—“ 

“No need.”

Izuku bites the inside of his cheek, worried he’s somehow failed. Later, he’ll find out the reality of it: Midoriya Izuku is an X-class guide, the epitome of bottomless. Within him, there probably exists a limit, as most human beings have one, but it isn’t a limit their measuring devices can touch. His ability to guide the X-class Bakugo out of a rampage and walk away suddenly makes a lot of sense. 

“Well, let me know if I’m pushing you too much, but would you like to…guide a few espers? We’re short on compatible guides, and we’ve got quite a few orange-levels and red-levels. Hand-holding only. Are you feeling up to it? Feel free to say ‘no’, Midoriya, you’ve done plenty as it is.”

Unbeknownst to Izuku, Aizawa’s running a spur-of-the-moment experiment. It isn’t often an X-class guide, with a compatibility rating of 100% under his belt, shows up. Izuku’s the first one, ever. Aizawa’s itching to know—is Katsuki the only one? What sort of numbers will this kid turn out with other espers?

Izuku takes a moment to mull it over. He’s already here. Other than a little seasickness, he feels fine. His delay has already cost lives, so doesn’t he owe it to these people to help out as much as he physically can? He shoot Aizawa a weak smile. 

“Sure, use me as much as you can.” 

In the two hours and fifteen minutes it takes Bakugo’s raid to close the gate, Izuku guides one-hundred-and-thirteen espers. Initially, he sticks to those in the Dynamight Guild. To Aizawa’s continued astonishment, his average compatibility rating is 75%. With every esper, he falls somewhere between 60–83%, no lower than sixty. It’s…

Insane. It’s totally insane. 

Aizawa’s never seen anything like it, and unfortunately, he’s obligated to report these findings to the higher-ups [the Guild Masters and the delegates]. As Izuku isn’t contracted with a specific Guild, nor imprinted to any one esper, he’s pressured into floating around the entirety of the site. He guides any esper who’s incapable of finding a good match, and his own numbers don’t change. No less than sixty, with everyone. However, that 100% rating is exclusive to Bakugo. He’s like…the Mother Theresa of guides, a patron saint. Aizawa counted sixty proposals [for imprinting], fifty-three requests for a date ‘after all this is over’, and twenty delirious declarations of straight-up love.

Bakugo might not like the kid, but he’s a possessive bastard. He probably won’t be thrilled with the developments on-site upon returning. Aizawa mentally prepares himself for the absolute bitch-fit coming his way as the enormous gate begins to shimmer, a telltale sign of its closing. Bakugo’s closing time is, of course, beyond ridiculous, but Aizawa no longer has the capacity to be amazed. He’s all awe-d out. He’s standing by, ready with the measuring device. 

He isn’t the only one standing by. Everyone’s on their P’s and Q’s, expecting an impending rampage from Bakugo. Izuku isn’t unconscious, but he is asleep. He can be woken if needed, but the kid deserves a solid rest. He was looking very green in the face by the end of it, barely able to stay on his feet. Aizawa actually had to force him to stop. Fortunately, Bakugo is no worse for wear once he crosses the threshold of the gate. Aizawa would even describe him as spry. He’s filthy, wearing every bit of the monsters he destroyed, but that’s to be expected. That excess energy from before is gone, so he’s neither rampaging nor at 0%. 

He beelines for Aizawa, eyes darting to and fro—definitely looking for Midoriya. Christ, is the brat addicted already?

“Where is he?”

Aizawa says nothing, simply holds out the measuring device. Bakugo scoffs, likely thinking it’s a formality. He grabs it, waits the necessary five seconds for the reading to appear, then releases. “Great, where—“

“41%, you’ll be fine.”

41%? That low? After closing a disaster-class gate in two, measly hours? Midoriya really is a miracle worker. 

Bakugo whips around to stare at him. “What the fuck is that supposed to—“

“He’s sleeping, he’s been busy.”

“Busy with what?!”

“Guiding.”

Instead of that explosive brand of borderline-childish anger Aizawa expects from him, Bakugo’s entire face shadows with a cold, malicious rage. Aizawa Shota’s no slouch, but a chill zaps up his spine. He’s so thrown off, he nearly attacks. Bakugo’s putting off murderous intent in tsunami-like waves, and it’s starting to draw attention. 

“He’s my guide. Who the fuck is he guiding?” He asks in a low, controlled voice that contradicts his personality—his fury. Aizawa scowls, not one to be easily browbeaten. 

“He guided you, he’s not your guide. You’re not the only esper here, Bakugo, get your head out of your ass. He was here, so he helped. Now, he’s sleeping, so leave him be.” 

“Who did he guide?” He asks again, a blistering hiss. 

Espers in general can get a little crazy when it comes to guides, but Aizawa knows Bakugo’s caught an extreme case of it. He’s never been a normal esper, but now he has experience at opposite ends of the spectrum. Guidance has been nothing more than a requisite nightmare for him since manifesting, and to suddenly go from misery-and-pain to guidance so successful, it’s record breaking? The brief time he spent at 0%, Aizawa can only imagine what that must feel like. He’s probably aching to feel that way again, but using and abusing Midoriya to achieve it will only bite him in the ass down the line. 

“Young Bakugo!” Toshinori bellows. He must’ve sensed the sudden discord, coming to intervene before the reporters catch wind of it. 

Aizawa massages his temples, preparing the delicate bones for the bitch of a headache he feels coming on. 

[ 00:00:00 ]

—

The following week can only be described as the biggest shitstorm of the century. Excluding the genocide of millions via rifts to alternate dimensions, of course. That was pretty bad, too.

It took three long, exhausting days for every Guild to clear out of the gate site, life in Sendai having mostly resumed. Ceremonies were held nationwide for those espers who didn’t return, most were without a proper body to mourn over. Midoriya was allowed to cast off with his mother the same night of the gate’s closing, as he isn’t contractually obligated to stay. If Bakugo had his way, the poor kid would be collared and leashed to his belt loop. He did guide Bakugo one more time after he woke, dropping him to a stability rating of 5%. He was too drained to achieve another zero-out [as they’ve taken to calling it], not that Bakugo needs to be that drunk off his own power. 

Izuku opted to return to his own apartment, as the media was like a vicious pack of piranhas. He didn’t want to subject Inko to the unkind spotlight, and while they did loiter around her house, it wasn’t the dogged stakeout happening across the street from his complex. With a heavy heart, he emailed his formal resignation to IntelliGroup’s HR department, too cowardly to show up in person. The public has…a very mixed opinion about him, currently. 

Some headlines are referring to him as ‘the Miracle Guide’ who saved two cities in less than a month, whereas others are criticizing him as a lawless misfit who’s done more harm than good by running, hiding, and going unregistered. His face is plastered all over the internet, as footage from the gate site is a worldwide topic of discussion. Bakugo’s 0% stability rating is historical, unprecedented, and something to be uproarious over. Their compatibility rating, however, has not been made public knowledge. 

Izuku still doesn’t know his own classification. Aizawa said he’d share those results with him the next time he comes by the Guild, which is tomorrow. His phone has been ringing off the hook, and if Izuku had to guess, he thinks every Guild in the city [and quite a few from other cities] is actively attempting to recruit him. But, isn’t he…obligated to work with Dynamight? Or, wherever Bakugo’s at? 

If he chooses to work somewhere else, what would that mean for them? Would he have to stop off at every site Bakugo’s running? Drop into Dynamight biweekly for a touch up? Izuku can’t imagine he’d be allowed to abandon the country’s strongest esper to his dismal stability ratings and chronically inefficient guidance. To go even further, he won’t be allowed to avoid affiliation with a Guild. It’s just as he expected, just as he feared. Now that he’s registered, his life as a human drain is primed to begin. There’s one silver lining, at least. 

Money. 

Izuku wouldn’t label himself greedy, but the compensation packages he’s been offered thus far have, frankly, blown his mind. He’s sure to receive something similar from Dynamight tomorrow, as he’s yet to hear from them in that regard. His work at the gate site must’ve been decent enough to set him apart as a hot commodity. Every esper he’s guided thus far, it was accomplished to a satisfactory degree via hand-holding or simple contact [arm, face, chest]. He was propositioned a few times, but maybe…

Maybe it won’t be so bad. Bakugo’s terrible attitude aside, he can…live comfortably, protect people, and go about his own way with a head held a little higher. He knows he can be a bit of a doormat, but he won’t lay down and be trampled. From the brief time he spent with the people at Dynamight, they seemed like a reputable crowd. The espers he guided [besides Bakugo] weren’t pushy and demanding despite their injuries and poor ratings. Keigo was friendly, Aizawa was understanding, and while the G.M. was a touch overbearing, even Yagi-san treated him with kindness and respect. Unless they’re all secretly a troupe of the country’s greatest actors, it should be…fine. 

Right.

It’ll be fine.

For some others, it isn’t fine. 

For Katsuki, nothing is fine. In fact, he’s convinced the entire world [Aizawa and Toshinori] has lost their goddamn minds. In what reality does it make sense to leave Deku to his own devices? His useless, idiot guide is a guide, he couldn’t defend his way out of a wet paper bag. Katsuki’s no fool, despite what some like to think. Every esper in the fucking region is breathing down his slender, chokeable neck because of all his stupid, useless charity work at the gate site. And it’s Aizawa’s fault. 

Yesterday, he broke the news to Katsuki regarding Deku’s classification, the first X-class guide in known history, and his absurd compatibility data. Toshinori jokingly referred to him as a ‘one guide fits all’, and Katsuki flipped his shit. It’s just his luck, isn’t it? He finally finds a guide worth a shit, and he’s compatible with literally everyone?  

Even so, Katsuki’s the only one anywhere close to a rating of 100%. Every other esper topped out at 83% or lower. He’s not inflating his own ego by calling himself a priority, it’s a straight fact. His guidance should come before anyone else’s, because he’s the only fucking one in this country capable of closing disaster-class gates. When Deku grew enough balls to show up at the site, Katsuki wasn’t expecting them to just—let him go home. He’s practically a flight risk! Aizawa’s explanation was: “Good God, Bakugo, he’s not runaway chattel. Guilds don’t enslave guides like they did in the old days, they’re people. He’s free to make his own decisions about who he guides, where he guides, and when he guides. Of course, we’ll be offering him a small fortune to do so with us.” 

So, the long and short of it, it’s up to Deku. It’s completely, totally fucking ludicrous. Katsuki’s stability rating is a matter of national security! In any case, the little shit is coming by the Guild tomorrow, and Katsuki was advised to be on his best behavior—or to emulate the best behavior of someone who knows how to behave well. Aizawa claimed he wasn’t ‘runaway chattel’, but they’ve certainly got him tagged like it—Keigo’s plumes. It does bring Katsuki a slim feeling of relief, as again, Deku’s a defenseless twat.

There are plenty of Guilds and espers with sticky fingers. 

—

What’s worse than the worst case scenario? Bakugo being right about it, because he’ll never, ever shut the fuck up about it. This is the first thought that crosses Aizawa’s mind when Keigo alerts him—Midoriya was scooped up by the League on the way in. 

—

Technically, by a split hair, no laws were broken. Poaching isn’t illegal, just bad business.

It can’t be considered kidnapping, because when Toga Himiko sprung herself at Izuku on the sidewalk—en route to his scheduled appointment with Dynamight, he consented to accompany her for a moment at a cafè across the street. Izuku guided Toga down from a rampage at the gate site, dropping her from red to green in three minutes. Their compatibility topped out at 80%, and in Toga’s mind, that’s soulmate material. Izuku has only a positive impression of her, as that’s how she presented herself: sweet, bubbly, would absolutely never pluck the wings off of a butterfly for fun. 

“Izuku-kun!” 

Thirty minutes earlier, Izuku had to all but beat the reporters off with a stick [he actually just snuck out of the emergency stairwell], so he’s a little wary of being recognized in public. When his eyes catch on those familiar, ashen pigtails, he relaxes. She’s smiling wide enough to split her face in half, and he can’t help but return a portion of it. 

“Toga-san, hi! How are you feeling? You look…great!” He comments honestly. When he last saw her, she was heavily sedated and suffering some nasty burns across her chest and upper arms—he didn’t want to think about which degree. Now, she looks right as rain. 

She pops her lip out, huffing, “call me Himiko!” 

“Oh, um, if you…insist? Himiko…?” It’s a little uncomfortable, as this is the first time they’ve met [while coherent]. Her expression is so bright, it could’ve powered the next three blocks. She latches around his arm, smashing herself against his side, and Izuku colors fifty shades of embarrassment at the sudden, intimate contact. 

“My friends are waiting for me at the shop over there! Would you please, please, please let me buy you a coffee, Izuku-kun? Pretty, pretty please?”

“That’s—” Izuku squeaks, “that’s really not necessary, Tog—Himiko. I’m actually—”

“I’ll literally, probably die if you don’t let me buy you a coffee. You saved my life! I have to make it up to you, please!” 

Her begging is both relentless and effective. She’s just... so nice, and Izuku’s too soft-hearted [dimwitted] for his own good. How can he shoot down a harmless act of recompense? Except, upon entering the cafè moments later, he realizes all too belatedly—it isn’t a harmless act of recompense. It’s a guerilla recruitment. In a roomy booth tucked towards the back of the storefront, her ‘friends’ await them. Even if he hadn’t seen them in person at the site, albeit in passing, Izuku would recognize the oddball pair. Bubaigawara Jin and Todoroki Touya would only go unnoticed in a three-ring circus. 

Jin, for one, is never seen without his full-coverage balaclava. No one outside of the League has seen his face. His ability is...duplication, if Izuku remembers correctly. On the other hand, Touya is a victim of his own manifestation. Element-style manifestations seem to run in the Todoroki bloodline, but Touya’s body isn’t compatible with that brand of energy. No esper is truly compatible with their own energy, hence the need for guidance, but Touya’s a special case. He can’t use it without suffering physical damage, and given the nature of fire, he was consumed in a conflagration of his own making as a child. It’s the biggest smear on Endeavor’s legacy to date. 

In spite of the harsh, grizzly knots of scarring that blight him, he’s widely regarded as handsome—something about how he carries himself, that ‘killer confidence’ according to the gossip pieces out of Mainichi. Izuku isn’t sure how, but he’s found a way to work around that drawback, as he’s an active member of the League Guild—closing gates like a health inspector at a food-truck rally. Himiko drags him towards the booth, and Izuku has to stop himself from digging his heels into the floor. He’s not a toddler, he can get through this. It’s just...a conversation. 

“Sit, sit!” She cheers, ushering him to slide into the empty side of the booth. “What kind of coffee can I get ya?”

Izuku spits out the first drink that comes to mind. “Iced mocha, please.” 

Then, she’s gone, skipping to the counter—pigtails bouncing like springs against her scalp. Izuku watches her go, choking down a whimper. He turns to face the strange, intimidating pair, and Touya asks flatly:

“Who the fuck are you?”

Izuku’s face slackens with surprise, and Touya bursts a short laugh. “Just kidding, of course we know who you are, Midoriya Izuku. Nice to meet’cha.” 

Jin chimes in, friendly enough. “Yup, nice to meet you, man!”

Izuku nods slowly. “It’s...nice to meet you both as well, Todoroki-san, Bubaigawara-san.”

“So,” Touya drawls, stretching against the hardback of the seat, spreading his legs beneath the table. Izuku jumps as their ankles bump, then frets over if it’d be rude to tug away. “Let’s not waste any time, right? You’re a busy guy, we’re busy guys, Toga’s...whatever she’s got going on. You know why she wrangled you in here, right?”

Izuku’s almost relieved to cut to the chase, daunting as it is to say ‘no’ to these people. He tries to rip it off like a bandaid, but alas. “You...want me to join the League Guild. I decline. If that’s all—” 

“Woah, woah, woah, buttercup, slow your roll. You haven’t even heard us out!”

Izuku frowns. In his mind, he loops the same phrase: don’t be a doormat, don’t be a doormat, don’t be a doormat—

“Is that something I’m obligated to do?”

Touya pauses, genuinely taken aback. Then, he grins, “and here I thought you were a grade-A pushover, Midoriya-kun.”

“I’m working on that, actually.” 

Jin leans forward, propping his elbows on the table, jaws fixed between his gloved hands. “But, you should think about it! The League Guild is great! Great benefits, everyone’s super nice! The dorms are—”

“I understand, I do, and I appreciate the offer. It’s just—”

“What, you want to play bitch to Bakugo that badly?” Touya interrupts coldly. Himiko chooses that moment to return with his coffee, and later, Izuku will wonder if Touya mentioned Bakugo’s name purposefully within her earshot. She flips like an overloaded breaker. Her smile is no longer sweet, her eyes no warmer than a whiteout. She slams the plastic cup against the tabletop. 

“Why are you talking about that piece of shit?” Her voice still bubbles and lilts, but there’s a knifelike edge in it. The crude language alone throws Izuku for a hard loop, as it sounds downright wrong coming from a girl like Himiko—or the girl Izuku believed her to be. She throws herself down into the booth and presses against him from thigh to shoulder. Her small hand smooths up the length of his chest, and there’s nothing pleasant or comforting about the gesture.

“Izuku-kun...” His name is a threat on her breath, balmy and candied against his thumping jugular. He’s so tense, he worries something might snap. The fine, downy hairs at his nape prickle. Second only to Bakugo’s rampage, Izuku’s never felt so close to death. 

“You won’t...associate with him, right? He doesn’t deserve you, he’s a bad person.” 

The crazy thing is, Izuku knows Himiko believes that, and in her mind, a ‘bad person’ is the most egregious of condemnations. 

“Midoriya-kun, listen. I know what you’re thinkin’—Bakugo needs you, he’ll rampage without you, yadda yadda.” Touya starts, unruffled by the homicidal intent rolling off his companion. “Espers use guides, that’s what we do. You don’t need us, right? But, we need you. We need guidance. There’s a give and take that has to be established, mutual understanding and unconditional support. Bakugo isn't like that. He won’t respect you. He won’t care about you. He won’t keep you safe, comfortable, or happy. He’s going to use you like a fucking dumping ground, over and over, without a second thought to how you’re feeling.” 

Izuku can’t lie and say he isn’t shaken by those words, as it’s something he’s deeply afraid of without Touya verbalizing it.

“Even if that’s the case, he...he needs guidance. If I have to be his dumping ground for the sake of his life, everyone’s life, I’ll—that’s...what I’ll do. What makes you any different?”

Himiko’s nails sink into his upper thigh, her teeth rake a line down his jaw, and Izuku visibly flinches. He can feel it, he can feel her. She’s...forcing him to guide, forcing her energy into a trickle through that miniscule point of contact. He’s felt her energy before, but not like this. It’s viscous, sticky. It feels like poison. 

“No, no!” Jin starts, animated. “We take really, really good care of our guides!” 

“Every esper’s rampage is a danger to those around them, not just Bakugo’s.” Touya adds, not an ounce of humor left in him. 

Izuku’s scared. It feels like he’s trapped in a shoebox being slung back and forth. His ears are ringing. His hands are shaking, damp, and clammy where they’re fisted in the hem of his shirt. He was an idiot. These aren’t the kinds of people you can refuse or casually walk away from. They’re dangerous.  

“Toga, you’ve already had your turn, knock it off.” Touya snaps. Blessedly, she pulls back, clicking her tongue. Izuku whistles in a slow, rickety breath. Maybe if he vomits all over the table, they’ll let him go. 

“What’s your class, Midoriya?” 

“I—I...don’t know yet.” 

Touya lays his hand on the table, palm up. His seafoam eyes project vividly from the dark, burgundy scarring around them, a panther’s stare between nighttime reeds. Smirking, he says, “I bet I could tell ya.” 

He’s telling Izuku to guide him—right here, right now. Izuku stares, dumbfounded, at his upturned hand. There’s a tiny, curious part of him that wonders what Touya feels like, but the rest of him is sick with dread. Izuku believes an esper’s energy emulates their personality, vice versa. It’s reactive to emotions, as that’s already been established in a number of studies. Compared to before, Himiko’s energy felt off-putting just now because her hostility is bleeding into it. Touya is sure to feel much the same. Guiding someone like that, it’s...like sucking up tar through a straw, coating the inside of your throat with their grime.  

Izuku would rather die. 

“Well, well, well...” 

He nearly weeps with relief, as Keigo rounds the corner of the booth. “Why didn’t I get an invite to this party?”

“Hey, Keigo!” Jin exclaims, throwing his fist out. 

Keigo bumps the proffered appendage with his own. “What’s up, Jin? How’s it hangin’, man?” 

“Little bit of this, little bit of that—!” Jin laughs. Touya and Himiko watch their exchange with open disgust. 

“Fuck off, Happy Feet. Can’t you see this is a closed meeting?”

“Hah, Happy Feet, feathers, I get it. Unfortunately, Midoriya-kun’s running quite late for his meeting with us, which is, y’know—a real meeting, not a shakedown. So, I came to scoop him up. Now, unless y'all are lookin’ to cause a scene smack in the middle of this joint, I suggest you set my man free.” 

There’s a tense beat of silence, Jin swiveling his head back and forth curiously. Touya breathes a put-upon sigh. 

“Let him up, Toga.” 

“Why?” She immediately lashes back. 

“Now.” 

She scowls, obliging her companion after another few moments. Himiko stands, and Izuku jumps out of the booth like it’s slathered in ants and honey. Just as he starts counting his chickens [pre-hatched], Himiko flings her arms around his neck and clenches hard enough to warrant a trip to the chiropractor. “I’ll see you again soon, okay, Izuku-kun?” She promises, as if they’re long-distance lovers. 

Izuku says nothing, nor does he look back at the trio of espers. Keigo drops an arm around his shoulders and steers him back out onto the street. 

“You okay, kid?” 

“I’ll be fine.” Izuku is more trying to convince himself than Keigo. It’d never even occurred to him that he could be forced to guide, but the energy within him is reactive—if an esper is forcing theirs through, his body will automatically attempt to process it. It’s a newfound horror to deal with, like discovering a mass grave beneath your living room’s floor during a renovation. 

“Well, I hate to break it to ya, but they’re not the only pain-in-the-ass espers on the agenda today.” 

—

It worked out much like he predicted it would.

Probably, since Chiyoda. 

Were there truly any other avenues left to him? Was there another outcome he could’ve pursued? Maybe, if not for the gate’s appearance in Sendai. If not for that, he might’ve kept hiding. He might’ve run far, far away and assumed a new identity. He could’ve gone his entire life as a common person, not having to delve into the muddled, perilous, exhausting world occupied by espers, guides, gates, and monsters. He would have opened a bookstore, maybe. On the coast. 

He would have married a nice, local girl. They’d have a few kids and a fluffy, white cat named Mei—who only likes the good cans of tuna, not the generic brands. 

“We’re beyond grateful to have you, young Midoriya. Welcome aboard!” 

Izuku looks down, tracing the wet, fresh lines of his signature. It’s only one of many, many signatures, as there’s an entire ream’s worth of paperwork associated with joining a Guild. He swallows down a sigh, because it’s not a polite thing to do in the face of someone so thrilled. Forcing a smile, he returns Yagi-san’s dramatic sentiment. 

“I’ll do my very best to meet your expectations.”

Chapter Text

By now, I’m sure you’ve heard the news. Dynamight Guild’s newest hire, the envy of every Guild in the nation’s top ten rankings, twenty-two year old Midoriya Izuku.

Two weeks ago, a red gate, the size and magnitude of which hasn’t been seen since the disaster in Kyoto a decade ago, appeared in Sensdai’s Tsutsujigaoka Park. A nationwide state of emergency was declared within less than an hour of its appearance, and the top twenty Guilds were called to action by order of the Department of Guild Management. Once again, Bakugo Katsuki, Japan’s only esper with an X-class rating, was the star of the show. 

Or, a co-star, some would say. Bakugo’s Guild, Dynamight, had publicized their intention to find the unknown guide, who first appeared on our screens over a month ago, responsible for bringing Bakugo down from a point of rampage in Chiyoda Ward. At the time, we knew nothing about this person, only that they were most likely unregistered and attempting to conceal their identity because of that fact. Before that guide could be located, the disaster-class gate in Sendai brought their search to a screeching halt. The nation held its breath, as Bakugo was prohibited from joining the initial raids due to his continued instability. He would only be included as a ‘last resort’, and even then, we all fretted to ourselves—will he come out rampaging a second time? 

To the shock, bewilderment, and relief of all those watching the live broadcasts, it looked to be a miracle unfolding right before our eyes. Perhaps feeling an intrinsic sense of duty, that same guide from the Chiyoda Ward incident made his grand entrance on Sendai’s stage. Initially, there was what appeared to be some sort of altercation between Bakugo and this person. What happened next, however, was unmistakable. Bakugo, who has always struggled with guidance and compatibility ratings, was being guided in the middle of the gate site—in front of his colleagues, his competitors, his supporters, and his critics. Unlike what we’ve seen from him before, lashing out and having to be either restrained or sedated in cases of emergency, there were no such antics from him then. 

What was captured on film that day will surely be played back in classrooms, as it was the beginning of a new chapter in esper/guide history. Bakugo was tested multiple times after this impromptu guidance, and his stability rating was the lowest in recorded history: zero. No esper has ever been able to achieve such a number, and the five percent difference was immediately, visibly obvious to everyone present. Bakugo’s energy output had taken on a new form, called a ‘crimson cape’ by some, and his performance within the gate an hour later has cemented his position as one of the strongest espers in the world. 

Bakugo Katsuki redefined what it meant to be an X-class esper, and while a triple ‘s’ classification might seem substantial, the gap between X-class and SSS-class has never felt larger or more insurmountable than it does today. 

But, what of the guide who made this possible for him? Midoriya Izuku is that guide, and he’s made plenty waves of his own. After guiding Bakugo down to that unimaginable number, now referred to as ‘zeroing-out’ by those in the industry, Midoriya was remarkably no worse for wear. He and Bakugo were pulled aside for compatibility testing, as well as Midoriya’s classification test. Those results were just released today, and the world is still reeling. In total, Bakugo Katsuki and Midoriya Izuku have broken four records:

— The lowest recorded stability rating, 0%.

— The highest recorded compatibility rating between an esper and a guide, 100%. 

— The fastest recorded closing time of a disaster-level gate, 2hrs 15min. 

— The first X-class guide in recorded history.

Yes, you read that right. The Dynamight Guild of Tokyo, Japan is now the only Guild in the world in possession of both an X-class esper and an X-class guide. Whatever your personal feelings surrounding Dynamight’s newest guide, the facts are unchanged. With Midoriya’s guidance, Bakugo Katsuki has remained stable and active. Our city, our prefectures, and our country are now undeniably safer. 

Kiyoko Watanabe

The Japan Times

Izuku scowls down at his company-issued tablet. He was recommended this article by his mother, as it casts him in a positive light, but it’s so… sensationalized. Miracles, broken records, making waves, stars, and co-stars—it sounds like an idol debut, not the recount of a battlefield. Espers bled beneath his hands, hot blood bubbling up under a desperate compression. Some entered the gate and returned in pieces. Or, not at all. Izuku frequently recalls Bakugo’s scalding rant from their initial meeting, and the truth of it doesn’t sting any less. 

It’s his fault. 

His tablet chirps, and Izuku doesn’t have to glimpse the screen to know what it means. Requests for guidance from on-site espers come through their personal devices. Espers can submit an open request, able to be accepted by any compatible guide, or a guide-specific request. Izuku gets a lot of those. He sighs, pushes back from his modest cubicle, and heads for the guide rooms. 

He’s been employed as an X-class guide with the Dynamight Guild for one week. While the content of his work is vastly different, the environment is something he’s familiar with. There are a total of two hundred and twelve guides at this location, E-class to SSS-class. They’re divided into teams of eight, and each team has their own bullpen. He expected it to be tense, strained, between himself and his coworkers. There’s a lot stacked against him, and it’d be easy for these people to view him in an unfavorable light. 

He went unregistered for years in an attempt to avoid this responsibility. Despite being a newcomer, Izuku assumes he’s earning boatloads more than his fellow guides. He wouldn’t like him either. It turned out not to be the case, fortunately. From the second he stepped foot in the bullpen, everyone’s been inordinately nice, as if they’d rip the shirt from their back in offerance if he spilled a teaspoon of breakroom coffee on his own. It’s...weird, and Izuku isn’t sure what to make of it at first. 

He soon figures out why. 

Bakugo was everyone’s problem. The burden of his guidance was rotated out between the teams, and it’s the most loathsome detail in the entire Guild. Some guides admitted they’d rather fling themselves into a gate, armed with little more than a destapler and those cheap, rollerball pens that are widespread in the office, than attempt guidance with him. He sends at least one guide to the medical ward per week, either by physically attacking them or overtaking their energy. 

Izuku’s a godsend to these people. 

He’s popular with the espers too, but that should go without saying. Compared to Bakugo, espers of lower classes are a breeze. Hence, why he’s doing it. He was offered to be Bakugo’s exclusive guide, but he’d rather not spend his time waiting around for one esper, least of all Bakugo. Izuku’s team [team three] is responsible for a staggering one-hundred-and-nine espers. For those not paying attention, that’s at least four espers per guide. 

Izuku receives a lot of guide-specific requests, as stated earlier, so he’s easily guiding up to twenty times a day. He’s glad to be busy, and his coworkers are thrilled to be relieved, but it’s...a bit much. To make matters worse, well, Bakugo. He tends to make matters worse. In the short week Izuku’s been employed with Dynamight, Bakugo has barged in on his guidance sessions eight times. 

He’s a cut above the rest. 

He’s the strongest in the Guild, in the country. 

He’s one of eighteen X-class espers in the world, a living legend in his twenties. 

He’s an intolerable, raging prick. 

Bakugo is a priority, and unfortunately, that’s an objective fact—one he never fails to remind Izuku of. Guide rooms are private places, and depending on the pair inside, guidance can become quite intimate. Imprinted pairs almost always resort to sex during the process, as it’s the most potent form of guidance. Plenty of non-imprinted pairs prefer this method as well, it’s dealer’s choice. It isn’t Izuku’s preference, as he’s definitely the prude Bakugo believes him to be, but sometimes he imagines throwing caution to the wind. What kind of expression would Bakugo make, busting in to find an esper tongue-deep in his tonsils? 

It might teach him a lesson in privacy, or maybe he’d be embarrassed enough to consider knocking. Izuku’s had plenty of subtle offers, but no esper presses him on it once he declines. Thankfully, hand-holding has gotten the job done with everyone thus far, including Bakugo. Izuku can only pray he doesn’t push himself into a rampage again. 

It’s a standard Monday through Friday gig, seven to three. Every guide is on call, especially him. Whether it’s during working hours or his time off, he’s obligated to be in the field whenever Bakugo is. The appearance of the gates can’t be predicted, as it’s completely random. They could see twenty in a week, or no more than three in a month. Red gates are also a rarity, and Bakugo’s presence at lower classed gates is considered overkill. In the past week, Izuku’s had to report to just one gate site alongside Bakugo. Orange, no bigger than a storefront, closed in fifteen minutes. 

When Bakugo isn’t harassing him for on-demand guidance, he treats him like gum on the bottom of his shoe, like his presence is: distasteful, irritating, but an unfortunate reality he’s forced to deal with. 

“Togata-san, you requested guidance?” 

Izuku lets the door latch behind him, locking it for good measure. He turns to the SS-class esper who sits tall and straight-backed on one of two sofas, and Mirio grins with every tooth he has. “I did! You came so quickly, I hope I didn’t pull you away from anything urgent.” 

Izuku huffs a polite laugh. “Guidance is my job, so this is the most urgent thing on the agenda.” 

He takes a seat on the couch opposite Mirio, pulling up the active request on his tablet and marking it resolved. Mirio is his twelfth session today, and it’s barely noon. He’s going on lunch after this, hell or high water. Izuku holds his hand out across the width of the coffee table, and Mirio latches onto it like it’s a preserver in tumultuous waters. The floodgates open, and Izuku’s taken aback by the gush of white-hot energy barreling through him. He forgot to check Mirio’s stability rating, and a quick glance at the tablet by his thigh reads—84%. 

“Nngh, Togata-san, why…are you so destabilized?” He winces. Much like his personality, Mirio’s energy is raw sunshine. Squint-your-eyes bright, hot, sunburning his insides. 

Mirio laughs with his belly, and he reminds Izuku of a miniature Toshinori-in-the-making or...Santa Claus. “I got a little carried away in training today! Is it uncomfortable for you? I apologize!” 

He’s not the first esper to give such an explanation. Is their training that strenuous? “Is the training…very difficult?”

“Mm, lately it’s been more intense with Bakugo’s participation. Now that he’s receiving proper guidance, his output can be difficult to deal with during group training.” With his free hand, Mirio lifts his shirt over his ribs. 

“Oh my—!” Izuku chokes, horrified. 

His entire right side is darkened by an ugly patchwork of bruising, enough to suggest broken ribs or a possible hemorrhage. “I’m going to medical after this!” He laughs again. 

…shouldn’t it hurt him to laugh? 

“…right. Well, go ahead and measure yourself. That should be good.”

Mirio grabs the instrument, pours his energy into it, and pings a solid 22%. He springs to his feet and bows low at the waist. Izuku cringes, as that deep bow might’ve snapped a fractured rib clean in two. Espers are psychopaths. 

“Again, I’m sorry for adding more to your plate, I know you’re very busy, Midoriya-san. I just knew your guidance would be the quickest.” 

“Don’t mention it. Uh, just…please get that checked out as soon as you can, Togata-san.”

When Bakugo sought him out for guidance, he’s been loitering in the orange to red, 60-85%. Izuku wasn’t sure why, as he hadn't been called off to any gate sites, but he wasn’t comfortable enough to ask. Now, it makes sense, and so do the guide-specific requests. He’s been overexerting himself in training, jacking his rating up—and the ratings of others. Espers are requesting him because his guidance times are low. Izuku thinks back, wondering how many of them were gritting through an injury during their session. Shouldn’t there be...restrictions on Bakugo’s output? 

Izuku had been avoiding him until now, but he thinks a word is in order. He’s not Bakugo’s boss, but he is the one responsible for his overall wellbeing. No one’s going to be able to maintain this pace if he keeps pushing their boundaries, a cog is bound to break. Izuku really doesn’t want to be that cog. 

He exits the guide room, beelining for the elevator. Espers train below ground level, so he’s bound to find a certain X-class the lower he goes. When the sleek, plated doors part under his insistent mashing of the button, he’s surprised to find it carrying two occupants. 

“Izuku-kun!”

Iida Tenya, S-class esper, and his exclusive guide, B-class Uraraka Ochaco. 

Uraraka is a guide from team six, but they’ve become fast friends in his short time here. He grins at her, and it's an honest, toothy thing. “Uraraka-san! Hello to you, too, Iida-san.” 

“It’s a pleasure to see you again, Midoriya-san!” Iida announces, bowing slightly and adjusting his glasses from their inevitable slump. They make a funny pair. Iida’s a by-the-book, no-nonsense type. He speaks in loud statements, as if every conversation is a critical exchange of statistics. In Izuku’s mind, Iida is a black suit, and Uraraka the polka-dotted pocket-square he totes around. She’s cheerful, animated, and personable. She plants her fists on the mounds of her hips. 

“I must’ve told you a hundred times, call me Ochaco!” 

“It hasn’t been...that many...” Izuku argues weakly. “Were you headed to a guide room?” 

“Nah, nah, we’re grabbing a late lunch. Did you want to join us?” 

“Your presence would be agreeable!” Iida adds, and Izuku halfway expects him to salute. 

“I’ll head out in a bit, I was actually...looking for Bakugo-san. Is he, ah, down there still?” 

Ochaco looks plainly disgruntled. “Mm, sure is. He’s in the weight room. What’d you need him for? We can wait for you—” 

“No, no, I’d hate to hold you up. Go ahead, I’ll catch you next time.” 

With a final round of pleasantries, the pair carries on their way. Izuku takes their place in the elevator, steeling himself on the short descent. He tries to prepare a concise, bulleted list of key phrases, those he can rattle off between Bakugo’s interruptions and insults. They can never make it through a conversation without them. Things like: ‘stop overexerting yourself, stop breaking the other espers, you’re training too much, I hate you.’ 

The elevator dumps him out on the first underground level, the esper’s dorms. They have their own fitness center, a real meathead’s nirvana. Izuku earns many looks on his three-minute trek, primarily: curiosity, longing, heartsickness. Because of his high ratings, there are quite a few espers he could imprint with, but he’d never be allowed to. Imprinting would render him unable to guide any esper but his own, and Bakugo’s guidance is too paramount. Bakugo Katsuki’s name might as well be stamped on his forehead, and everyone knows it. 

The bastard in question is rattling the bolts off of a treadmill, running like his demons are coming to collect. Well, not quite, that might be a little hyperbolic. His strides are short, smooth, but his speed and mass are testing the equipment’s limits. The gym’s entrance is on the opposite side of the room from the row of treadmills, so Izuku catches sight of him first. He’s shirtless, wearing only a pair of Dynamight’s fitted, black joggers. Wireless headphones plug his ears, and his face...his expression...

Izuku’s never seen him look so serene outside of guidance. 

He can’t bring himself to interrupt, so he grabs the attention of a nearby esper refilling his canteen. “Excuse me.”

The esper [Izuku doesn’t know his name] turns, then jumps half a foot. “M-Midoriya-san! Hi! Uh, h-hello—”

“I’m sorry to bother you, but do you know how long Bakugo-san’s been at it?” 

The no-name esper deflates, as if thinking Izuku had approached him for a different reason. “Oh, uh, about thirty minutes? He usually goes for forty-five, so he should be done in a few.” 

“Thank you.” Izuku heads for an unoccupied bench to wait. 

This gives him a rare chance to observe Bakugo undisturbed. Those simple things he’d noted in passing are now jumping out, sharpening up. He’s tall, broad, and strapped with muscle. Izuku spares a bitter glance down at himself, frowning. He really fumbled the genetic lottery. The hard planes of his back roll like wheat in the breeze, golden and fluid. Shoulders like atlas stones, abdominals cut from a mountainside, thighs as stalwart as redwood. Bakugo’s his own architect, building a temple that he maintains stringently. 

He’s slick with effort, a fine sheen catching on the gym’s fluorescence. His hair is its usual jagged scree, but those saffron tufts are darker, heavier, and stuck to his brow. Izuku can see the side of his face from his position on the bench, and when it’s not twisted in a scowl, it’s...a nice face. His eyes are softened from their trademark glare, now lidded and blank. Clean, sharp lines. Well...proportioned. Handsome, attractive, ho—

No, nope. Izuku looks away sharply. 

Bakugo Katsuki isn’t hot. He’s a jerk. 

But, jerks can be hot—

I’ll never admit it, no way in hell. 

Right on cue, the treadmill beeps beneath Bakugo’s thumb as he slows the pace. He sets it to a leisurely walk, snatching a towel from the bar. Izuku’s determined to pull himself together in the time it takes Bakugo to dry and hop down from the machine, which is less than two minutes. He stands, wipes the wrinkles from his shirt, and wills away the color from his face. Finally, Bakugo sees him. 

He plucks the buds from his ears and stows them in his pocket. “Oi, Deku, you got a sixth sense or somethin’? I was just about to buzz you.” 

Guidance, right. 

Izuku frowns. “That isn’t my name, and that’s not why I’m here.” 

Bakugo shrugs. “It rolls off the tongue, right? Guide me.” 

No shouting? No cursing? Izuku suddenly realizes he might’ve picked the best possible time to attempt this discussion. He should be even more docile after guidance. Breathing a sigh, he steps into Bakugo’s space. His...state of undress becomes harder to ignore, but Izuku’s a professional, damnit, and Bakugo’s not hot. He goes to place his palm on Bakugo’s sternum, but the esper in question catches his wrist in a tight grip. 

“What the fuck are you doing?” 

Izuku lifts his face, miffed, and Bakugo frowns down at him. Despite the harsh verbiage, his tone isn’t angry, just confused—and something...else, something Izuku can’t place. “I was told it’s quicker this way, through your core.” He explains. “You’re already shirtless, so...?”

Bakugo studies him, irises like spilled merlot hitting those tiny, flickering movements. He says nothing for several seconds, nor does he release his grip. Is he opposed to being watched? The gym isn’t empty, but he’s never cared about that before. He had Izuku guide him in front of the entire world, once upon a time.

Izuku frowns. “Let go, just give me your hand—”

“It’s fine, do it like this. Since it’s faster.” 

He lets go, shoving his hands in his pockets. Continuing, Izuku flattens his palm to the little divot of warm, damp flesh between his pectorals. It’s a give-and-take they’re both accustomed to. Izuku maintains a flat expression despite the slight intimacy of the act. He keeps his gaze affixed to his knuckles, but Bakugo’s staring. His eyes are burning pinholes through his forehead. Izuku estimates him to be somewhere around 73%, so pulls away after less than three minutes. Bakugo twitches. 

“Tch, that’s it?” 

“That’s more than enough. I already told you, it’s impractical to zero-out every time.” 

Bakugo says nothing in response. He looks away, scowling lightly. 

“Anyway, I need to speak with you. It’ll be quick.” 

“What is it, then?” 

Oh my God, it’s already going so well.  

“You’ve only been to one gate site this week, but you’ve come to me every day, sometimes more than once, in the orange or red.”

“So-fuckin’-what?” 

Ugh. 

“I think...you’re overexerting yourself in training.” 

“Oh?” His brows rocket up, expression contorting with sarcastic glee. “Is that what you think, after one fuckin’ week on the job? Daily training is mandatory, Deku. I can actually participate, like I’m supposed to, now that you’re not hiding under your fuckin’ bed anymore.” 

Izuku flings his arms out, a hairsbreadth from shouting: “I’m not telling you to stop training! I’m just—just tone it down! I’ve only been here for a week, yes, but even I know it’s abnormal to be that destabilized every day if you’re receiving proper guidance, which you are. You’re overdoing it! It’s not just you, I’m getting a ton of requests because everyone’s pushing themselves to keep up with you!” 

Izuku flinches back, as Bakugo’s expression suddenly tangs with menace. His body language, too. He angles himself into Izuku’s space, shoulders tight and drawn forward. “Why the fuck are they comin’ to you?” 

“I—I’m fast. That’s not...that isn’t the point!” 

“How is any of this my problem, huh? They should be pushing themselves to keep up, because the gates don’t give a shit about their stability rating. If you’re weak, you’re dead. If you’re too much of a bitch to turn them away, that’s not my fault. Grow a spine, for fuck’s sake.” 

With that, Bakugo ends the conversation. He stalks off, leaving Izuku to mourn his wasted lunch break. 

—

Leave it to Deku to spoil his post-cardio glow. 

The little shit finally shows his face in the underground, and it was for nothing more than to lecture him. Katsuki might be overdoing it, but fuck, he’s finally able to. It’s like stretching your leg after it’s cut out of a plaster-cast. No one but him, at least in this Guild, can understand that feeling. He’s in tune with his energy, he can exert without having to constantly measure himself like a goddamn diabetic on their birthday. 

With Deku’s classification, it isn’t difficult for him. The only time he struggled with Katsuki’s guidance was Chiyoda, and he was actively rampaging then. So what if he’s orange? Red? It’s practically a picnic for Deku. If he’s feeling overwhelmed by the amount of guide-specific request, that’s his own fucking fault. 

When he signed on with Dynamight, he was given a choice. He could’ve been responsible for only Katsuki, no one else. He chose not to do that. He chose to be an open-ended guide, to take on requests. When Aizawa told him as much, he couldn’t believe it. He didn’t believe it, until he checked Deku’s status in the system. There it was, like a loogie hocked directly into his cornea:

Midoriya Izuku, active 

X-class

Team 3

open-ended

If he were exclusive or imprinted, it would say as much below his team assignment. Katsuki wanted to break something. He wanted to kill something. Questions plagued him like a biblical swarm of locust. 

Why would anyone take on more work than they have to? Why would Deku specifically choose to guide countless espers, when he went unregistered for years to avoid it? Is it guilt? Why do other espers get the luxury of Deku’s high-class guidance? It’s a selfish, petty outlook to have, but it isn’t fucking fair. They already know what good guidance feels like. They didn’t have to be drugged and shackled just to get through it. Now that he has it for himself, it makes him sick to share. 

Even amongst other guides, Deku stands out to the non-imprinted espers on staff. He’s fast, efficient, and addictive. His guidance feels better, lasts longer. When they think he isn’t around to hear it, they lament his exclusivity with Katsuki: 

“Shit, man, our compatibility was 81%! I’d imprint with him in a heartbeat if it weren’t for—“

“I might ask him out anyway. I mean, he could’ve been Bakugo’s exclusive guide, but he’s taking requests.” 

“Nah, he turned me down yesterday.”

“Yeah, that was you though. You miss every shot you don’t take!” 

Cue the grating laughter. 

That particular bunch found themselves toted to medical on stretchers after group training, doomed to eating soup out of a straw for the next three weeks. 

Realistically, there isn’t anything to complain about. Katsuki’s receiving regular, high-quality guidance from a compatible guide. That should be the beginning and end of his concerns. It shouldn’t matter who Deku guides or… dates. He knows that, and it’s why he hasn’t said anything. He’ll sound like an unreasonable child. He can’t demand Deku’s exclusivity without a reason, nor can he directly tell other espers to stop requesting him. So, his petulant acts of rebellion—beating the shit out of those mouthy extras during training, barging in on Deku during his guidance sessions. Those behaviors can at least be written off as oh, Bakugo’s being a dick again. 

Then, there’s the issue of sex.

Per Kirishima, the greater compatibility between an esper and a guide, the better the guidance [duh], but the way-way-way better the sex. Before, when his rating would rise, he associated guidance with the worst thing ever. Now, when his rating rises, he wants to fuck. When he wants to fuck, Deku’s right there, putting his small, soft hand on his fucking chest out of nowhere, what the fuck. Good guidance has resuscitated his libido, which he laid to rest almost a year ago. Daily, chronic pain ruined his appetite for sex. So, he’s forced to ask himself a series of questions:

Does he want to fuck Deku, or does he just want to fuck a guide he has excellent compatibility with? Is he attracted to Deku, enough to fuck him? Well, yeah. The kid’s not ugly. Great ass. Should he fuck Deku? Would he even go for it?

Guides don’t feel the same inclination, they don’t crave physical contact the way espers do. He looked like he was reading the ‘obits’ in the newspaper earlier, when he was guiding Katsuki in the gym. Plenty of guides do it just to get their rocks off, but to Katsuki’s knowledge, Deku doesn’t. He could just…fuck someone else, unrelated to guidance and compatibility. He’s twenty-seven, for Christ’s sake. Surely, he can get it up under normal circumstances. He glares down at the dick in question, willing it to rise at the mental image of Kayama’s tits. 

The shower is running cold, that’s probably why. 

He smacks the knob, climbs out of the stall, and beats the towel across his body like it’s personally responsible for everything wrong with his life. It’s only three in the afternoon. He’s already completed the day’s mandatory training [and then some], his personal workout, and showered. There are no active gates orange or above in the area, and not for the first time this week, Katsuki is faced with a terrible realization. He has nothing to fill his time with. His friend group consists of, maybe, three people—on a good day. He doesn’t have hobbies that aren’t related to athletics. He hates going out, as any trip into the city ends up ruined by gawkers and journalists. 

Without a gate to run, he feels like an non-playable character, idling around listlessly until someone activates him with some dialogue. Throwing himself down on the bed, he opts to see this waste-of-a-day through to its end. He scrolls through his phone, streaming apps, too indecisive and lethargic for anything to keep his attention. Eventually, sleep comes to ease his boredom. It turns out to be a blessing in disguise, as he gets a solid eight hours before his tablet blares. 

“—the fuck?” 

Then, his phone clatters on the bedside table. He scrapes it up, discombobulated by the time it reads back to him [2:27 AM], and answers with a flat, gravely: “what?”

“Meet me on the first floor, we managed to snag a gate that just appeared in Nikko. Don’t get your hopes up, it’s a TE—B.”

Katsuki groans. 

In the cases of lower class gates, blue and purple, that appear in remote areas or the middle of the night, Guilds like to use them as a training exercise for new espers. TE—B stands for exactly what you’d think, training exercise—blue. It’s easier to conduct training when there are no crowds or reporters. It’s not the excitement and adrenaline he’d been hoping for, but a gate’s a gate. 

He meets Aizawa in the lobby fifteen minutes later, who promptly takes his rating measurement. “23%, not bad. Midoriya’s coming anyway, just in case.”

“It’s a fuckin’ blue gate.” He says dryly. 

“Just in case. Were you—”

“Nah, just give me the coordinates, I’ll get there on my own.” 

“Right.” Aizawa deadpans. “Well, the rookies are grounded, so it’ll take us about forty minutes.” 

Nikko is a small town in the Tochigi Prefecture, nestled in the mountains north of Tokyo. When he touches down on a plush bed of grass at the coordinates provided, Katsuki’s surprised that this gate was even found in time to be reported. It’s in the middle of a thickly wooded area, no domiciles for miles around. There are some instances where a gate is tucked away like this one, too far from society to be stumbled upon by a passerby or detected by a Guild’s equipment. Breaches happen most often like that. 

Once the rest of the party arrives, they make a total of fifteen people: eleven espers, three guides, and Aizawa [acting as a Gate Operator]. Katsuki’s playing chaperone to ten of Dynamight’s newest recruits, espers all freshly manifested. No one is above A-class. He acts bothered by the detail, but secretly, Katsuki loves to play staff sergeant. Bright, fluorescent lights are assembled on tripods around the perimeter of the site, and Aizawa gathers his requisite readings from the gate. It’s fifteen feet high, twelve feet across. Just as expected, it’s projecting a low output. Katsuki halfway expects there to be an army of puppies inside. 

Because he flew to the site, Aizawa takes his measurements a second time. “27%, not terrible.” 

Katsuki scans the area for his guide, and his jaw ticks at what he sees. Deku is making merry with the recruits. They’re up his ass like he’s an up-and-coming idol, and while he’s clearly flustered by the attention of so many at once, he’s too much of a pussy to put a stop to it. They keep—they’re trying to touch his goddamn hands, some of the bolder ones. The two other nameless guides might as well be standees to these people, as useless as cardboard. 

“Deku!” He snaps, struggling to cap a lid on his temper. 

He squeaks, then scurries his way through the herd of espers. “Ah, I’m sorry, I was—”

“I don’t give a shit. Guide me, at least to 10%.”

Deku has the guts to bristle, his cheeks ripening with an indignant flush. He holds his hand out for Katsuki to take, but Katsuki feels like being difficult. He also wants to make a big, bold statement to the handsy recruits not-so-discreetly watching them. He pushes his shirt up from the hem, pinning it to his clavicle. 

“My chest, it was faster.” 

On second thought, it wasn’t a good idea. It’s actually the worst idea he’s ever had, because now he knows what frank embarrassment looks like on Deku’s face. Wide-eyed, cast like turquoise rocks in the bloom of a blue gate. Freckles darkened like a reverse-constellation by a deep, stark blush. Cherry-glossed mouth wobbling around a lack of words. He can’t even blame it on a bad rating, he just wants to fuc—

“Right, okay.” 

Deku smooths out his expression, extending his hand the rest of the distance between them. Just like before, his palm is a small, soft, warm point of contact. With the ensuing energy exchange, Katsuki feels like his brain is dripping out of ears, a scoop of vanilla melting in the midsummer sun. It lasts for barely twenty seconds, as Deku rips his hand away like he’d just high-fived a broiler. He’s already got a keen sense for stability, as Aizawa clocks him at 9%. 

Time to rally the troops. “Alright, motherfuckers, ready up!” 

“Bakugo.” Aizawa stops him. “Don’t murder them and blame it on a monster, okay? No one will believe you.” 

“No promises.” 

—

No one could’ve predicted it, but the gates are escalating. They’re appearing with more regularity. Red gates aren’t the rarity they used to be. Disaster-class gates are no longer a once-in-a-decade phenomenon. They’re learning, adapting to those who enter. 

When Bakugo and his troupe of trainees pass through the gate, it isn’t some tense affair. No one is sweating over their safety, their return, or a potential rampage. It’s a blue gate, the most harmless of them all. Blue gates are home to the sort of monsters you could kick away, or even scare away just by being bigger than them. Except, the moment Bakugo crosses the threshold behind the last recruit, the entire gate wobbles like a bubble on the verge of popping. It becomes heterochromatic, its disarming color deepening, blood dripping into a bowl of clean water. 

It changes. The innocuous blue gate, so safe it’s designated for training, becomes a red gate. The four occupants left on site watch this transformation: confused, horrified, terrified. Aizawa zips up to the gate, planning to enter it so he can call their espers back, but he’s rebuffed. This, too, has never happened. Gates have never prevented anyone from coming and going. He didn’t expect to be bounced off, so he smashes into it at running pace. Later, he described it as throwing himself against a brick wall, and the misaligned cartilage in his nose lent credit to that. 

Bakugo Katsuki and ten fledgling espers are trapped inside a red gate, nonethewiser. 

Chapter Text

The lawless lands beyond a gate, while sometimes similar, are never identical. Blue gates have tells, as do red gates. The pressure, the weight of the air. Red gates feel heavy, stifling, and stagnant, as if the atmosphere is too saturated with energy to support a breeze or easy breath.  The layout, too. Blue gates tend to be yawning, open spaces. Fields, bridges, the cella of a temple, or a large chamber of ambiguous origin. Red gates, on the other hand, are complex and multileveled. 

The biggest giveaway is the creatures inhabiting them. The monsters within a blue gate can hardly be called as such. They’re so feeble, they could be whisked away and domesticated into a household pet. 

Katsuki stiffens half a second after materializing on the opposite side of the rift. His gut tightens, instincts screaming. His neck cracks with how quickly he whips his head, and—

It’s gone. The gate is gone. It was right behind him, he just stepped through it. 

What the fuck is going on? He almost convinces himself it's all a vivid dream. He’s so starved of action, he conjured up an imaginary red gate to vent his unconscious frustrations on. The gaggle of living, breathing espers a few paces ahead rips him from that fantasy. This is real. They walked through a blue gate, and it changed. He’s stuck in a red gate with a bunch of goddamn greenhorns. 

“Bakugo-san...?” One of the girls calls his name, as the group is starting to sense his change in attitude. They’re not yet experienced enough to gauge what’s happening. 

“Do the gates normally disappear like that?” 

“Yeah, I mean—you have to close it first, right...? Then, it reappears.”

Katsuki grits hard enough to snap a tooth. “Class and ability, all of you.” 

Thinking this is a part of the regimen, they begin rattling off their particulars. There are three women, seven men. A-class, two. B-class, four. C-class, one. D-class, two. E-class, one. He’s got one reconnaissance-type, three defense-types, four combat-types, and two recovery-types. Long story short, there’s a very real chance they could all die here. During their harried introductions, Katsuki keeps an ear perked to any approaching danger. It’s disquietingly silent. He cuts through the group, and they stumble aside to avoid being trampled. 

They’re on a craggy ledge, the top of a cliff. Behind them, where the gate should be, is a rocky wall that ascends into darkness. Similarly, the ledge drops off into a pitch vacuum. There’s a set of uneven, stone steps off to the side, and it descends into that veil. The space isn’t completely dark, fortunately. Crackling torches jut from the rock seemingly at random, though Katsuki knows they’re meant as a guide deeper into the gate’s levels. He can make out the flat tops and sides of walls below, dark pathways cutting between them like the Styx. 

It’s a maze-class gate, fuck. 

He turns to address them, making hard eye-contact. “Listen up, and this isn’t a fucking bit, do you understand?” 

They rattle off a shaky, dissonant chorus of ‘yessir!’ 

“I don’t know why or how, so don’t waste your breath, but we’re in a red gate now. The gate is not supposed to disappear, not until the boss is killed. This is no longer training, and I won’t promise anything unrealistic. If you get separated from me, there’s a good chance you’re looking at your grave.”

They glance between themselves, doubting the validity of his explanation. If it were him, he might assume the same thing—fearmongering to elicit a more earnest effort. He can’t hold their doubt against them, but it pisses him off nonetheless. Well, action speaks louder, doesn’t it? He approaches the ledge, squinting down into the basin of shadow. Holding his arm out, he begins pooling his energy into the center of his hand. It coalesces into the size of a marble, then a baseball, then a basketball—growing, growing, growing, until it’s amassed into a small sun, the new epicenter of this netherworld. 

While much more of the space is illuminated, the darkness persists past his range. With a mighty grunt, he throws that colossal sphere of energy into the depths below. It descends the canyon like a falling supergiant, and when it makes contact with the valley, it’s as if tectonic plates are crashing beneath their feet. The sort of quake that jostles teeth loose, disconnects a brain from its stem—a full-body vibration that’s felt for days. From the bottom of the canyon comes a scalding gale, the thunderous howl of a landslide. The espers scramble back from the blast, plastering their hands over their ears and biting off involuntary screams. 

In the dying aftermath of his unprompted blast, the truly terrible noises begin. 

The fierce wails of a disturbed monster horde. Their shrieks bounce the bouldered walls like bullets in a soda can, loud enough to pop an eardrum or induce debilitating tinnitus. Katsuki can’t determine their type or class just from that, but it denotes a lack of higher consciousness. Smart monsters don’t scream. 

“So, who here can fly? Show of hands.”

He isn’t the type to patiently pick his way through a maze. 

In an effort to keep this situation temporarily under wraps, a brand-new worst case scenario, Aizawa alerted the bare minimum amount of in-the-know individuals. His contact at the Department of Guild Management, Yagi Toshinori, Dynamight’s Chief of Gate Operations, and the governor’s office. Obviously, everyone who picked up his call answered with shocked, unhelpful silence. 

Within thirty minutes to an hour of his boggling update, the site was flooded with more people than it could handle. Toshinori all but materialized in the middle of it, still clad in pajamas and slippers. The garments were white, peppered in cartoonish renditions of his own face. He likes to wear his own merchandise, apparently. Since arriving, he’s been on the phone, gesticulating wildly for no one’s benefit but his own. It’d be funny any other time, any other place. Medics, guides, G.O.‘s, and a team of analysts are all on scene by the end of that hour. 

This gate is officially dubbed a variant. 

Minutes after the party of eleven disappeared through the gate, Aizawa set to measuring it with every instrument in his arsenal. One source of comfort, the energy output isn’t nearly that of a disaster-class. Their other source of comfort, Bakugo’s inside. But, the harsh reality, there’s no precedent for this. Even if Bakugo kills every living thing within the gate, no one can say whether they’ll be able to come back out. It could simply disappear. While gates are generally a big mystery, while nothing is guaranteed, this is a special case. There’s no data to extrapolate. It’s a coin toss. They’ll come back, or they won’t. 

Izuku paces, because it’s something to do when one feels the jaws of helplessness clamping around their ankles, chewing them up to the knees. Back and forth in front of the gate, in circles, around the perimeter of the site—marching these patterns like they’re an Indiana Jones-style code to unlock the gate. Izuku thinks he might have developed a slightly overinflated ego this past month. He suddenly felt like someone who could do things, a person others could rely on. Now, he’s reminded of how powerless he actually is. Guides don’t participate in raids because they’d be a liability, a burden. Their abilities aren’t designed for combat.

Guides can only save an esper’s life on this side of the gate. 

Izuku can’t do anything but pace and panic, praying for the coin to land on its head. He can’t do anything for his esper. Even if the gate reopens, who’s to say Bakugo won’t fight to a point of unstoppable rampage? No matter Izuku’s classification, the quality of his guidance, there’s a line. If too much energy is released, the vessel too damaged to contain it, there’s nothing anyone can do. It would be like shattering a glass full of sand atop a shag carpet, then attempting to recollect every grain and replacing them in the shards. Bakugo might not be his favorite person, but he wouldn’t wish such a fate on his worst enemy. 

The raid began at 3:23 AM. It’s been two hours. The gate hasn't disappeared, but neither has anyone come through it. They tried several times, in case something might have changed, but it continues to act as a wall. Given Bakugo’s record closing time in Sendai, he should’ve…been done by now. No one dares offer any hollow words of comfort. I’m sure they’ll be back any minute, you know how capable Bakugo is. 

Bakugo can’t bend the gates to his will, no matter how powerful he is. 

“Midoriya, why don’t you try and catch some shut eye?” 

Izuku lifts his face from where he’d dropped it in the clamshell of his palms. He knows it’s a well meaning gesture, but isn’t he basically admitting Izuku’s just as useless as he believes himself to be?

“What about you?” He huffs. Aizawa looks more exhausted than usual, and it’s a disconcerting sight.

“No naps for the lead G.O., tragically.” 

“You're not the only G.O., and it’s…” He thinks better of it, letting the sentence trail, but Aizawa finishes it off with a touch of bitterness.

“Not like we can do shit about this anyway? Hey, I’ve been taking readings, at least. I don’t think your plan of staring the gate into submission is any more effective than mine.” 

Izuku recognizes the attempt at lightening his mood, but he can’t buy into it. He strangles his own wrist, rubbing those small bones together. “There…there has to be something, right? There has to be something we can do.” 

Aizawa glances down at him, then raises his eyes to the gate. He foists his hands in his pocket, shoulders dipped in a slouch.

“Bakugo’s a real pain in my ass, always has been since he manifested. I get chronic migraines now, actually. The concept of ‘impossible’ just doesn’t apply to him, and I barely mean that in a good way. Sixteen years old, X-class? Great, but then an X-class esper with an intolerance to guidance? What the fuck is that?”

Izuku chokes a shocked laugh. 

“Whether it works out for the best or the worst, he’s always caught up in things I can’t comprehend, not in my wildest nightmares. Then you came along, and he became an even bigger magnet for implausible bullshit. But, for better or worse, he’s always made it work. He deals, until it’s handled.  It’s the type of person he is. In situations like this one, where I’m forced to reckon with the fact that I can’t do shit about it anyway, I can usually count on him to come through. If he has to rip open his own hole to climb out of, he’s the only one I believe can do it.”

He’s saying to trust Bakugo Katsuki to continue to do the impossible, defy expectations, because it’s better than existing in a feedback loop of fear and doubt. Izuku sits on his anecdote, and the longer he does, the easier it is to agree with. He’s only known Bakugo, personally, for a short time, but he’s the epitome of confidence. His tenacity, his ability to laugh in the face of insurmountable circumstances, is something Izuku envies. Looking back at the gate, he decides to believe it’ll shred like looseleaf when pitted against Bakugo’s doggedness. 

But, two hours becomes three.

Four.

Five. 

It’s midmorning, the densely clustered trees fracturing the sun. 

The atmosphere on site is grim, and any faith left is deeply shaken.  

It’s then that the variant gate undergoes its second transformation. Just as before, it ripples like a disturbed pond. The analysts who’ve been measuring its output ‘round the clock kick into a frenzy, shouting their updates amongst each other. Hell’s red is replaced with the cool, clear blue it was meant to be. It’s open, and those who were trapped seize the chance to escape. One, two, three—ten, familiar espers phase through the interdimensional membrane. While they’re in terrible shape, all ten recruits managed to survive their time in a red gate. 

Bleeding, hobbling, weeping, traumatized, and oversaturated with their own energy. 

“They need guidance, now! Medics!” 

Izuku wants to be relieved, and he is, but—

“Where’s young Bakugo?” Toshinori asks of the most coherent, uninjured recruit. The young man [boy, really] flings a haunted, panicked look back at the gate. 

“H-He...won’t come out, he’s—”

“He’s about to rampage!” Cries one of the girls, cradling a broken arm to her bosom. Blood is crusted at her hairline, and fat tears cleave through the grime streaking her face and jaw. “Please, h-he saved us! You have to bring him out!”

Frowning, Toshinori glances between the gate and the ragged group. “Is he trapped? Injured?” 

“He’s not injured, he was—behaving...strangely, erratically.” The boy explains. “His energy is...it’s haywire. When he killed the boss, a new gate showed up in the chamber, and it’s—”

“It’s collapsing! He’ll be crushed, please!”

Later, once statements are taken, Bakugo’s mass consumption of energy can be chalked up to two things. For a majority of their stint in the gate, he maintained a continuous bubble of energy around the cluster of recruits. They were baggage he refused to abandon, and while he barked harsh platitudes about their impending death, he did everything in his power to prevent an in-gate mourning. While protecting them, he fought constantly. On this side of the gate, it was a little more than five hours. 

For them, it was twenty-four . 

Only halfway listening to the stuttered, frantic accounts from the group, Izuku’s feet carry him forth, no urging needed. The line from brain to body had been snipped. Bakugo’s still inside. The gate is collapsing. He’s rampaging. Bakugo needs guidance, and that’s what his hindbrain clings to. 

“Midoriya, sto—!”

Izuku didn’t catch the rest of it, as he’s already passing through. It’s a sight he’ll never forget, a memory burned into the back of his eyelids. Strangely, his first thought is underwhelming, what a mess. While it’s a chaotic scene, it isn’t that of unfolded laundry and takeout trays littering a bedroom floor. In breaching a doorway that separates two worlds, he’s gone from a small, sunny patch of wildwood in Nikko to a grand antre in the midst of collapse. 

The high walls of the cavern are groaning, cracking, and raining bone-crushing debris. Scattered about in bits and pieces, remains he couldn’t hope to identify. The creatures killed in this room were large and many, and their fluids and entrails are means of redesign. What’s left of them suggests gratuitous savagery, as though they were ripped apart and torched post-mortem. The largest is upturned in the center of the cave, and it resembles a spider [‘insect-type’, his brain supplies blandly], if spiders grew as large as single-family homes and wielded...tentacles?

Bakugo hovers above his latest prey. 

He looks like...a cruel God. 

He seems more natural in the air, somehow. He isn’t screaming. In fact, he doesn’t appear to be remotely pained. His body is fluid in its relaxation, one hand lazily tucked to a pocket while the other is outstretched, palm upturned in a sort of ‘come hither’ gesture. He’s created a whipping, crimson vortex from a small point in his palm. Izuku cringes back from the searing heat, as he can feel it from where he stands. While his expression is dazed, almost euphoric, his eyes burn. Hairlines are starting to crack his flesh. 

His esper is about to rampage. 

This brings Izuku back online. He runs, unbothered by the gore squishing and snapping underfoot. “Bakugo-san!” 

Izuku can’t tell whether he went unheard or he’s being ignored. Cave-ins are loud, after all. He tries again, “Bakugo!” 

He’s standing near the creature’s mangled head [maybe], less than ten feet between his position on the ground and Bakugo’s aerial one. He shouts his name two more times, to no avail. 

Sucking in a large breath, he screams between his cupped hands, “Katsuki!”

It works. 

Katsuki looks down at him, and his face lights with recognition, though it’s the wide-eyed glitter of a housecat spotting their favorite flavor of Fancy Feast. He dissolves that tremendous accumulation of energy, touching back to the ground a moment later. He’s conscious, but Izuku would describe his demeanor as drugged or inebriated. His eyes are lidded, foggy. He wears a lazy grin, leans in, and murmurs: “you came to get me?”

The way he asks it almost makes Izuku fluster, but the deafening crash of plunging bedrock splitting the ground slingshots his heart into his throat. “Yes, let’s go—!” He snaps, making to grab Katsuki by the hand. Guidance and fleeing at the same time, like a proper multitasker. His forearm is seized, and just like in Chiyoda, that grip feels like a brand. “Hah! What are—?!”

“I’m not done yet.” 

Izuku gapes at him. He looks around pointedly. “Yes, you are! Everything’s dead! The gate’s—!” 

Katsuki crushes their bodies together, and Izuku might’ve felt differently if it didn’t hurt so fucking much. It’s snuggling a bonfire, like his flesh will start dripping off his bones before long. He slides his thousand-degree hands beneath the back of Izuku’s shirt, blazing a third-degree trail up his spine. He cries out, arching away from the contact, but it only plasters his chest more tightly to Katsuki’s. Guidance, he has to—

“...feels good.” Katsuki says against his throat, guttural. 

“What—?”

“I feel good, like this.” Teeth find his pulse-point, and he mouths at it like he intends to eat his heartbeat. 

“Hngh! I—I have to guide you, we have to leave! We’ll die!”

“Guide...” He pulls his face back, and as close as they are, the blaze of energy in his eyes lifts the fine hairs at Izuku’s nape. Just standing near him, as he is now, is a death sentence. Suddenly, he’s being devoured. Katsuki’s hand is laced in the shocks of hair at the back of his head, ripping it back. Tears spring to his eyes, as there’s far too much happening both in and outside of his body. Katsuki kisses him viciously and with abandon, to the point it’s almost more overwhelming than the guidance. 

The second his energy transmigrates, Izuku gauges his rating to be somewhere in the high nineties. It’s like swallowing acid, melting a hole at the base of his throat and eating away his innards. They’ve never been this close, and despite the discomfort of draining him, Izuku can’t ignore it. Contrary to popular belief, he’s no virgin, but he’s never been consumed—eaten alive. Katsuki’s hand is hot and tight against his scalp, the other squeezing bruises into the underside of his thigh where he’s hefted his leg from the ground. The line where one body ends and the other begins is so compact, a slip of paper couldn’t pass through it. Tattered as they are, Izuku can feel the roil of muscle through his clothes. 

The fabric of this reality is literally unraveling around them, but it’s the last thing on his mind with Katsuki doing his damndest to fit his hips between his thighs. His lower belly tickles with warmth, as neither of them are unaffected by the intimate proximity. Most espers spoil for contact when they’re unstable, and apparently Katsuki’s not immune to that predisposition. Izuku didn’t intend to cross this line with him, but he writes it off as: desperate times, desperate measures. 

He definitely doesn’t like it. 

He yanks his face away, as the lack of breath and deluge of energy are making him dizzy. Katsuki’s output has receded, his eyes are no longer firebright, but he won’t stop. He sinks his teeth into the little curl where shoulder meets neck, and Izuku jerks hard, gasping. He’s going to zero-out at this rate, and Izuku will definitely faint if he absorbs that much at one time. 

“Kats—nngh! Sto-op, please! I—we have to...”

Black sprinkles his vision, and over the ridge of Katsuki’s shoulder, the bloodcurdling scene of sedan-sized rocks splintering into shrapnel is blurring out. His ears are ringing. He’s sagging back into Katsuki’s grip, as weakness creeps through his limbs. “Bas...tard...” He mumbles, head lolling back. 

“Let’s fuck.”

Two days later, this is how Katsuki introduces the subject.

Izuku doesn’t look up from his tablet. Their hands are clasped across the coffee table.

“No, this is sufficient.” 

Izuku doesn’t have to look up to know Katsuki’s glaring at him. 

Upon waking in Dynamight’s medical ward, Izuku was brought up to speed on the aftermath of the Nikko gate. Aizawa told him he’d spent all of ten minutes inside the gate with Katsuki, and Izuku was a little dumbfounded. It felt like forever. Katsuki, in ship-shape after receiving guidance, carried him out, and just as they always do, the gate ceased to exist some minutes later. He was both lectured and commended for his act of stupidity/bravery. 

There was no loss of life and no grievous injuries, but it could hardly be celebrated. Gates don’t change. Gates don’t inhibit comings and goings. Gates don’t accelerate time. No one could explain what happened or why. Toshinori spent all day and night on the phone, shaking down his global network to see if anyone had come across something similar—no one had. There are a few working theories, and Katsuki’s at the epicenter of most. The gate didn’t change until he crossed through it, so some are suggesting it has to do with his higher output. 

In any case, the Dynamight Guild has indefinitely suspended all in-gate training, with many other Guilds following suit once word broke. Now, no matter the color or class, at least one SS-class or above must be present to close it. Katsuki pretends to be pissed, but Izuku thinks he’s secretly pleased to have something to satisfy his boredom. He doesn’t perceive the gates as a threat, it’s a pastime for him. 

“Why the fuck not?” He snaps. 

Izuku sighs. He almost prefers the drugged-out, pre-rampage version of him. At least he was sort of nice then. Dropping Katsuki’s hand, he lifts from the sofa. “You should be around 15%.” He says instead of answering. 

He makes it to the door, but as he grabs for the knob, it’s crushed like tin beneath a hydraulic press. He scowls at the deformed metal, turning back to direct his ire at the esper responsible. He flinches against the door, as the bastard is suddenly a step behind him. Christ, can he teleport, too?

“I asked you a question. Why not?” He grits. 

“I don’t want to, and it’s not necessary. I can guide you just fine without—” 

“It’s a win-win!” Katsuki argues. 

“How is it a win for me?!” 

“Because, you get to have sex with me. ” He smirks, leaning against the sofa’s armrest. Izuku knows he isn’t joking. He genuinely considers himself a privilege. 

“I don’t want to have sex with you—”

“Oh, yeah? You seemed pretty fuckin’ into it when—”

“How would you even know?! You were barely conscious!” 

Katsuki approaches him, boxing him against the door, and Izuku loathes that he has to look up at this bastard. He’s nervous, yeah, but he’ll die before he shows it. He sets his jaw, furrows his brow, and meets Katsuki’s smug, heavy stare head-on. “I remember every goddamn second of my time in that gate, including the last ten minutes. I know you liked it , the least you can do is admit it.” 

“...it was a reactive, bodily response.” He can’t outright deny it. 

“Then, you can react to my cock in your—”

Izuku punches him in the sternum, which does nothing. “Don’t be gross!” 

Katsuki chuckles, and Izuku’s rattled by the sound—a genuine laugh, not a sardonic bark. “Fuck, what are you, a nun?” 

Despite himself, Izuku colors at the comparison. “Let me out.” He grumbles. 

He does, but Izuku’s not stupid enough to believe he’ll let this go. If he wanted a career in sex, he would’ve crammed himself in a pair of fishnets and found a corner. Whether or not he finds Katsuki attractive [he doesn’t!], acting as his guide already feels dehumanizing at times. He doesn’t want to subjugate himself anymore than he currently is. He doesn’t want to just be a warm body for Katsuki to pour all his energy and frustration into. Call him old fashioned, but he wants to have sex with someone he loves, or at least likes. 

He mentally pencils it in: fuck Bakugo Katsuki on the first of never. 

Chapter Text

It’s the retaliation of an unruly, mannerless child: breaking things, holding their breath until they pass out. This is how Izuku likens it two weeks later. Now, he’s certain. Katsuki is deliberately overextending himself and those around him during group training. Izuku sees no less than ten guide-specific requests pinging on his tablet per day. Katsuki, on the other hand, has been withholding himself from daily guidance. He comes to Izuku three to four times a week, eyes bright and a rating no lower than 85%. 

When he does, he’s unmistakably smug watching Izuku cringe through the process. Izuku did, of course, bring it up to him, but that conversation went where they always go—nowhere. 

“Why are you waiting until you’re this destabilized?” He bites off the question, swallowing back nausea. 

Katsuki shrugs, feigning innocence. “Just lightening your load. I know you get a lot of requests, so I figured it’d be easier to just hack it out with me a few times a week.” 

Izuku scowls at him. “It’s uncomfortable for me when your rating is this high. Please come at least once a day.” 

“I’ve been fuckin’ busy too, y’know.” He scoffs.

It isn’t a lie. With the new protocol for lower class gates, Katsuki’s been called out ten times in two weeks, though none of those gates behaved as a variant. His presence turned out not to be necessary, but he’s still mandated to show up. He’s also been tasked with overseeing a new training program for recruits, since in-gate training is off the table. But, regular guidance takes barely five minutes, and they both know he has that to spare. 

His antics continued, so Izuku tattled.

“Katsuki’s being a dick.”

He blurts, moments after marching into Aizawa’s office. 

Aizawa blinks slowly at him from his supine position on his office’s couch, cocooned in a threadbare blanket. “I’m…sorry to hear that.” 

“I’ll…quit.” He bluffs.

They engage in a brief staring match, before Aizawa heaves himself into a sitting position with a resigned sigh. “Well, we can’t have that.” 

Izuku’s habit of pacing is already well underway. “He only comes for guidance when he’s destabilized in the eighties and nineties! He’s overdoing it in training, and I’m constantly bombarded with requests because he’s got everyone on the verge of rampage after training, including himself. He broke Kirishima-san’s leg, and they’re friends!” 

“How often is he receiving guidance?” Aizawa lifts his brows, as that’s the only thing he was unaware of. 

“Three to four times a week. It’s making me sick, physically.”

Aizawa hums, thoughtful.

“Because you’re guiding him into the green.” 

“I mean, yeah, that’s—“

“Listen, I don’t know what happened between you two, I don’t make it a habit of meddling in my employees personal affairs. However, he’ll absolutely cave first if you stop guiding him fully. When he comes to you, do the bare minimum.” 

Baffled, Izuku asks, “I’m—I can…do that?”

“Normally, no, but he’s showing his ass right now. It’s become an issue for more than just you. You have my temporary permission, but obviously he’ll need proper guidance for a gate run.” 

When he leaves Aizawa’s office, Izuku’s almost giddy. He knows it won’t go over well, but he’s too peeved to fret the consequences. After Nikko, he developed a healthy bit of respect for Katsuki, as he put himself at great risk to keep his charges alive. That doesn’t mean he’ll go belly-up for every whim and tantrum. If this all due to Izuku’s refusal to guide him with sex, he could start by being likable. Instead, he’s only tanking Izuku’s opinion of him further into irredeemable territory.  Shit hits the fan two days later, when Katsuki strolls into team two’s bullpen. 

His stability must be abysmal, because the air is suddenly saturated with his excess energy. It’s like trying to breathe through the fibers of a thick blanket. His coworkers cast disgruntled, uncomfortable glances in the direction of his approach, though Katsuki’s unbothered by the negative attention. Normally, Izuku would be mortified by his parading through the bullpen in such a terrible state, as it reflects poorly on him as Katsuki’s exclusive guide. But, today’s a day of reckoning. He pushes back from his desk just as Katsuki rounds the partition. 

“Oi, Deku—” 

Izuku prefers guiding in the guide rooms, as that’s what they’re there for. Everyone else is sane and polite enough to do the same, except Katsuki. He acts like it’s the world’s biggest hassle to make the thirty second trip down the hall, but Izuku’s usually adamant about doing so. Not today. Izuku can show his ass, too.  

He says nothing, simply offers his hand for Katsuki to take. The esper frowns, flickering a suspicious gaze between his hand and face. Izuku isn’t unaware of the attention they’re garnering, curious side-eyes from his teammates. 

“I thought you didn’t like doing this shit here.”

“It’s fine, I’m busy.” He answers blandly. 

“Tch, whatever.” He gives in, because he has no reason not to. He wraps his large, scalding hand around his wrist, and Izuku fights back a flinch. He has to be in the low nineties, the unscrupulous bastard. Izuku endures it for close to a minute, honing his focus on Katsuki’s status in lieu of the lava sloshing through his veins. Once he estimates him to be somewhere in the orange, between 75-80%, he rips his hand away. Instead of scrambling for a bin to yack in, he only feels vaguely queasy. 

Katsuki’s placid expression snaps to a scowl. “What the fuck? Why’d you let go?”

Here we go. 

“You’re not in the red anymore.” Izuku says, as if it should be obvious. 

Katsuki, regardless of general consensus, isn’t stupid. He immediately catches on to what Izuku’s trying to pull. In a low, scathing tone, he says: “Finish it.” 

In a similarly cold, hard tone, Izuku replies: “No.” 

The bullpen is sweeped by a chill, every meddlesome eye snapping back to a suddenly emergent report that needs filing. 

Riding high, Izuku spins back towards his desk. “If that’s all—”

Katsuki grips the back of his chair and whips it around, leaning over him with palpable menace. Izuku scowls at him, crossing his arms. What’s he going to do, set the bullpen on fire? Even Katsuki’s not that deranged. “You must think I’m a fuckin’ joke, huh, Deku? We’re not done—”

“What, then? You’re going to make me guide you?” He taunts. “If you’re too busy to come up here for guidance once a day, I’m not obligated to debilitate myself. I already told you, it’s uncomfortable for me when you purposely let your rating go off the rails like this. If you can only drag by once every two or three days, you can take what I give.” 

“Hah!” He belts, a terrible grin sharpening his mouth. “Where’d you find such big balls, huh? This ain’t a game you can win. The minute there’s a gate, you’ll have no goddamn choice but to do it right.” 

“Mm, but who knows when that’ll be. Now, if you’ll excuse me—”

Katsuki’s departure has the same effect as a running of the bulls. No one’s stupid enough to impede his path, not when he’s brandishing a locked jaw and white knuckles. Murder cloys the air about him, detectable to everyone on the floor. Izuku’s rather satisfied with the result of his little rebellion. His teammates, however, fear for his wellbeing on his behalf. He explained some of the situation, and they exalted him as this era’s Icarus. Challenging Katsuki might be commendable and awe-inspiring, but it’s sure to melt his wings and pitch him in the sea.

He finds this take to be dramatic. 

Their game of tug-of-war continues for a week, as there are no red or orange gates requiring Katsuki’s participation. During that time, Bakugo Katsuki is all but declared a public menace. He’s biting off heads and destroying Guild property, intolerable to be around for more than a few minutes. Due to Izuku’s refusal to fully guide him, he can’t thoughtlessly burn through energy in training. It’s taking a physical toll, as well. The pressure of all that bottled-up power has his body creaking like a Wayfair bookshelf, according to Aizawa. Izuku would feel bad, but it’s a bed of Katsuki’s own making. He chooses to sleep in it, night after night.

When Izuku does guide him, it’s...tense. They marinate in stiff silence, glaring at one another, gripping hands like it’s the handle of a six-shooter about to be drawn from the saddlebag holster at their hips. A well-timed tumbleweed, and they’d probably vault the table in attempt to choke the other to death. If he would just come for daily guidance, like he’s supposed to—

Of course, he catches his lucky break. Izuku gets the call at four on a Thursday. He’d already made it home, but it’s right back out the door before any post-work rituals can begin. There’s a red gate in Shibuya, it’s a joint effort with the Endeavor Guild due to the gate’s size and output. Four espers from Dynamight, four from Endeavor, making a raid of eight to meet the TMG’s gate-safety regulations. Izuku’s never met Todoroki Shoto, but he’s sure to be there. Katsuki hates his guts, meaning it’ll be a more strained atmosphere than usual. 

En route, he learns Kirishima and Iida will at least be present on their side. So, Ochaco and Mina will be, too. They’re a fun pair to work with, chock full of personality. There’s a lot of pressure to get this gate closed quickly, as it’s smack in the middle of the Ginza Line which links Shibuya and Asakusa via the Sumida River. It’s a busy line all throughout the day, especially early evening when the white-collar workforce is rampant in getting home. 

The gate is strangely placed, perched atop an elevated portion of the tracks like a shimmering bubble sitting on a powerline. It’s been sectioned off by the G.O.’s, and predictably, a crowd has gathered on either side of the line. By the time Izuku arrives, most everyone else is already on site, as well as the prefecture’s local police. Anxiety cultivates in the back of his throat, as he knows what’s in store. He’ll have to guide Katsuki completely after a week of bare minimum work, neglecting his rating. 

Unlike at the Sendai site, the two Guilds are intermixed, as the raid is too small to warrant separating their resources. Izuku beelines for the modest guidance pavilion, which is just a collection of cots beneath an open-air canvas. It doubles as on-site medical. Kirishima, Iida, and their respective guides are there, as well as two espers Izuku barely recognizes from Endeavor. No one stressful is at the pavilion, so it feels like a safe place to find his ‘sea’ legs.

It’s Kirishima who unexpectedly greets him first, if it can be called that. He shoves past Iida, flinging himself forward. His hands land on Izuku’s shoulders as tight C-clamps. “Midoriya—“ He starts, grave. “I’m…so happy to see you, man.”

Izuku smiles, sheepish. “Ah, I’m…sorry about this week, I know it’s been rough.”

“No, no, I get it! I really do! It’s just…yeah, it’s been rough.” He sniffs. 

Mina smacks him on the back. “Kiri, don’t be a pussy, it was just one femur.” 

“My femur!” 

Ochaco, whom Izuku had previously discussed the situation in detail with, shoots him a double thumbs-up. While it makes life harder on everyone, she agreed with his decision to withhold complete guidance from Katsuki. She referenced her recent adoptee, a terrier with eyes too big and watery for the dimensions of its face: ‘Never reward bad behavior, or you’ll have to replace your carpets. Don’t let Bakugo piss all over your carpets.’

Their little group carries a short, easygoing conversation that helps to settle Izuku’s nerves, and he spies Katsuki stuck in planning with Aizawa on the opposite side of the site. 

“Midoriya-san.”

Izuku turns in muted surprise. Todoroki Shoto has an unforgettable countenance, just like his older [more controversial] brother. They’ve both been burned by their bloodline’s manifestation, though Shoto’s facial scar can’t be compared to Touya’s bodily mutilation. His mop of hair is split down the middle, symbolic of his dual mastery over fire and ice. Calm, thin eyes regard Izuku with nary a bias. Izuku’s first impression, plain and polite. 

“Todoroki-san, hello.” He bows slightly. 

Shoto imitates him, dropping at the waist. “It was too hectic to do so in Sendai, but I wished to formally introduce myself, as well as thank you for your efforts that day.” 

Izuku is never, ever comfortable being thanked for his efforts that day. 

“Oh, I…appreciate it, but I don’t deserve your thanks. You…did more than I ever could have. In any case, it’s great to formally meet you.”

Shoto, sensing his discomfort with any sort of praise or gratitude, lets it go. “How has it been for you with Dynamight? Are they treating you well?”

“Yes, yes, definitely.” Izuku answers, a little too hasty. Shoto tilts his head, cutting a glance across the site. 

“It’s a work in progress.” He answers honestly. “We’re…making it work.” 

“He can be…challenging to get along with. I commend you.” 

Instead of refuting it, Izuku sighs, “thanks. I’m trying.”

Behind them, Kirishima announces between a loud series of coughs: “Midoriya, three o’ clock! Your three!”

Katsuki’s crossing the site looking none too pleased, though that isn’t unusual. Shoto’s neat brows crease with irritation, and he mutters something too low for Izuku to catch. “It seems I best excuse myself.” 

“Be safe.” He wishes the heterochromatic esper well, and Shoto manages to clear a good distance before Katsuki’s on top of him. He stares after Shoto as if fighting an urge to eviscerate him, then turns his stifling attention towards Izuku. He was expecting anger or a sore winner’s gloating commentary, but Katsuki’s expression is worryingly flat. Izuku knows how to handle his temper, his acerbic words in harsh tones. He doesn’t know how to handle...this, silent and blank. Katsuki angles his head towards the cots, gesturing for Izuku to follow behind. Their coworkers have all conveniently disappeared, but not out of snooping range. 

Once under the canvas, Katsuki says, “sit.”

Izuku does without a fuss, too confused to argue. 

Then, he kneels. 

He can already hear tomorrow’s headlines. [“Bakugo Katsuki Takes a Knee, a Pre-Raid Proposal?”] 

Izuku blinks down at him. “What...are you—”

“Because,” He starts, rigid with embarrassment. His gaze is cast off to the side, brows drawn. “...it makes you feel like shit, so you should be sitting.” 

This...is an apology, Izuku thinks. Katsuki is a man of action, through and through. In the realm of emotion and introspection, he struggles to express himself. His pride is probably too big an obstacle for verbal atonement. Instead, he planted his knees in the gravel, kneeling between Izuku’s legs so he’ll have an easier time guiding him. Izuku bites back a tiny grin, because it might ruin everything. 

“Thanks, Katsuki.”

Katsuki scoffs, but it’s soft and lacks venom. Izuku lifts his hands, and he drops his face into their bracket. It definitely feels like shit, but he toughs through the process. It might not be necessary, but he makes his own wordless amends. He brings Katsuki’s stability to a zero-out, choking down that malignant mass of energy he’s allowed to accumulate in his core. Between his palms, Katsuki’s face slackens with intense relief. His breath comes in a series of slow, hard sighs whispering across Izuku’s wrists. Tiny, gritted groans slip through his teeth. 

Izuku can’t even appreciate the eroticism of it, because he’s absolutely about to vomit. They slowly detangle from each other, Katsuki revitalized beyond human bounds, Izuku on the verge of blacking out in a puddle of his own sick. He doesn’t realize he’s slumping backwards until a large hand comes to pillow his head, lowering him the rest of the way to the cot. 

“Oi, get the fuck over here—!”

Katsuki’s voice sounds like it’s underwater, or Izuku’s the one under. 

He’s unconscious for the entirety of the raid, an anticlimactic hour and a half. 

In the following week, God is once again smiling upon the hardworking, cash-strapped employees of the Dynamight Guild. Peace is restored, restitution has been paid, and everyone is able to breathe a little easier with their X-class esper and X-class guide operating as a cooperative. 

Katsuki is still very much himself, but he’s making an effort not to actively ruin Izuku’s life. He comes for daily guidance, he restrains himself in group training, and there are no more overt propositions for sex. Keyword: overt. Their dynamic has definitely changed. While they still snip at each other, it’s less like a vicious dog fight, more like an old married couple. Izuku wants to deny it, but he isn’t oblivious to the metamorphosis happening between them. The biggest change, they don’t bolt in opposite directions after guidance. 

Izuku feels more comfortable visiting the lower levels, peeking in on training, and Katsuki will trail him in the halls or hover around his cubicle when he’s got nothing better to do. He knows Katsuki likes spicy foods and cheap, black coffee. Katsuki picked up on his preference for canned espresso with cream from the vending machine, even bringing him one. Their conversations actually go somewhere now. 

But, there’s a danger in it.

With their sudden amicability, Izuku can no longer blind himself with Katsuki’s terrible personality. He’s hot, he knows it, and there’s nothing anyone can do about it. The swaggering way he carries himself has Izuku flushed under the collar at times, whereas before, he’d roll his eyes and move on. There’s also a lot more unnecessary touching, and Izuku can’t bring himself to speak over the pitch of heat in his gut. Instead of taking the opposite couch in the guide room, Katsuki will sprawl across whichever couch Izuku takes. He’ll drop a heavy arm around his neck, move him by the waist, walk way too close, his body heat radiating into Izuku’s side. 

Technically, this is all friendly, platonic contact. Katsuki makes it seem very much not-platonic, the way he’ll smirk or stare. Izuku revisits his mental calendar every night, desperately reminding himself that he’s not supposed to want to fuck Bakugo Katsuki. They’re…coworkers, and they’re finally starting to get along. 

“Izuku-kun, come out with us tonight!”

It’s a tale as old as time, a post-work drinking party. It’s Friday, so Izuku’s off tomorrow [unless he isn’t, as is the nature of being on call]. Ochaco and Mina, both from different teams, have clamored into his bullpen as the day is winding down for him. Not everyone gets off at three, so it’s a little uncomfortable to discuss a preeminent hangover in front of those of his own teammates who are still ankle-deep in reports. Izuku turns from his desk where he’d been replacing his belongings in his satchel. 

“You guys are going out? Are Kirishima-san and Iida-san coming?” 

“Yup!” Mina chirps. “Espers S-class and above can’t really get drunk, so they’re the perfect DD’s!”

“Really?” Izuku blurts. He had no idea. 

Ochaco nods, “mm, they’re regeneration factor is usually too high.” 

“A few other people will probably come, and just a head’s up, Bakugo might. He’ll sometimes come out if Kiri or Kaminari go.” 

Kaminari Denki is another esper Izuku’s met here and there. He’s a bit of an airhead, but an overall friendly guy. Katsuki pretends like he’s too good for something as trivial as friends, but Kirishima and Kaminari have sort of foisted themselves onto him in that regard. If he’s being honest, Izuku’s a little reluctant to go if Katsuki will be there. When has alcohol ever mixed well with…whatever it is he’s feeling? 

“Uh, I might not be able—“

“Don’t bullshit us, Midoriya Izuku.” Mina stops him firmly. 

Ochaco leans in, having the good graces to be discreet, “if you’re worried about Bakugo, he probably won’t come. If he does, just sit with us! Don’t sweat it.” She waves her hand through the air, like Katsuki’s a fly she’s swatting away. 

Izuku’s been to company drinking parties before, but never one he enjoyed or with people he genuinely liked. He and Haori would usually be peer-pressured into overconsumption by their stocky, pig-faced manager who believed anything less than blacking out wasn’t fun. Even if Katsuki comes, they’re…getting along now. It should be fine. They don’t have to interact beyond greetings and goodbyes. He sighs through his nose.

“Alright, just let me know when and where. I’ll come.”

Of course he’s there. 

It’s just Izuku’s luck, and maybe that isn’t sarcasm. 

He meets his fellow guides and their designated babysitters at an izakaya in one of Roppongi’s many bustling strips. It’s a sect of the city where boxy, neon adverts clutter the eyeline of pedestrians passing beneath them, treated like decoration instead of a bid for patronage. He would’ve walked right by the place if not for Ochaco standing on its stoop, leading him through the phone. They all look the same. She flags him down, and once they’re in arm’s reach, she takes him in a hug. 

He catches a whiff of malt on her breath, so she’s at least one glass in. “You started without me?” He ribs, returning her embrace. 

“There’s a betting pool, actually. Mina went all in on you flaking, so I won.”

Izuku huffs. “Hey, I keep my word.”  

Ochaco grins, her rosy cheeks plumping out. She leans in, muttering conspiratorially, “Bakugo’s inside, he came with Denki-kun.”  

Izuku swallows a curse. “No worries, we’re...fine.”

She eyeballs him hard, then loops her elbow around his. “I’ve got your back.” 

It’s a nice thought, but will an inebriated Ochaco be more interested in his interpersonal drama when Iida’s tonsils exist? The front of the house is chaotic, tables bunched against the walls with hardly an inch of space between the backs of chairs. In the center of the restaurant, a U-shaped bar with low stools, no vacancies. Ochaco tells him they managed to score one of the few private rooms, given Katsuki’s propensity to be recognized by everyone everywhere, for better or worse. Izuku’s at the point where he earns quite a few rubbernecks himself. 

There are...more people than Izuku expected in their private room. Most he knows, some he doesn’t. It makes Katsuki stand out a little less, but his presence still feels like a focal point. He looks sickeningly good in casual clothes, in a state of relaxation, Izuku’s disgruntled to note. Who makes jeans and a T-shirt look like...sex and sin? Their eyes catch as Izuku passes through the shoji, and while he neither smiles or frowns, his gaze does that thing. It has steam lifting through him from a bubbling pit in his groin, which Izuku attempts to grind beneath the heel of common sense. 

He slots himself between Mina and Ochaco, who are still sober enough to give a shit about him, and proceeds to drown his libido in Sapporo and shōchū. It works, for a while. Katsuki stays on his side of the room with the enduringly sober espers, while the guides and lower class espers stuff themselves full of shots, edamame, sashimi. Kaminari, A-class, drinks enough to cost him a small fortune in the name of maintaining a slight buzz. It’s a sloppy buzz. 

Despite what most assume, Izuku has a solid constitution. He holds his alcohol well, so while his compatriots encroach on slurring, wobbling territory, his cheeks are just beginning to flush. Enter: the danger zone. Earlier, he went out of his way to pretend Katsuki didn’t exist. Now, he’s stealing glances. So is Katsuki. 

He must enjoy the taste, because he’s pulling from a thick mug of foamy, amber brew. His shirt is snug enough to have his shoulders and biceps testing the fabric’s integrity, and Izuku traces those geographical landmarks like a gaijin at Mt. Fuji. When he drinks, his jaw tips and the strong column of his throat rolls with the effort. When he catches Izuku’s eye, he swipes his tongue across a sharp incisor, grinning. 

“Izuku-kun—” Mina whispers directly in his ear, startling a yelp from him. 

“Huh? Wha—?” He turns to her, blinking owlishly. 

“He’s pretty hot, right?” 

“No! I mean, uh—who?” He coughs, struggling to replace some moisture in his mouth. 

“‘s okay, okay?” She mumbles, jerking her thumb against her palm, Katsuki on the other side of it. “Look, he’s a...a douchebag, okay? But, I’m not blind, okay? You don’t gotta be...y’know, em—barrassed...” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” He denies frantically. 

“He’s your esper, Izuku-kun. Own it, baby!” She cheers in a whispered scream, pumping her fist. 

“Bathroom—” He squeaks, struggling to get his feet under him. If Mina noticed, as out of her mind as she is, how obvious was he being? They've been here for almost two hours, and while no one seems to be winding down, it might be time to bail. He’s not trashed, but his brain is humming pleasantly in its crock of dopamine soup. He slips out of the room, zipping into the lavatory for a much-needed splash of frigid water. Surely, that will sober him completely after two hours of nonstop drinking. 

By the third palmful of cold water to the face, he has to let that fantasy go. 

“On a scale of one to ten, how fucked are you?” 

Izuku bites off a short scream, flinching against the sink. Katsuki snorts from his place in the doorway, and if it isn’t the last person on Earth he wanted to see right now. Izuku turns a glare on him. “I’m fine.”

“‘Fine’ isn’t a number.”

“Then, a...four.” 

“I don’t buy it.” 

Izuku sighs, making to brush past him. “No one asked you to.” 

Katsuki hooks him by the inside of his elbow. “You leavin’?” 

They stare each other down, and Izuku isn’t sure what he’s supposed to do or say. He isn’t sure why Katsuki’s asking, or if it’s an implication. Oh, God, what if it is? “I...am, probably.” He admits. 

“I’ll take you home, then.” 

“Not necessary.” He immediately fires back. 

Katsuki lifts a brow. “Yeah? Midoriya Izuku, the world’s most sought after guide, three sheets to the fuckin’ wind, skipping around in the dead of night. I’m sure nothing will happen—”

[ 00:25:45 ]

“...smells good.” He mumbles into a warm throat, lulled by the steady thump of a pulse against his cheek. 

There’s a vibration reverberating in his chest, silent laughter. “Is that right?”

Izuku’s not drunk enough for the luxury of not-knowing. He knows exactly whose back he’s slung across like a rucksack, whose hands are wide-gripping the bottom of his thighs, who he’s complimenting. He is drunk enough to not give a shit, at this point. Katsuki smells great. He’s warm, solid, and carrying Izuku home. He might be a bastard, but he’s a hot bastard—

“So, you do think I’m hot.” 

“...no.”

“You’re a shitty liar.”

“‘m not lying.” 

Katsuki shifts him on his back, and Izuku groans at being abruptly jostled. He tightens his fists in the front of Katsuki’s shirt, clinging in case he decides to drop him. Katsuki has big hands, and the pads of his fingers are flirting with his inseam. He squeezes his thighs around the cut of his waist. His stomach is hot from more than the alcohol, tickling with suggestion. 

“Deku—” He grits. 

“Hm?” 

“Stop...moving so fuckin’ much.”

“Why?”

“You—are you...doing this on purpose?”

He probably is. He sighs against Katsuki’s jaw, admitting softly, “yeah.” 

Katsuki stiffens. “...why? You said you didn’t want—”

“I wanna have sex with you.”

Katsuki stutters to a stop, craning his face to the side. Izuku doesn’t miss the telltale tightening of his hands. “...the fuck?”

“You don’t wanna anymore?”

“It’s—you’re fucking drunk, Deku, are you shitting me?” 

“I’m tipsy, it’s different.” 

Katsuki scoffs. “No, it isn’t.” 

“What if I take a shower all by myself? Can we have sex after that?” 

He’s resumed walking, but the tension hasn’t bled from his body. He tips his head back, sighing. “What changed your mind?” 

He isn’t sure. Maybe he’s just sick of protecting his pride, clinging to the moral high ground. He’s already given into everything else, why not this, too? He’s a grown man, at the end of the day. He’s not abstaining because he’s chaste or generally opposed to sex, it was just a matter of principle. He believed he was...better than that, somehow. But, Katsuki’s...stupidly good looking, and Izuku’s attracted to him. That’s it. Shouldn’t he be allowed a moment of weakness? Can’t he do something just for the fuck of it? He’s no saint. Izuku appreciates pleasurable things as much as the next guy. Plenty of guides and espers have no-strings-attached sex. Hell, plenty of people do that. It’s just...a thing people do. 

“I’m not some…huge virgin.” He grumbles. “I just want to.” 

Katsuki stops again, squatting slightly. Izuku takes the hint and replaces his feet on the ground. He readies himself, assuming he’s ruined whatever serenity they’d scraped together. He’s a little horny, and now Katsuki thinks he’s a hypocrite—or a person with salacious drinking habits. 

“If you can make it back without eating the sidewalk, I’ll think about it.” 

Izuku lifts his face from where it's fallen, and Katsuki’s too close [always], looking down. His expression isn’t readable, but his eyes are prophetic. Black, glassy, and promising sin that no God would dare to absolve them of. For the remainder of the walk, Izuku puts one foot in front of the other like his life hangs in the balance, like one misstep spells, well—no sex. He’s not unaware of Katsuki’s frequent glances, but he dares not meet them. He’ll trip, or chicken out. 

They don’t speak anymore, but their arms brush deliberately. Izuku swears he can hear the crackle of electricity. He isn’t sure if the trip takes way, way too long, or if it’s over in the wink of an eye. His hands are possessed by a fine tremble as he fishes his key out of his bag, and he prays Katsuki can’t see it. 

“Last chance, Deku, speak now or—”

The door clicks open under his persistence, and Izuku interrupts him with far more bravado than he’s actually feeling. “I’m not a little kid, God—”  

“Great.” 

“Oof—!” Izuku stumbles through his doorway as Katsuki shoves him, his hand like a brand against his spine. The door closes behind them with a shove from Katsuki’s heel, and Izuku shrieks as he’s suddenly lifted, pinned to the wall like a BTS poster. He isn’t unaware of their differences in size and strength, but he didn’t anticipate Katsuki’s penchant for manhandling. They’ve kissed twice. Both times were intense, but Izuku couldn’t focus on anything more than the terrible strain of guiding him down. There’s no guidance to distract him, Katsuki’s not addled in the midst of a rampage.  

Izuku has to wonder if he slipped himself an aphrodisiac on the way over. His teeth are blunt, stabbing instruments searing a path from the curve of his jaw to the dip of his collarbone, and Izuku can do nothing more than hang on and feel it. He tightens his ankles at the small of Katsuki’s back, clamping his hands around the nape of his neck. There’s no space for secrets or shame between them, mutual attraction meeting as hot, hard flesh. Katsuki’s grinding like the friction will burn a hole through their clothes if he tries hard enough, palming the mounds of his ass like grapefruits he’s trying juice. Izuku hisses through his teeth, snapping his head against the wall. His back jumps, pitching his chest into Katsuki’s unmovable one.

“You—caveman...bastard! Nngh, wait—!” 

His dark, roughhewn laughter bounces through Izuku’s throat, as if it were his own. “Did’ja think it’d be soft? Sweet? Come on, Deku, you know better. Where’s your bathroom?” 

The hiss of scalding water, steam rising like spirits that have let go of their earthly attachments, clothing strung to and fro without worry for who wore what. 

There’s a rumor amongst the guides at Dynamight Guild, they say an esper’s energy is sweet during sex. The type of sweet depends on the person. Like a group of friends might compare their partners’ dick size, tittering on, Izuku’s heard similar conversations from his coworkers about an esper’s mid-coital flavor. Honeydew, syrup, citrus, cocoa, even the sweetness of summer grass. He found it funny, and while he had no reason to disbelieve it, neither did he give it much thought. It was hard to imagine tasting energy, subscribing a flavor to it. 

With his cheek pressed against the cool, slippery glass of his shower stall, Katsuki’s cock gouging a path to his stomach, Izuku tastes it. He’s an overcooked marshmallow. Charred, molten sugar. Scarlet lightning shocks down his throat, chest, and his eyes roll back at the clash of supranatural and physical sensation. Katsuki isn’t immune, groaning filth into the side of his slicked mouth as he bottoms out, “ Christ, that’s—nngh! Fuck, Deku, don’t stop—“

He couldn’t, even if he wanted to. He can’t do anything but accept everything Katsuki gives, including the transference of energy. His hands glide down the soapy slant of his back, locking into an unshakeable latch at his hips. They’ve barely started, but his thighs shake and his hands lose traction against the glass, limbs stricken with weakness. There’s so much pressure in his stomach, he almost worries about perforation. That concern, however, is barely an afterthought in light of the constant stimulation. Katsuki’s so big, the smallest movement smashes his prostate like someone slamming their fist on a big, red button. He can’t breathe, he can’t think. It feels like he can barely participate.

“Slo—slow!” He sobs. “‘s too—hah! Too big, please—!” 

Katsuki exhales hard, but there’s some growl to it. “You’re swallowing it all up though, so fuckin’ good—“

It lasts for...who knows how long, multiple rounds of the most intensity two people can create together. The shower, the hallway, and eventually the bed. While Izuku felt out of his mind, out of body, Katsuki was limitless. 

It exceeded expectations, and Izuku swore up and down to himself that he had no regrets. No one’s ever wrenched such powerful, exhausting reactions from his body before, and while some of it can be attributed to the guidance, the innate compatibility between an esper and a guide, much of it was just Katsuki. He does nothing without passion, even if it’s often driven by animosity. He’s utterly thorough where others might look for shortcuts. Their coupling was just as anyone would predict: shattering, incomparable, transcendent. It’s an experience he wouldn’t get anywhere else in the world, nor with anyone but Bakugo Katsuki. He didn’t regret a thing, honestly.

Until, Katsuki left. 

He left immediately, without a word. 

Izuku padded out of his bathroom after settling for a bird’s bath, and his apartment was empty. Suddenly, it felt like the worst mistake he’s ever made. No amount of bone-splintering, mind-melting pleasure is worth the feeling he’s left with, staring at stained, rumpled sheets, shivering from the damp places he neglected to dry. He didn’t bother glancing around for a hastily scrawled note. He left without a ‘see you Monday’ or ‘thanks for the fuck’; tastless as it would have been, it’s not nothing. Worst of all, Izuku has no idea what to expect. 

Is Katsuki the type to be satisfied with a one-and-done affair, never to be recalled again? Or, will he expect guidance via sex on demand? Izuku can’t decide which sounds more terrible. He isn’t even sure why he’s taking it so hard. They’re not in a relationship, no matter the intimate nature of guidance. It’s a job, an obligation. Katsuki doesn’t owe him anything, not a note or parting word. They barely like each other. This was no-strings-attached sex, so why is his chest tight? Why are his eyes burning? Why does it feel like shit? 

He’s so fucking stupid.

Chapter Text

Bakugo Katsuki has all the emotional intelligence of a shrimp, species irrelevant. 

This is why, come Sunday morning at 1:45 AM, he’s unable to sleep through the mess in his head. Things are...as good as they can be, right? He’s on great terms with Deku, as good as they’ve ever been. Good enough to—

Katsuki glares at the tent he’s studiously pitching in his sheet. He’s been this way since...a while, he isn’t sure exactly how long, but it’s gotten significantly worse since pulling an Eve and ripping a bite out of the forbidden fruit. If he had to put a pin in the timeline, he’d say since the Nikko gate. His time in the gate was strange, and while he was bordering on a rampage, it was—good. It felt good, abusing his energy to its boiling point. He couldn’t tell you x,y,z about the science behind it, but he chalked it up to the quality guidance he’d been receiving. 

Even though he was wildly unstable, it didn’t feel like death whispering around the corner. He felt...untouchable. Those tales of cruel, vengeful deities woven through every religion, every culture, make sense. Absolute power corrupts absolutely, and Katsuki’s never felt that so keenly. He was disappointed there wasn’t more fodder to fall at his feet, more living, breathing creatures to trot forward like lambs. He was completely gripped by bloodlust. That interdimensional energy had made a puppet out of him, stripping him of sanity. 

Then, Deku was there. 

He was no longer a limitless God, but a disciple bathed in the light and goodness of his God. That’s how it felt seeing Deku on the ground, arms outstretched, screaming his name. His God had come to rescue him. The living energy within him recognized its source of deliverance, his guide. He wanted to...embed himself inside that source, fuse their cells if at all possible. Katsuki believes humans aren’t meant to feel their emotions at the depth he did then, as just remembering it takes his breath and rockets his pulse. When he came back to his senses, cradling Deku to his chest like a hatchling with a crushed wing, something changed.

He wanted Deku in any way one person could have another. To him, that translated mainly to sex. It was tactless of him to ask the way he did, but he couldn’t choke the words back. Deku’s at least attracted to him physically, that much is obvious. But, he refused, and it was incredibly tough to stomach. So tough, he couldn’t stomach it. He felt justified in the moment, but looking back, his actions were indefensible. In delaying his guidance, he was even punishing himself in an attempt to make life harder for Deku. He wasn’t...angry with him, exactly, but he was angry.

There was so much of something brimming inside him, and he had no outlet for it. Katsuki wouldn’t know a healthy outlet if it spat in his eye. 

He didn’t expect the shitstain to retaliate. 

What’s worse, when he was making his little stand in the bullpen, Katsuki was some sort of heinous mixture of: blindingly furious, disbelieving, and so aroused he was dizzy with it. Backbones are hot, and Deku’s had grown overnight. The longer their feud dragged on, he became even angrier when he realized—this is an esper’s problem. Before Deku, it was a problem he didn’t have, but now it’s impossible to ignore. In exchange for power, they exist at the end of a guide’s leash. Espers are damned to death without guidance, and once compatibility is established, they’re like domesticated dogs. Desperate for attention, hanging on their owner’s every word and tonal shift, eager to please and be pleased in return. 

Compatibility, compatibility, compatibility. 

Would he have ever given half a fuck about Midoriya Izuku, if not for that? 

Now, he’s counting freckles, leaning in to better catch his fragrance, committing the kid’s preferences to a vault in the back of his mind. They’re all involuntary actions, and if Bakugo Katsuki despises anything, it’s a lack of control. He’s been impeached from governing his own body, his own actions, his own mind. He would’ve never looked twice at Deku. He wouldn’t have cared about his opinions, feelings, and preferences. He wouldn’t have spent his nights as an insomniac, running through his dimensions and details like they’re something special. 

Short, scrawny, pale, fucking cute. 

Dark, thick curls always...everywhere, like it’s impervious to grooming efforts. On anyone else, a mop like that would be ridiculous, unprofessional, but on Deku, it’s...endearing. Tickling his ears, his nape, his jaw, his eyelashes...

Big, bright eyes that shouldn’t be fit for a face, but a glass case in an overpriced jewelers. Katsuki never understood that age-old platitude of ‘the eyes are the window to the soul’ until meeting Deku, because more than anyone else, his practically scream whatever he’s churning out in his heart. They light up, shut down, and are so fucking quick to gloss with tears. He’s never met a bigger crybaby in his life. He’s so easy to grasp, like a ‘First Little Reader’ set for preschoolers. 

The Guild’s uniforms, at least for guides, aren’t fitted or flattering. In baggy slacks, a formal button-up, necktie, and tunic, Deku looks like a little kid cosplaying his daddy’s closet. Stripped bare, Katsuki’s never seen more edible-looking flesh. Long limbed, cream-skinned, lightly muscled, soft and plump in all the right places. Just like that empty-headed dog he compared himself to, he couldn’t get enough. He was scared of himself the night before, as it was all he could do to get the fuck out of there. He was still achingly hard when he left Deku’s apartment, like the kid sweats the essence of viagra or some shit. 

He isn’t even sure how many times they fucked, it just felt like...he’d die if they were physically separated. The mid-sex guidance didn’t help matters, heightening the overall experience into an extreme. Deku’s everything: his airy, breathless crying, the taste and texture of his skin, the pliability of his flesh and muscle, the inhuman heat and grip of his insides, it was...

Espers fuck like that, regularly?

How is anyone sane? 

Maybe it’s more of a Katsuki-problem than he wants it to be. He’s too pissed off to really accept any of it, but there’s no way he can stop now. They’re fine, they’re getting along since his nonverbal apology at the Ginza Line gate They fucked once, so Deku should be absolved of his hang-ups. Nothing has to change, they can just...keep going like this. They’re just an esper and a guide with stupidly ridiculous compatibility, and sex makes sense between a pair like that. 

Unfortunately, the following week escalates into another shitshow. 

Monday morning, when Katsuki bustles up to Deku’s floor, the kid is already in a session with another esper. He works through every breathing exercise Aizawa taught him as a teenager, as the idea of Deku guiding other espers is no less bearable than it was in the beginning. But, to stay on his good side, he can’t keep barging in. Fortunately, he’s always fast, done in ten minutes or less. He idles in the hall outside of the guide room until the pair exits. 

The esper crosses the threshold first, some B-class punk Katsuki vaguely recognizes. When he catches sight of Katsuki, he whitens to the pallor of a bloodless corpse and flinches back a full step. He squeaks, “e-excuse me!” 

Pussy. Katsuki scoffs after him, then swings around the doorframe. Deku’s still seated on the couch, wrapping up the request log on his tablet. Katsuki stuffs his hands in his pockets to keep their clenching hidden, as seeing Deku in person has vivid memories of Saturday night flooding his mind’s eye. Just the sight of him makes him feel...hungry, predatory. It isn’t safe, it isn’t okay. He hates it. 

He stuffs it down. “Deku.”

Oddly, Deku tenses. It’s not the reaction Katsuki’s expecting, but it isn’t an immediate cause for alarm. He looks up, and...his expression is carefully blank, like it used to be when he first started working at Dynamight. “Oh, hey. You’re early today, did you need guidance already?”

Something’s...off. 

“Nah, morning training was light. What are you doin’ for lunch?”

Deku pauses, then says, “I’m actually grabbing something down the street with Uraraka-san.” 

Katsuki can count on one hand the amount of times they’ve taken a meal in each other’s vicinity, so it isn’t strange for Deku to have other plans. It pisses him off more than it normally would, but something in his tone...

Katsuki’s 99.9% sure he’s lying. 

He crosses his arms, dropping into a lean against the frame. “Yeah? What are you getting?” 

“I’m not sure yet, Uraraka-san is picking the place.” He replies smoothly. 

He’s standing from the couch now and approaching the doorway, not that Katsuki’s left him any room to move through it. Deku must be expecting him to step aside, and when he doesn’t, he stiffens again, face tight. Katsuki can feel his own pulse hammering in both his face and his dick. Deku’s wearing a shirt with a high collar. Unable to help himself, he catches the fabric with his index finger and tugs it away from his throat. Like opening a present, Katsuki thrills at the sight of that pretty, pale column marked up in purple. 

Deku smacks his hand, finally expressing something more than forced placidity. He glowers up at him through a frame of long, dark lashes. “Did you need something else? I’m trying to get by.” He snaps. 

He’s more than just irritated, though. His cheeks burn, making his freckles pop. His breathing is a fraction faster. The tops of his ears look suddenly sunburnt. Katsuki wonders how Deku would react if he leaned in, if he sucked his bottom lip between his teeth right here in the open jamb. He’s clearly pissed about something, but he’s turned on, too. 

Deku must be able to read the intent in him just as well, because he forces his way through. Katsuki blinks after his retreating back, thinking better of chasing him down. He clearly woke up on the ‘fuck you’ side of the bed this morning. He should be over it by the afternoon, right? 

Wrong. 

During their afternoon guidance, Deku goes out of his way to sit on the opposite couch. His presence is as caustic as a blast of blizzard’s breath through a crack in the front door. Unexpected, unforgiving, and only braved by the stupid or prepared. Katsuki definitely isn’t prepared. He has no idea what to make of it. It isn’t even the sort of tension they used to wrestle with, it’s a wall. Not one to pussyfoot around a subject or be smooth-spoken [even when it could prove beneficial to him], Katsuki blurts: “Who fuckin’ died?”

Deku levels him with a dry stare. “Pardon?”

“You’ve been in a shitty mood since this morning.” 

“Just a poor night’s sleep.” He answers blandly. 

It was the end of that conversation, and Katsuki couldn’t even enjoy the guidance. His mind was a thousand miles off from the cool, pleasant tingle of Deku’s alleviating energy. Bittersweet, the word he’s looking for. His blatant avoidance went on for two more days, and Katsuki’s patience, already so thin and borderline non-existent, is pushed to its limit. Things were fine, so what the fuck happened? He’d rather Deku raise his voice, spit sarcastic quips, and express his irritation with the wild gesticulations of his body instead of whatever the fuck this is. From his basic understanding of Deku’s personality, it’s not normal.

On Wednesday, winding down from an afternoon training session, he’s given a wide berth by most. He overdid it, though not to an extent of costing their medical department more than a couple bandages and spurts of antiseptic. His temper was a tangible thing, and his throat creaks from how fiercely he projected his voice. Kirishima and Kaminari, per usual, are the only espers on the floor willing to brave him in such a state. 

“Who shit in your cornflakes, man?” Kaminari asks between a series of stretches. 

Katsuki’s normally not one to discuss himself with others. His business is no one else’s. But, he’s never had interpersonal drama like this. He’s never been bothered or moved by another person’s opinion of him, their feelings in relation to him. He says what he says, acts how he acts, and everyone else can deal with it or get the fuck out of the way. That won’t work with Deku. It isn’t working for him. He’s out of his element, and he can acknowledge that this pair of dimwits might be more competent in people and feelings than he is. 

“Deku’s been in a shitty mood.” 

They pause, as neither esper was expecting an actual response. Kaminari blinks at him owlishly, whereas Kirishima collects himself so as not to let this moment of camaraderie pass them by. He clears his throat, trying for nonchalance: “How so? He seems normal to me, whenever I run into him.”

Katsuki scowls at the implication. Is it just him? Is he the only one Deku’s been stiff with? “He’s...avoiding me, I don’t fuckin’ know. He’s been like that since Monday.” 

Kaminari strokes his chin. “You took him home on Saturday, right? Did you fight again?” 

“We fucked.” He admits bluntly, unashamed. 

“Woah! Woah, woah, woah—!” Kirishima slices his hands through the air, shaking his head. “Excuse me? You did what? You?!” 

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” He snaps, brow twitching into an angry vee. Do these pricks think he’s impotent or some shit? 

Kaminari, cutting to the heart of the matter, asks: “I mean, did it suck?” 

“...no. It didn’t.” 

“Okay, but did it suck for Midoriya? Like, did he get off?”

This was a terrible idea. 

“Yes,” He hisses. “—he got off plenty, Christ.”

“Hm...” The pair look thoughtful for a moment, and Katsuki regrets saying anything at all. The idea of them pouring over his sex life, his intimate affairs, is suddenly uncomfortable. He’s moments away from barking at them to forget it, keep their silence or lose their tongues, when Kirishima asks:

“Well, what’d he say afterwards? Did he say he liked it, or...?”

Katsuki pauses, frowning. “I don’t know, I left.” 

Kaminari drops his head. “What do you mean?” 

“I mean what I fucking said. He was washing, so I left.” 

What Katsuki won’t mention was his dire, frantic need to flee as soon as Deku was out of sight. He was scared to death of his own physical, emotional reaction to the experience. When Deku wobbled off the bed to go to the bathroom, Katsuki had to strangle the sensation out of his own wrist to keep from grabbing. In the moment, he couldn’t imagine a stopping point without...physically removing himself, so that’s what he did. 

Kaminari and Kirishima exchange befuddled glances. 

“Dude,” Kirishima starts, aghast. “—you just...left?” 

“So fuckin’ what? We’re not dating, so why does it matter? Was I supposed to tuck him into bed or some shit?” He doesn’t get it. Even Deku himself had played it off as some casual, spontaneous decision. 

Kirishima groans. “Bakugo, look, it’s... poor etiquette. Even if it’s just a body off the street, someone you might never see again, it’s the polite thing to do. You can just say ‘I had a great time’ or leave a note, something! Midoriya isn’t just a body off the street, either. He’s your guide, maybe the only person in the world who can guide you. You see him almost every day. You might not be dating, but he can still feel a certain way about you just...dipping. You’re in a situation where you sort of need to communicate with him about...what you’re thinking, what you want, even if it’s just sex. Or, nothing.” 

Kaminari nods in sage agreement. “What if he thought it was just a one-off? Or, you didn’t like it or something?” 

Katsuki feels a hole open up in his gut, because fuck, he didn’t even think about that. 

“Goddamnit...” He breathes, digging the meat of his palms into his eyes. 

“Look, man, I know it’s...unexplored territory for you, but if that’s the issue, you’re going to have to use your words like a big boy. Like, apologize, with your words.” 

“I get it!” He barks, climbing to his feet.

He’s due for guidance after this anyway. He can...apologize, probably. He’s done it before. Katsuki swipes his tongue across the front of his teeth, cobbling together those words he’s unaccustomed to. Merely thinking them is hard enough, will he really be able to say them? No, no, he has to. Like Kirishima said, Deku might be the only person in the world who can guide him. They can’t stay on bad terms. He’s also literally itching to fuck the kid again, but if Deku hates him more than he’s attracted to him, he can kiss a casual sexual relationship goodbye. 

The elevator ride up to Deku’s floor lasts three lifetimes. Now that he knows what the problem is, he’s so…antsy. He wants to see it resolved as soon as possible, so he can go about his life with peace of mind restored. It’s unlike him to feel this way, and later, he’ll agonize over these changes. 

Deku’s already waiting for him in their usual room, perched on the edge of the couch like he’s sitting on a bed of spikes, like he’d rather be anywhere else in the world. Katsuki swallows against his natural instinct to belt a curse, because that’s not the tone he’s trying to set here. He lets the door smack shut behind him, locking it, and Deku flinches at the sudden noise. 

“Geez, you startled me.” He mutters, reflexively dropping a hand over his heart. 

Not wanting to push his luck, Katsuki takes the opposite couch again. “I went a little hard in training today.” He warns. 

“No problem.” Deku hums tonelessly, extending his hand. 

Katsuki stares at it, and he wonders if he shouldn’t just take it and shut the fuck up. He’s receiving good, regular guidance, and that’s something Deku’s still willing to do for him. He can…do without the rest of it, can’t he? So what if Deku’s pissed with him. So what if Deku doesn’t like him. Isn’t this good enough?

Lifting his gaze to Deku’s face, heat blisters through him. 

He’s seen that same face twisting through an orgasm: eyes pinched and wet, cheeks redder than vine-ripened heirlooms, small mouth dropped around the idea of a scream. He felt those warm, strong thighs clinging to his waist, that spongy ass sealed against his groin, those fingers raking across his scalp. “Ka—ah! Harder, please! Please, I’m—nngh! Katsuki, I’m gonna—!”

“Bakugo?”

Katsuki jerks. 

Bakugo?

He’s back to calling him Bakugo now? 

What the fuck was he even thinking? He can’t pussy out of this. 

“Deku, I—“ I’m sorry, it’s not that hard. Katsuki digs his hands through his hair, then drags them down the length of his face. “I know I can be fucking…stupid sometimes. I don’t have a lot of experience with giving a shit about people. I realized today that I might have been a dick last weekend, by leaving without saying anything. So, I…”

Deku’s watching him closely, and Katsuki can’t identify the emotion in his face. He can’t tell whether it’s good or bad for him. He presses on: “I’m sorr—“

“You don’t need to apologize.” 

“I…don’t?”

Deku smiles, and it’s a tired, resigned little thing that doesn’t sit well, no matter that it’s the first time Deku’s smiled at him since last week. “Today, I also realized that I was being very petty. I was upset that you left like that, but I shouldn’t have taken it so hard. I don’t…know why I did, I guess I’m just not used to…flings. After thinking about it, you didn’t do anything out of character. I initiated it, and it was just sex. I’m sorry for my rudeness this week.”

Katsuki’s never been so baffled. He should feel…happy, relieved, but he doesn’t. Deku’s words, for reasons unknown, are making him feel like shit. Most everything he said is objectively true. It was just sex, he did initiate it, and it’s very much in character for Katsuki to thoughtlessly leave as he did. Deku’s regurgitating his previous beliefs right back to him, but they sound awful from his mouth. Having Deku apologize to him feels fucking awful. He frowns, uncertain. 

“Still, I—“

“Did you want to keep having sex? Is that why you’re bringing this up now?”

Oh, fuck. 

What should he say? The honest answer feels like the barrel of a shotgun pressed against the top of his foot. He isn’t even sure if that’s…the only reason anymore. Deku continues, only furthering his descent into madness. What’s making this whole conversation so much worse, his tone. He sounds so extremely, painfully bland, as if this is all some polite, obligatory business transaction. 

“I’m not opposed, if you’re interested in that. It would be a lie to say it wasn’t…probably the best sex I’ll ever have.” 

Katsuki feels sick. What’s wrong with him? This is what he wanted. He didn’t even have to apologize! Sex is back on the table, so why does it feel—

...so wrong?

“I…am.” He admits. He regrets it immediately. Something in his gut is screaming at him: that was the wrong thing to say, you stupid motherfucker! But, Katsuki’s too lost in this. He couldn’t think of anything better, anything different. Sex is the only thing he’s certain of. Deku smiles again, and it’s the kind of smile that says: of course you do, that’s okay, I’m okay with that. 

“Okay, well, I’m glad we…got that out of the way.” 

The following two weeks leave him more emotionally wrecked than he can ever remember being, not even when he manifested as a teenager. The pain of poor guidance and the volatility of his energy just made him angry , all the time, and anger is a pure and straightforward emotion. His relationship with Deku, however, is too complex for him to describe, let alone understand. 

They fuck at least once a day, usually in the evening at Deku’s apartment if they’re not on call. It’s much more private than the Guild’s dormitory or guide rooms. The sex itself is no less extraordinary than it was that first time, but everything else is lacking. It’s giving him whiplash. Deku is so expressive when they fuck, a thousand different shades of emotion. He cries, begs, clings, and comes apart beautifully. Seconds after an orgasm, he’ll look at Katsuki like he hung the moon and gathered up the stars just for him. That particular expression always hits like a heavyweight’s jab to the esophagus.

However, it all goes away when they’re done. He downright expects Katsuki to leave, flipping himself off like a switch. He’s back to being cordial, distant, like Katsuki’s cock wasn’t nestled behind his bellybutton five minutes prior. He’s the same at work, at gate sites. They no longer playfully rib each other, nor does Deku seek him out. If Katsuki comes to him, he’s always curiously swamped. There’s a wall between them now, and Katsuki hasn’t the first clue why it’s there or how to dismantle it. 

He doesn’t even know why he wants to. Now, he’s getting both excellent guidance and sex regularly. Deku is the furthest thing from a source of drama in his life. They’re amicable enough during the day, and they fuck like newlyweds at night. He doesn’t understand why he’s so bothered. He tries to let it go, to bury it, but then he sees—

Deku laughing, smiling, scowling, and being his genuine self with everyone else. Not everyone, but those he considers a close friend. Katsuki was never on that list to begin with, as they went from one extreme to another. He’s been…excluded from that corona of light cast on those beloved by Midoriya Izuku. Katsuki’s forced to admit to himself, finally:

The why doesn’t matter, he despises the position he’s in with Deku right now. Somewhere, somehow, he fucked up. 

He massages the cool, foamy scrub into a thick lather, digging his fingertips into his downturned face for longer than necessary. Izuku doesn’t want to see himself in the mirror. Sighing through his nose, he fumbles blindly for the handle of the faucet. Rinse, dry, and—

Izuku stares at himself, bleary-eyed. Shirtless as he is, the evidence of his stupidity blares at him like ill-tempered, doomed-to-tardiness motorists in a traffic jam. On the knob of his shoulder, there’s a stark bloom of discoloration. Where hips meet the top of thighs, there’s a similar purpling. He’d been folded over his very sink less than six hours ago, Katsuki’s palm a hard clamp on the side of his face, thumb hooked to the inside of his cheek. Balanced on the balls of his feet, blanked out in a puddle of his own making, tears and saliva mixing beneath his cheek—

“What the hell am I doing?” He groans. 

He isn’t built for casual sex. 

It’s just...really, really good. 

Plus, it doubles as work, technically. He ends up guiding Katsuki almost every time. His stability has never been more consistent. Even if he pushes himself, he barely teeters into the orange. They’re physically compatible, so it’s a win-win, just like he said. Except, Izuku’s prone to attachment. To not complicate their relationship, nor stir his own heart, he’s been keeping him at arm’s length. It’s easier that way, and surely it’s more comfortable for Katsuki. 

The esper made it perfectly clear, with both actions and verbal sentiments, that he’s only interested in a physical connection. They’re an esper and a guide, fuck buddies on the side. Izuku thought he could do it, and he thinks it’s been going well. But, what of the future? He and Katsuki are both young, but it’s doubtful he’ll find another X-class guide with a compatibility rating of 100%. Or, even a compatibility rating above fifty. Essentially, more than any contractual marriage, they’re stuck together until one of them dies. 

That realization rattled Izuku’s soul around inside him. 

There are some imprinted pairs that keep their relationship platonic. Aizawa’s one of them. He imprinted with his childhood friend, Shirakuma Oboro. They’ve remained as friends, choosing not to escalate their companionship into anything physical or romantic. As Aizawa’s no longer actively in the field, they meet for guidance once a week, give or take. It’s possible, but he and Katsuki can barely keep their hands off of each other. Frequent sex leads to feelings, at least for someone as open-hearted as Izuku. He’s playing with fire. 

There are two paths open to them. 

Cut off all aspects of an intimate relationship, including sex, and go about their lives parallel to each other. Friendly, close enough to reach their hands out, but nothing more than that. 

Or, commit to the whole package. 

Frankly, Izuku can’t picture the latter. He can’t imagine anything resemblant of ‘I love you’ from Bakugo Katsuki’s mouth. He can’t imagine a peaceful cohabitation, and when he tries to, it plays out like a sitcom in his mind. He has...rollers in his hair, donning a floral-print gown, reading by the dim ambience of his bedside lamp. Katsuki is sprawled out next to him, probably...snoring and choking through apnea. Or, he’s bustling around an outdated kitchen, sweating through a three-course dinner, and Katsuki swings through their front door in a bowler hat, toting a briefcase: “Deku, I’m home!” 

It’s too nonsensical. 

Eventually, the sex has to stop. If not, Izuku’s the one who will get burned. He’ll start...wanting more, and Katsuki won’t. 

As tomorrow’s the start of the weekend, he decides to haul his baggage to his mother’s house for them to unpack together. Two heads are better than one. She lives in the same modest complex he grew up in, with a section of urban forest cropped up behind it. It’s roughly three miles deep, two miles wide, a verdant patch gone untouched by human settlement and development. Many adventures and feats of imagination were had in those woods, to the point it barely feels like a real place. Branches and creeks just a collection of nostalgic memories to pad the empty places in his mind.

“Alright, baby, lay it on me.” Inko sings, setting a steaming mug in front of him. Sencha, two splashes of milk and a healthy drizzle of honey. Izuku wraps his hands around it. It’s starting to cool off outside, as he’s now been at the Dynamight Guild for close to three months. He appreciates the warmth leaching into his palms. 

“I’m...” He wonders if he should just spit it out, or try to phrase it delicately. “...worried about the future.”

Inko sits across from him, folding her forearms on the tabletop. “What about it?” 

“Katsuki and I, well...” 

“Katsuki? Not ‘Bakugo-san’?” Inko lifts an amused brow. 

“Hah, that’s not the point, Mom.” 

“Okay, okay, sorry. Go on.” 

“I mean, we’re not just a normal guide and esper, right? I’m...the only one who can guide him, that we know of. So, I was thinking about how we’ll have to maintain some sort of connection...forever.” 

“Mm, is it not going well so far?” 

“It’s not... not going well. We, um—”

Inko gasps, slapping a hand to her mouth. “My baby...” She whimpers.

“Mom, come on—”

“Izuku, please, are you...protecting yourself?”

“Mom, oh my God, please.” 

“Okay! Okay, I’m listening, go ahead.” She sniffs. 

“Right, so we’ve been...intimate.” He coughs. “But, it’s just that. He isn’t interested in anything more than...”

“That no-good son of a bitch! X-class or not, no one takes advantage of my baby’s body—”

“Mom, for the love of God, it’s not like that! I’m...I mean, I suggested it. I just—you...know how I am. It was stupid of me, probably. I’m in over my head, but I...”

Inko takes two deep, full breaths. “Do you like him? What is it you’re wanting out of this?” 

“I want...for us to get along, whatever that means. I don’t know if I like him in that way, but if we keep going like this, it’s only a matter of time. I just know it won’t be reciprocated.”

“How do you know?”

Izuku stares at her. “I mean, isn’t it obvious?” 

Inko shakes her head, chuckling. “Of course not, baby. Matters of the heart are never going to be obvious. That’s why communication is so important. You might think you know Bakugo Katsuki quite well, but how much do you really understand about what he’s feeling? Thinking? If you haven’t spoken with him about these things, it’s the blind leading the blind.” 

Izuku frowns. “But, he would’ve said something by now...” 

He takes this conversation with him into the natural growth behind his old complex, seeking comfort in familiarity. He picks his way through the overgrowth, swatting low-hanging limbs and yanking his feet from the tangling of weeds. There’s a path still beaten into the woods, the pressed dirt utilized by those generations that have come after him. The day had bled into dusk, with just enough sun left to keep him from eating soil. Katsuki...would have said something, right?

He would have said something that first night, after the izakaya. He would have said something two weeks ago in the guide room. He could have said something at any point since then, as they’ve been seeing a lot more of each other. Izuku moans his misery aloud. Maybe they really are just a pair of giant idiots, the blind leading the blind like Inko said. 

“Come on, don’t be a big baby!” 

Izuku blinks, twisting his head. 

That’s...a child’s voice. 

“I am not!” 

Izuku huffs to himself, more than familiar with the sounds of adolescent bullying. He hastens his pace along the path, and those prepubescent cries ring clearer the closer he gets to the edge of the thicket. 

“It’s just purple, that’s not even that scary!”

His heart drops out of his ass, and he breaks into a run. 

“I-I...I can do it! I’m not a baby!” 

Breaking through the treeline, he crashes into a pasture. It’s one he remembers playing in himself, with a deep ditch cutting it in twain. There are a group of four children roughly forty paces away, and he’d estimate their ages to be somewhere between six and eight. Three boys, one girl—the victim. She’s dressed cutely: overalls, knee-high socks, and plaited, goldspun hair. She looks like she’s been rough-tumbling outdoors for the better part of two hours, however. Grass stains, scraped knees, dirt besmearing her dumpling-round cheeks. 

Behind the group, a gate.

It’s about the size of a minivan, a rich hue of luminescent purple. 

Izuku’s breath stutters in his throat, and his chest tightens with anxiety. They’re daring her to go inside, grubby hands pressed between her shoulder blades, shoving her towards it. 

“Just go in for a second, then come right back out!” One of the boys laughs. 

“Yeah, tell us what it looks like!” 

The little girl firms up her wobbling mouth, glancing between her companions and the rift. “Just...for a second?” 

“Yeah, yeah!”

“No!” 

He’s—too late. They pushed her. She stumbles forward, throwing her hands out as if to catch herself on a wall, but she just phases right through it. Her golden braid whips like a snapped chord, and it’s the last part of her to disappear. Izuku pounds the knoll beneath his feet, running up the short hill with all the speed he possesses. Obviously, he has to get her out. It should be as simple as popping in, snatching her by the arm, and passing back through the gate. Even so, just in case—

“Call the Dynamight Guild!” He shouts at the three brats, wide-eyed and second-guessing their tomfoolery in the presence of a panicked adult. He’s been inside of a gate before, and a six-year-old can’t have gone far. 

He passes through it, assuring himself they’ll be back before his mom’s okonomiyaki can come off the stove.

Chapter Text

The pungent funk of damp, rotting vegetation.

The ground feels like a soaked-through carpet beneath his feet, each shift and step making a noisy squelch! Low, thick fog dampens his face. It’s humid, uncomfortable to breathe, and reaches from his ankles up to the stabbings of naked branches. It might be daytime, but any source of natural light is grayed out, filmy.  

It’s...a bog. 

Izuku whips back to verify the gate’s presence. It’s still there. Reaching out, he gingerly places the pads of his fingers against the purple shimmer. They start to phase through it, and he puffs a relieved breath. It’s not a variant, they can get out. Others can get in. He turns back and scans the area. Where...where did she go? He passed through the gate seconds after she did. Surely, she wouldn’t have ventured deeper of her own volition, unless she panicked? But, she should still be within Izuku’s line of sight.

He doesn’t even know her name, and even if he did, calling out doesn’t seem a smart thing to do. He can only see a few feet in front of himself through the dense fog, and there’s no telling what sort of threats lurk out of sight. Body-wide, a cold sweat breaks across his skin. He flexes his fingers to kill the tremble in them and sets his jaw. He’s not an esper, but this is a low-class gate. He won’t let a child die in a place like this. He takes a few steps, cringing at the loud squishing and sloshing. It feels like his feet are being sucked up, and he begins to fear the worst.

Did she fall in? Knowing how to swim isn’t enough, as it has that vortex effect of quicksand. The more you struggle, the more the wet grime slurps you down. His shoes fill with sludge, and he’s quickly soiled up to the knees. He grits his teeth against the uncomfortable sensation and makes for the treeline. The ground begins to solidify, but walking is no less a noisy chore. Pushing through the whispering, damp sheet that hangs in front of his eyes is giving him palpitations. The predators who live here probably know how to make a silent approach. 

He uses the trunks of trees like a placeholder, but it feels wildly different from the wet bark he’s used to. They’re…slimy, as if excreting their own mucous. 

splash! splash! 

Izuku tenses, cutting his eyes in every direction. Something’s making a ruckus in the stagnant water, and he has no way of knowing who or what. It isn’t the heavy, frantic jostling that a drowning child might make, but the quick slaps of a spooked amphibian or fish. He trusts his gut, deciding not to wade in to verify. 

“Heuk—!”

He scrambles to hold onto the bark, as something latches around his ankle, yanking. It feels like a wet, fibrous rope. It’s a fruitless effort, as everything is too slippery, too viscous, and he loses traction. His legs are yoked from beneath him, and he lands on his stomach with a hard, breathless thud. Gagging for another breath, he jerks his captured limb against the pull of whatever’s snared him. That, too, is useless. Izuku cries out sharply as he feels himself being dragged through the mud. Mud gives way to lukewarm water soupy with a carpeting of moss. 

It’s trying to pull him under. 

“Shit! No, no, no—!” He claws at the loose muck, kicking violently. He’s waist deep, and if he doesn’t keep his face upturned from the ground, it feels like he’ll drown in the embankment, sucking in mouthfuls of mud. Katsuki can clear a gate like this in twenty minutes or less, and Izuku’s going to die after barely five. 

Then, an unthinkable miracle. The tether at his ankle catches around the rim of his shoe, and one good kick has his foot slipping out from the material. As soon as his hindbrain latches onto that sense of freedom, he clambers up the mire’s bank, racing for the treeline. He doesn’t stop until the ground is completely solid underfoot, pitching himself into a forest of unknowns. Filthy, soaked, unarmed, and missing a shoe—this rescue is off to a disappointing start. Doubts clutter the back of his mind [‘she could be dead already, what if she got sucked into the bog, what if I can’t find her, what if I die in here’], but he smothers them as best he can. 

If she did get pulled into the bog, Izuku would’ve heard a commotion like that when he passed through the gate. He drops into a twisting of roots, reclining against the glutinous bark without care for how disgusting it feels matting his hair to his scalp. With the hem of his shirt, he scrubs the grime from around his eyes, nose, and mouth. The fog hasn’t cleared any, still rolling the ground in thick plumes. He isn’t sure how long he sits in that spot, but it’s difficult to move. He’s...afraid. Movement, noise, might attract something worse than a persistent fastening at his ankle. 

“Mommy—!” 

He’s up, running, forgetful of any fears previously possessed. 

She’s alive, but not safe. The bloodcurdling notes of a child sobbing for their mother eradicates any sense of worry over his own wellbeing. He’s a graceless, desperate heap of limbs barreling through the dead woods, struggling to stay tuned in to the sounds of strife over his own erratic breathing. She’s crying, screaming, terrified of something, always something in a fucking gate. 

“Gah—! Ah!” 

Izuku scrapes across the ground, having tripped. It was his shoeless foot, and now it’s stricken by a hot throbbing. He glances back, blinking through the sweat and dirt caking his lashes. It was—a large, snaggled rock. He stumbles to his feet, pilfers the rock, and keeps running. Anything is better than nothing. He’s getting closer, as her cries ring out more clearly. His heart is a ghastly percussion, stirring up every fiber and cell in his body. He feels his blood’s travel, his organic processes, and the electricity keeping it all together. Adrenaline. 

If he doesn’t get there in time, if he can’t save her—

In the midst of a small clearing, it’s her, the same little girl. She’s alive, breathing, and surrounded. The first likeness that jumps to Izuku’s mind is...leeches, or slugs, though they’re much larger than any species native to Earth—as big as snakes. Fat, inky tendrils that scurry across the dirt and scoot down from deadened trunks. It might be an overestimation via hysterics, but they number at least a hundred. They’re squealing, and where a head or face might be, it’s just a wide pucker of razors. The creatures are springing from the ground and latching at her socked legs. He doesn’t think twice about charging through. 

He becomes another target, and many of them change direction with this abundance of prey. He can’t kill an entire swarm, so he tries to ignore those that cling onto him. The girl is writhing on the ground: screaming, kicking, and struggling to dislodge the wriggling parasites. Izuku understands her extreme reaction when he feels it. They attach with their mouths, and just like a can opener, those jagged teeth spin, designed to shred flesh. He whimpers through a clenched jaw, but pushes on. 

Rock still in hand, he scoops her from the ground and keeps running. She’s squirming against his chest. 

“Be still, okay?!” He gasps. “I know it hurts like crazy! We’ll get ‘em off as soon as we’re far enough away, just hang on!”

In the perpetual fog, he can’t see if they’re being pursued, but after a few minutes, Izuku no longer hears their telltale slithering or hungry, high-pitched cries. Skidding to a stop, he replaces his cargo on the ground and sets to remove the ‘stage five’ clingers from her bloodied legs. Simply tugging at them is ineffective, and if he rips them off forcefully, chunks of her skin will go too. White-knuckling the rock, he swings it down on their doughy, squirming shape over and over like a primitive in dispute with a neighbor the next cave down. 

thump! pop! thump! pop!

They burst easily against the dirt, being nothing but muscle and soft tissue. Once destroyed, their mouths [something dreamt up by Guillermo Del Toro] detach. 

“Okay, shake ‘em off—“

Blubbering but not without common sense, she does as instructed. Izuku collapses against the ground, finally treating himself to the same process. It feels like wrangling a person’s entrails, and Izuku cringes at the squishing, popping sensation of killing them. There’s some relief as their teeth relax out of his skin, but the punctures left behind scream heat and pain through his nervous system. 

Their legs might look like blocks of swiss, but at least they're alive. He reminds himself that his young companion is suffering every bit of the emotional, physical toil he is. So, he grins at her: 

“Hah, we did it.”

She blinks up at him: lip wobbling, eyes shining, seconds from a post-survival meltdown. 

“Hey, hey, you did so good. Thanks for letting me get you outta there, I know it was super painful.” 

She nods, but her chest still undulates too quickly. Izuku scoots closer to her. He offers his hand for a shake. “My name’s Izuku. What’s your name?”

“…Y-Yuki.” 

“That’s a beautiful name!”

“Are you…an esper?” She whispers, and he’s devastated by the hope blossoming in her big, honeycomb eyes. He squeezes her hand, small and filthy as his own, and his smile dims. 

“I’m…not, but—listen to me, okay, Yuki?” 

She does, because what else is there to do? 

“From now on, I’ve got you. We might...get hurt, but we’re going home. I’ll protect you, and I will get us out of here. I promise.” 

He releases her hand, instead offering a pinky. She looks surprised by the childish gesture, perhaps because something like a pinky swear feels absurd in a place like this, in acute pain as they are. Slowly, she reaches up and hooks her tiny finger around his. Izuku’s chest flutters, and he suddenly feels like the biggest, baddest man alive. He won’t let it just be pretty talk to ease a child’s fear. Even if he has to crawl out of here with Yuki riding on his back, they’re going home. 

Unfortunately, all that blind scampering about has put him in a pickle. This foggy cluster of lifeless trees looks just like every other cluster, and he doesn’t recall the zigs and zags that got him here. “Well,” He sighs. “—nothing to it, but to do it. Wanna ride?” He jerks a thumb at his back. 

Watery it might be, but Yuki actually giggles at his attempted nonchalance. Izuku mentally pats himself on the back. He gets into a crouch, choking back a yelp at the pure fucking fire in his legs, and Yuki carefully climbs aboard. She makes no attempt to stifle her discomfort, and Izuku doesn’t begrudge her for it. Then, they’re up and moving again. Naturally, as Izuku is desperate to lighten the mood and Yuki’s a six years old girl, they talk. She explains how she was caught by the same tether upon entering, but instead of dragging her into the bog, she was flung. They swap anecdotes about their mothers, as Yuki is also being reared up by a diligent single-parent with more jobs than time. Izuku can relate. 

They talk about her school, her friends, and the three scoundrels she got stuck with for this afternoon’s outdoor romp. They all live in the same complex as Inko, and while she doesn’t consider the boys her friends, they’re her nextdoor neighbors—a trio of rambunctious brothers that have more sense apart than together. They get lumped up for play by their parents due to being close in age. Izuku has no idea how much time passes them by, but his legs are shaking with fatigue. He abandoned his other shoe to even out his gait, and his feet have never been so sore. The only upside, they haven’t been attacked again. 

“Izuku,” Yuki huffs against his face. “We’re lost.” 

“Yup, sure seems that way.” 

“What are we gonna do?” 

“Hm, I guess I’m not too worried. Even if we’re lost, I know a really strong guy who will come get us.” 

“You do? Is he an esper?” 

“Mmhm, the strongest esper ever.” 

“Nuh-uh! Bakugo’s the strongest esper!” She argues, matter-of-fact. 

Izuku laughs, “yeah, that’s who I’m talking about!” 

She asks with subdued excitement, like she’s ducked behind the sofa with a sibling on Christmas Eve: “...you really think he’ll come?” 

“He better. I’m his guide, after all.” 

Yuki gasps, dropping her weight against his back. “No way! You are?! You’re...M-Midoriya?” 

“Yeah! How’d you know?” He laughs again. 

“‘cause they talk about you on the news! My friends were talking about it, too. You kissed that one time, in Chiyoda!” She giggles, and Izuku’s a little miffed to know he’s such hot gossip amongst grade schoolers. 

“Hey, hey, aren’t you guys too young to be...talking about kissing and stuff?” He grumbles. 

“No way! My friend Haruhi has a huge crush on this boy in our class, but he’s—” She rambles on about boys, crushes, the little pecks swapped on playgrounds, the brushing of hands on the walk home. It’s...undeniably adorable, and it makes it easier for Izuku to ignore the blood warming his legs and the burn of exhausted muscles. He’s definitely hitting the treadmill when he gets back, his stamina is horrendous. 

“—so are you in love?” 

“...eh?”

“You weren’t even listening!” She pouts. 

“I was, I was! Um, no...? I’m not in love—”

“But, why?! Bakugo’s super cool! He’s handsome and strong!” 

Oh, God. 

“Uh, well, it’s...complicated, y’know? I do think Bakugo is very...cool, strong, and handsome, but love isn’t that easy.” 

“But, aren’t espers and guides always in love?”

“Not always, Yuki. Sometimes they’re just friends.” 

“That’s not very romantic...” She mumbles. 

Unfortunately, their easy back-and-forth doesn’t last. This is the interior of a gate, not the Hundred Acre Wood. Izuku was certain the fog would never dissipate, as much a fixture of this world as the soil and sky. They break the treeline, coming into a large glade. There’s more visibility here than they’ve come across thus far. On the opposite side of the clearing, a cliffside extends out of sight in both directions. It’s tall enough to be obscured by a low clumping of clouds. Well, this certainly isn’t the direction of the gate. 

“Yuki, don’t make any noise, okay? We need to stay alert, let me know if you see anything strange.”

“Okay.” She whispers back.

Izuku approaches the cliffside, intending to travel alongside it for as far as it goes. It seems safer to have a barrier on at least one of their flanks. Much like the trees, the cliff is sticky to the touch, excreting some sort of gelatinous layer. It’s a strangely vibrant color, too, unlike any rock or clay he’s ever seen. They manage ten more minutes of walking, but Izuku pauses at the irregular coming and going of a noise—skittering. He turns, looking behind them. He scans the treeline, but there’s...nothing—

Yuki screams, flinching violently against his back. 

Izuku hastens to replace her on the ground. “What happened?!” 

“B-Burning—! It burned me!” 

She clamps down on her shoulder, instinctively placing pressure to quell the pain. 

“Let me see, Yuki, please—nngh! Fuck!” 

Dripping, corrosive, from above. He snaps his face up, and his eyes blow open, horrified. 

“Yuki, run! I’m right behind you!” 

Lizard-types, that’s what they’d be called. They scamper down the cliff, unperturbed by the ninety degree angle of their descent. Big as jungle cats, armored in dull, barbed scales, and brandishing yawning mouths like a morning glory meeting the moon—overfilled with the pinpricks of many teeth. They’re saliva is syrupy and acidic. It really is one horror after another, and Izuku no longer has his bludgeoning rock [not that it’d do him a lick of good]. He counts...five of them. 

Izuku chases after Yuki, scooping her into his arms. Adrenaline’s a helluva drug, because he suddenly feels like he can run twenty miles, full-speed, without pause. His top speed won’t cut it this time, however. The four-legged lizard-types are gaining from above, and instead of an accidental dribble, they’re deliberately spitting gobs of acid at the ground. He cuts his eyes to and fro in hopes of catching on a place to hide or something sharp, blunt. This dimension must have a benevolent God, because he finds a two-for-one bargain. 

Twenty feet ahead, the flat face of the cliff’s wall is marred by a small, Yuki-sized cavern. The cavern’s ceiling sticks out like an overbite, and centuries of drippings have formed a cropping of tapered stalagmite at its mouth—the sort of rocks that say ‘one misstep and it’s impalement for you, buddy.’ The lizard-types have migrated to the ground, as they must consider him easy enough prey to handle at his own level. Izuku relays this to Yuki, breathless:

“When I put you down, climb in that cave, okay? It’s too small for them to get inside—” 

“What about you?!” She cries. 

“Just trust me!” He snaps. 

As soon as her feet touch the ground, she does as told, stumbling around the natural columns and squeezing herself into the little hole. Izuku identifies which stabbing rock is riddled with the most cracks, and he flings himself against it with every bit of his weight. He repeats this three times, and it shatters beneath his bruised ribs. The short distance was eaten up in that time, and he grunts as he’s tackled from the side. His temple cracks the ground, and Yuki’s shriek sounds like it’s coming from five separate places:

“ Izuku!” 

Clawed feet carve up his shoulders and chest. Dissolvent singes his throat as the lizard’s blooming mouth flaps over his face like strips of fabric in a gale. Snarling, he plunges that knifelike shrapnel into the soft underbelly heaving atop him. Their blood isn’t acidic, but it’s nearly scalding as it bubbles out around his hands, pooling in his naval. The creature thrashes about, wailing. With a strength he’s never felt before, he kicks the weakening beast to the side. Nothing hurts anymore. He can’t die here, not when Yuki’s counting on him. 

The remaining lizards are circling, uncertain in the face of their kind’s quick death. Humans are a foreign predator, so they’re rightly wary of some unforeseen ability or defense mechanism. Izuku has nothing like that, only shards of rock and the refusal to die. “One down...” He huffs, dragging his wrist across his mouth. 

The piece of rock he’d used is difficult to grip, but the end is sharper than he could’ve hoped. He reasserts his handle on it, widening his stance. Before today, Midoriya Izuku had never killed anything of consequence. Perhaps a mosquito here, a fly there. Most insects, supposed pests, he’ll attempt to peacefully relocate. The leeches, he wrote those off as large pests. But, he can’t write this off. He can’t overlook the feeling of disemboweling something warm, breathing, bigger than himself. It’s...terrible, and he’s different for it. He thinks he can do it as many times as he needs to. 

Is this how Katsuki usually feels? 

They launch off their hind legs, and Izuku braces for impact. He’s not an esper, he’s not strong. To win, he has to take the hit. He’s knocked to the ground a second time, but there are two heavy beasts snapping and clawing. His left arm is pinned, bitten. Screaming to a point of vibrating the ground beneath his back, he brings his right hand up in a powerful arc. More than calculative, he’s lucky. It catches the lizard in another soft, vulnerable place, the curve of its throat. He has to abandon that sliver of rock, but it serves to incapacitate one of the two. 

The one with its corrosive jaws locked at his forearm, Izuku swings his legs up and around. He latches around a tough midsection, pushing from the core. Wrestling it onto its side, he climbs atop and tightens his ankles to vices. “Yuki—!” He belts, struggling to find her between his grimy fringe. “Throw me a rock!” 

“Izuku, here—!” She cries. 

Yuki shines under pressure, because it’s a pitch to make Sandy Koufax shed a tear. He reaches up, catches the hefty mass, and proceeds to bash the matter out of the lizard’s head. Every swing is accompanied by a guttural projection of his effort, and scales give way to bone, bone to soft tissue. Izuku isn’t even sure if his arm’s still attached, he can’t feel it. Fatigue is catching up to him, and he gulps for breath. 

“Izuku, behind—!” 

cla-a-ang! 

Behind him, the last two lizards had leapt, but they were rebuffed. A shimmering, red umbrella separates his vulnerable six and the pair of monsters. It’s an esper’s forcefield. His breath catches. Katsuki came—

Izuku looks left, right, and upwards. The X-class is nowhere in sight. In fact, it’s still just the two of them. He swings a wide, disbelieving gaze onto his adolescent companion, and sure enough, Yuki’s shaking hands are outstretched, fingers spread. Her eyes burn with an energy expenditure she’s not used to or familiar with. She’s panting, and the forcefield is fluttering. It won’t hold. Izuku clambers off the back of the expired lizard and snatches up a new weapon from the rubble he’d created of the rock, more a club than a knife. 

The shield dissipates, but the lizards are now visibly hesitant to approach. They set an anxious prowl back and forth, and Izuku hopes to God they give it up. He’s starting to sway on his feet, and his vision is swimming out of focus. Pain is returning, piling up, as every injury he’s thus sustained won’t be ignored much longer. Yuki, sensing his crash, pulls off their winning maneuver. She’s able to manifest another forcefield directly in front of the lizard-types, blowing them back a few feet. This frightens the pair enough to flee. 

Izuku sags to his knees. 

He splatters the dirt with bile. 

“Izuku, are you—?” 

“Don’t come out! Stay...stay in there, for a second...” 

“No, Izuku, don’t—!” 

When the call was being rambled off to him, Aizawa was only half-listening. It didn’t sound as emergent as the G.O.’s frazzled expression was suggesting. 

“We received a call—”

Right, that’s your job. 

“—purple gate—”

So, a low-class gate, get on with it. 

“—urban forest behind an apartment complex in Musutafu—”

That’s not even their jurisdiction. Wait, isn’t that where a certain, matronly Midoriya lives? 

“—according to the callers, two civilians went inside. They haven’t come out.”

Aizawa’s chair smacks the floor for how suddenly he rockets to his feet. “When did this call come in?” 

“Ah, thirty minutes ago, sir.” 

Civilian casualties are rare these days, as no one’s flagrantly foolhardy enough to traipse around inside of a gate. 99.9% of casualties are the result of an uncontained breach. In the 0.01% of instances, survival becomes less and less likely for every minute an unarmed civilian spends within a gate. 

“You said they haven’t come out? Have we identified them?” 

“No, sir, they haven’t. We have the identity of one, her name is Kuzihara Yuki, six years old.” 

“Jesus Christ!” He swears. “Who’s the other? Why don’t we know? Is it another child?” 

“We’re...not sure, sir. It was reported by the parents of three boys, ages six through eight. The boys were the one who found the gate while playing outside. They say their neighbor, Yuki, fell into the gate. Someone they didn’t recognize pursued the girl, presumably to bring her out. They couldn’t specify his age, but they described him as an ‘older kid’, sir. He instructed them to call the Dynamight Guild. They waited by the gate for several minutes, but the two individuals didn’t come back out.” 

Aizawa’s first thought: a teenager who idolizes Bakugo requested their Guild for that reason, before trying his own hand at a heroic stunt. “Fucking fuck, this is bad. Do we know how long the two have been inside? You said the call came in thirty minutes ago, but how long did it take the kids to get back home? How long until it was reported to their parents?” 

“We...don’t know, sir.” 

“Right, right, fuck. Get Bakugo on this, he can be there before anyone else, but mobilize everyone. I want that site secure in thirty minutes or less, or everyone’s fucking fired.” 

“Yes, sir!”

As one does in a state of emergency, Aizawa runs through his ‘list of people to call when shit’s hitting the fan.’ He tries Midoriya first, as low-class or not, Bakugo’s forbidden from running any gate without his guide on the premises. Midoriya Izuku’s just as much an imperative. It rings, rings, and rings. Aizawa frowns. Midoriya’s always good about picking up in the first few intones, no matter the time. Just as he fears being sent to voicemail, there’s an answer, though not one he’s expecting. 

“Hello, this is Midoriya Inko, Izuku’s mother.” 

“Oh, hello. Is...Izuku unable to answer the phone?” 

“Uh, well—” She rattles a shaky exhale. “...are you...someone from his Guild?” 

“I am, my name is Aizawa Shota, I apologize for not introducing myself earlier.” 

“Izuku’s visiting me, currently. He left his phone to charge before going on a walk. That was...three hours ago. He’s not back yet. He doesn’t have his wallet either. I’m sure you’re calling for work, but...I’m very worried, Aizawa-san.” 

Midoriya’s at his mother’s house, in Musutafu. 

Midoriya went for a walk.

‘Older kid.’ 

‘Call the Dynamight Guild.’ 

Three hours. 

Aizawa’s eyes nearly fall out of his head. He’s never experienced true dread quite like he is now. His ears are squealing, the floor is merely an implication beneath his feet, and his guts roll with sick. It isn’t confirmed, but it’s almost goddamn certain. Midoriya Izuku is inside that gate and has been for almost three hours. The statistics march through his mind in neat, little lines. Non-espers are almost always guaranteed dead if they’ve not returned or been rescued after thirty minutes inside a gate of any class. He’s learning this in real time with the kid’s mother on the phone. 

“Aizawa-san?”

“Midoriya-san, please sit tight for me. We’ll be there shortly.” 

She hesitantly agrees, and as soon as he’s off the call, Aizawa bolts out into the hall. He sprints in the direction he knows that G.O. bustled off to, opting to take the stairs three at a time instead of the elevator. He catches up to him in the primary lobby. 

“Hey!” He barks.

The G.O. flinches, turning quickly. “Yes, sir?!”

“Have you spoken with Bakugo already?”

“Yes, sir! He’s on the way up from the dorms now, sir.” 

“Fuck!”

If Bakugo finds out that Midoriya went inside that gate, he’ll actually lose his mind. There’s not a force on Earth that could stop him from going in after Izuku, and if he can’t find him, or worse, if he finds him no longer alive, he’ll absolutely rampage. Even without overexerting his energy, the intensity of his emotions will destabilize him straight to hell. He cannot know, under any circumstances. 

“Change of plans, get me a team of fifteen espers, no one under S-class.” 

“I—uh, y-yessir!” 

With the world’s worst timing, Bakugo is exiting the elevator on the opposite side of the lobby. He looks as unbothered as he always does, causally folding up the sleeves of his field uniform. Aizawa steadies himself with a slow, controlled breath before approaching. “Bakugo.” 

“Oi, give me the—”

“I’m taking you off this.” 

His face twists with hot, sharp offense. “What the fuck? Why? I can clear it faster than anyone else, so what the—”

“I need someone more delicate on this.” He lies smoothly. 

Bakugo doesn’t buy it, tragically. “Don’t bullshit me, Aizawa.” 

“You’re off. If I see you anywhere near this site, you’re suspended for as long as I fucking feel like it.” 

Bakugo reels back, floored. “You’re shitting me, right? Is Deku going?” 

Aizawa blanks. “...he’s not, no.” 

Bakugo fixes him with a thin, searching glare. He can be dimwitted in interpersonal matters, but something like this, he’s got the nose of a bloodhound. To Aizwa’s surprise, he turns away with a scoff. He was expecting a knock-down-drag-out, but he doesn’t have time to overthink it. This is a crisis of nuclear proportions, and if Midoriya can keep up his streak of breaking records and beating the odds, Aizawa’s going to ream that martyr-complex out of his ass. 

Essential personnel are promptly packed into the Guild’s aircrafts, and the gate site is wrapped up in red tape within the next forty-five minutes. By car, it’d be a two hour drive. It’s a clusterfuck of epic proportions, as the only spectators allowed on the premises are one Midoriya Inko and one Kuzihara Sasha—both women completely beside themselves. Aizawa has his team of espers rounded up, and as all of them are more than fond of Midoriya, it’s a bleak atmosphere. 

“I believe this goes without saying, but I’ve assembled this many of you because our goal is not to close this gate as soon as possible. This is a search and rescue mission. You’re to look for any and all signs of our two missing persons, and if possible, bring them back.”

‘Dead or alive’ goes unsaid, but understood. 

“I want you to utilize every second available to you, leave no stone unturned. Do you understand?” 

“Yessir!” 

Unbeknownst to Aizawa, five minutes earlier, Inko received a call on her son’s mobile that she couldn’t bring herself to ignore. 

Katsuki’s confused, pissed, and very fucking pissed. 

Someone more delicate...? 

He’s never been fed a bigger pile of bullshit in his life. Aizawa’s hiding something from him. There was no reason to take him off of it, not when the lives of kids are at stake. Per the G.O., he was in the starting line-up. He was the starting line-up. So, what changed in those ten minutes between Aizawa’s first order and their meeting in the lobby? When he mentioned Deku, Aizawa hesitated. Is he being booted because of Deku? Is the kid in the fucking hospital or something? 

He spends thirty minutes stewing, pacing, until his nerves get the best of him. He calls Deku. 

It goes to voicemail, worsening his mood into something violent. He calls again. 

It’s picked up. 

“Oi, Deku, what the fuck? Where are you? There’s a gate—”

“...Bakugo-san?” 

Katsuki jerks, stunned by the weepy, feminine, not-Deku voice. “Yeah? Who’s this? Where’s Deku?” 

“Ah, I’m—his mother, Inko.”

“...oh.”

“Bakugo-san, please...please save my baby. I’m begging you!” Her whispered plea wobbles through his receiver, and Katsuki immediately feels the aggressive lashings of his energy at what she’s insinuating. His phone is cracking in his grip. Aizawa knew, and he tried to keep it from him. Katsuki’s very familiar with anger and all of its shades and packaging, a pack of old friends. He was a hotheaded kid, a violent teenager, and now a jaded adult. 

“Where are you?” 

When Inko describes the situation, what he experiences doesn’t feel of human origin. It’s an emotion from the tenth dimension, not meant for lesser beings. It’s the tempestuous, unbiased wrath of nature. He worries he’ll combust with it, as his energy is so reactive, he’s rapidly destabilizing. The mere suggestion of Izuku in harm’s way is spiraling him into the red, and he couldn’t give a single shit.

“Be there in five.”

“Mm...” Izuku leans into the soft brush of skin on skin, knuckles gently dragging against his cheek. He thinks it’s his mother waking him. He thinks it’s Sunday morning and he slept through her traditional breakfast spread. He delights in these delusions until he tries to move, and a blaze is set in every nerve-ending.

“Hngh! Ha-ah!” 

“Izuku! D-Don’t move, you’re hurt really bad, okay?” 

Opening his eyes is a herculean effort, as some sort of ‘super’ adhesive must’ve been used to stick his lids together. Yuki’s cherubic, grief-stricken face hovers over his own, and Izuku remembers everything they should have the luxury of forgetting. They’re surrounded by...rock, an enclosure. “Where—?” He tries to ask, but it’s an aborted croak. 

“I—I...dragged you in here.” 

He wheezes, an attempt at a laugh. His ribs howl. “You’re so strong.”

“No...” She sniffs. “Izuku, I’m scared.” 

“What? You? No way—” 

Talking hurts. Existing hurts. 

“I’m just a big baby,” She whimpers. “—just like they said.” 

“No, no. Yuki, you’re an esper, do you know how...cool that is? You saved my life!” 

She shakes her head, and the tail of her bedraggled braid tickles his brow. “I don’t know how, I’m not...good at it—”

“Don’t lie, that was the coolest thing I’ve ever seen.” He whispers, smiling. Christ, it hurts to smile. The burns on his throat, he remembers distantly. He goes to sit up, and there’s no biting his tongue. He sobs, loud and unrestrained. Yuki jumps at the noise. Fat tears streak the grime that cakes her face. 

“Izuku! You’re…you’re the strongest, coolest person in the whole world, so please…please be okay! I won’t go without you!” 

Izuku pants: “Don’t be silly, I was just…takin’ a nap, Yuki. I’m fine.” 

He isn’t fine. More than Katsuki’s rampage in Chiyoda, more than Toga Himiko’s incisor at his jugular, Izuku fears for his life. He’s lost too much blood. He’s been gouged, burned, and bludgeoned. He can barely keep his head up, let alone ward off another threat. He can’t carry himself anywhere, let alone Yuki on his back. If she wasn’t here with him, he might’ve been dead already, consumed by whatever else is hungry and nearby. At this point, he’s become a weight around her neck. He’ll drag her down with him. Tears singe his eyes, and he turns his face to keep it from her.

Who did he think he was? What did he think…he could do for her? He’s not an esper. Hell, he’s not even strong for a common person. He’s not Katsuki, yet he promised her safety and return. 

Midoriya Izuku, you are truly pathetic. 

Izuku glances down, frowning.

The ground is…vibrating. 

Rumbling. 

Jumping.

Splitting. 

“What’s happening?!” Yuki screams, clinging to his middle. 

Izuku wraps his arm around her, the non-mangled one. The trees are falling, snapping like dried kindling. Something massive is approaching the cliff, crushing a path through the dead woods like a person smothers grass underfoot: thoughtlessly, easily. It appears in the glade before long, and Izuku buries a whimper in his palm. 

The boss, it has to be.  

It’s a more streamlined, serpentine version of the pseudo-lampreys, as big as a two-story complex. While it has a more distinct, bulbous head, it’s all mouth. Rows of teeth, as big as Yuki, spinning ‘round its gums like an industrial crusher meant for swallowing oil drums. Its body is nothing but tail: slimy, sinewy, and black as tar. For a creature that large to slither, it’s both discombobulating and horrific. The ground thunders beneath them as it approaches, and the closer it gets, the more excited it becomes. 

It knows where they are. 

Its shrieks are deafening, and Izuku clamps his hands over Yuki’s ears. She’s sobbing against his chest, and he’s struggling not to do the same. Once it gets a lock on their location, there’s no more light from the mouth of the cavern, only a damp, leathery tunnel filled with thousands of teeth, whirring. 

It sounds like a premonition, the rip and tear of flesh. It reeks like a squalid pile of rotting beef. It’s eager breath gusts on them, sucking them forward and blowing them back. Yuki, in a last ditch effort to survive, attempts to push it back with a forcefield. Her energy shatters in its mouth like breakaway glass. Izuku hugs her tightly, because goddamnit, it’s all he can do! 

The creature soon realizes two things: they won’t come out, it can’t get in. It begins bashing itself against the cliffside, and it’s a force equal to a mighty quake. The narrow cavern loosens around them, rock falling like hail. Izuku tables himself over her. If it loses interest, she’ll at least be able to crawl away. Yuki looks up at him, and Izuku never wants to see such an expression on a child’s face again. While his back creaks under rocks the size of bowling balls, his heart twists to pieces in his chest. 

He cries, because he failed her. 

“Izuku—“ She sobs.

splat! 

The wet sound of…popping flesh, similar to when he crushed the little clingers earlier. But, much louder than that. The quaking has stopped. He lifts his head and squints through the blur of tears. “Rain…?”

It’s…raining. 

It’s raining blood. 

There’s no trace of the monster, only a scarlett downpour. 

“What happened?” Yuki whispers. 

Izuku can’t answer. If he tries to speak anymore, the little bit of strength he’s gathered in his core will seep out like air from a balloon. They’ll both be crushed. He can’t bring himself to fantasize about a rescue. Whatever happened to the monster, he’s bound to die in this hole. Yuki can still get out. He lifts his chin sharply, gesturing for her to go. 

She scowls at him. “I’m not leaving you! I won’t go without you!” 

The crevice resumes its unsettling tremble, and Izuku’s entire body seizes. He shoots a frantic glance at Yuki, and her head scrapes the ground in renewed panic. Fuck, fuck, fuck, is this it? This is how it ends for him? Crushed to death atop the sweetest, bravest child he’s ever had the privilege of knowing? 

Instead of crashing down and breaking bone, their anticipated tomb begins to disintegrate, dust swept off on an imaginary breeze, alabaster ashes. The weight against his back evaporates, and shocks of gray light flood their hole. The cavern crumbles into nothingness around them. Izuku slumps forward, boneless with relief. He hardly has the energy to care who, what, or why. Beneath him, Yuki cries sharply, squirming: “You came—!”

Izuku cranes his neck, and it must be…a shared daydream—

Katsuki’s here. He’s staring down at them through gilded lashes, his face the picture of quiet rage. His eyes burn, his energy whips, verging on a rampage, too. In a typical antihero charade, he’s wearing a suit of blood like a second skin, like he’d showered in it. He’s rampaging, so Izuku should…guide him. That’s something he can do, always at least that. I’m good for at least that. He pushes back onto his knees, extending his good arm, desperately reaching a helping hand. Izuku might be smiling. His eyes are blank. He thinks this is a dream, or death. His gesture begs:

Let me guide you, please.

Let me be useful.

Let me save someone, too.

Chapter Text

[D: Tonight, breaking news—yet another controversy from Japan’s number one Guild, Dynamight. Midoriya Izuku, the world’s one and only X-class guide, is in critical condition at an undisclosed, private facility. The details are still coming in, but what we know for sure is this: Midoriya and a child, six years of age, were stranded in a purple gate for at least three hours, possibly longer. 

K: This gate appeared in an area of urban forest behind Midoriya’s childhood complex in Musutafu, and we believe he was visiting his mother prior to this terrible incident. The gate, as well as the unauthorized entry by two civilians, was reported by three young boys who also live on the property. Their neighbor, the aforementioned six year old, had allegedly fallen into the gate. It’s presumed Midoriya was nearby when this occurred and went in after her. 

D: It seems to me that Midoriya Izuku likes to make a habit of these types of stunts. I understand the desire to save a child, but if he’d taken just a moment to consider his own value—

K: That’s a bit of a harsh criticism, don’t you think? It might not have been the logical call to make, but because he made it, that child is still with us today. She undoubtedly would not have survived, had he waited on the arrival of—

D: Bakugo Katsuki covered that distance, over two hours by car, in five minutes! One phone call, and the grievous injuries suffered by both Midoriya and that child could’ve been avoided! 

K: Isn’t it possible he didn’t have his phone with him? Was he supposed to make the, what, twenty minute walk back to get it? 

D: Oh, please, who doesn’t have their—!]

Katsuki crushes the power button beneath his thumb and flings the remote onto the bedside table. Yellow journalism is the bane of his existence, but a part of him is inclined to agree. He glances at the cot, at Izuku’s sleeping face. He looks much better now than he did, just like…that one kid who takes their mummy costume way too seriously. When he’d been hosed off of all the blood and grime, he hardly looked better for it. Just like one big bruise, apparently. 

He’s been induced into a coma to speed along his recovery. While Chiyo’s manifestation worked miracles, there was too much damage to fix him completely. Katsuki grits his teeth as he runs through that mental list: cracked ribs, dislocated shoulder, shattered radius, internal bleeding, concussion, acid burns, puncture wounds, and lacerated feet. Chiyo’s manifestation took care of everything but the concussion, ribs, and shoulder. Those will have to heal naturally, aided by his own physical fortitude and energy levels. Thus, they knocked him out and have been pumping him full of fuck-knows-what around the clock. 

Since manifesting, Katsuki has never feared for his life at the hands of outside forces. While he can acknowledge that death is an objectively sad thing, while he respects those who pass in the line of duty, he isn’t particularly bothered by it. Everyone dies, and in the business of closing gates, it’s unlikely they’ll all be privileged enough to drift off in hospice. If it’s someone he cares about, sure, he’d take it poorly. It’s not in his nature to take anything well. 

When Midoriya Inko told him that her son was stuck in a gate and had been for hours, he lost it, and that’s putting it mildly. Deku’s death is non-optional. When he dies, Katsuki will be right next to him. They’ll be old. Or, at least in their forties. Katsuki never put much thought into his own death, only the glancing acknowledgment that it’s as inevitable as anyone’s, but now he and Deku are a package deal. He doesn’t even mean it in the sense of I’ll rampage without Deku, so no shit. He means it more like, Deku’s not allowed to die without me. If Katsuki’s alive, Deku has to be alive too. Some might call this unhinged, but it makes perfect sense to Katsuki. 

He leans forward in the armchair, sliding his palm beneath Izuku’s limp one. More than a pulse, more than the steady lift of his chest, it’s that instinctive migration of energy between them that reassures Katsuki. He’s still alive. 

Call him a monster, a calloused son-of-a-bitch, but he couldn’t give half a fuck who fell in that gate. It could be a kid, an infant who crawled in chasing a butterfly, or Bakugo Mitsuki herself. If Izuku ever pulls something like that again, he’ll—

“Don’t you know a watched pot never boils?” 

Katsuki doesn’t react, nor reply. Aizawa shuffles around Izuku’s cot and drops into the chair on the opposite side. No one but Izuku has slept much since the Musutafu gate, more than forty-eight hours ago. 

“He’ll be awake this time tomorrow.” He tries again. 

Between them, tense is an understatement. Aizawa’s honestly just grateful to still be alive himself. Katsuki’s appearance at the gate site was like a warhead careening out of the sky and misfiring in the dirt. It could go off if you so much as breathe on it wrong. He struck the ground as lightning licks the earth, and a deep crater was punched beneath him. No one was disillusioned about who’d appeared in such a violent way, or why. Aizawa had no clue how he found out Midoriya was one of the two stuck in the gate, but it was clear he had. His presence burdened the air, and his energy had peaked to a point of leaking through those fractures in his skin. 

He said nothing to anyone present, and no one spoke to him. It was silently, mutually understood that he’d kill any who intervened with his entering the gate. Aizawa expected to be killed anyway for withholding that information from him. Katsuki did cut a look at him as he passed by, and it was unfiltered nightmare fuel. When he does get the chance to resume a normal pattern of sleep, he anticipates that malfeasance will rouse him in a puddle of frigid sweat. 

Katsuki was neither animal nor man. He was something else, but it couldn’t be reasoned with. He was inside the gate for ten minutes, and when he returned through its winking surface, he was bathed in blood and cradling two bodies. He gave up the girl easily, but it took an hour of reasoning for him to release Izuku fully to the medical team. The girl, Yuki, was also strangely persistent about keeping near Izuku. She was interviewed after receiving treatment from Chiyo, and as she was in much better shape, one peck from their SSS-class recovery-type had her right as rain. 

The tales she wove were consistent with Izuku’s injuries, and thus taken as nothing short of the truth. Secretly, Aizawa wonders if this isn’t some form of cosmic retribution for all the times Katsuki hailed his guide as a coward, because his actions inside that gate were nothing short of valiant. Stupid, but valiant. Katsuki doesn’t see it that way, however. Aizawa worries over his habit of cramming his foot in his mouth, afraid the esper will kick off another bloody feud with his guide as soon as the kid’s eyes creak open. 

“He was trying to guide me.”

Aizawa blinks, looking up. It’s unsettling to see Katsuki so blank, so unexpressive, as that’s how he’s been since Izuku was settled into this facility. Finally, there’s a little pinch between his brows. 

“Wha—?”

“When I got to them, that’s—” He snaps his eyes towards the far wall, jaw tight, as if he can’t bear to look at Izuku while the memory plays. “—as fucked up as he was, as much as he’d been through while I wasn’t there, that’s the first thing he did. He reached his hand out, because I was about to rampage. He was guiding me while he was fucking unconscious.” 

To his understanding, Katsuki’s most angry with Izuku for being too selfless. It’s a reasonable complaint. 

“That’s...the kind of person he is. He’s a good person. It’s not always a good thing , since kindness doesn’t always yield rewards.”

“Rewards? If I’d been ten, fifteen seconds later, he’d be dead.” Katsuki’s looking at him now, and Aizawa swallows. He knew it was coming, but—

“If you keep something like that from me again, I’ll kill you.” 

Aizawa doesn’t take it personally, he doesn’t. If he were anyone else, he’d already be dead. That doesn’t make it any less terrifying to hear, nor does it keep sweat from gathering in uncomfortable places. Katsuki well and truly means it, more a promise than a threat. He got off lightly, all things considered. Instead of arguing the rationality behind his decision with his bullheaded charge, he simply says:

“Noted, since I do like my head where it is.” 

That evening, propofol is removed from Izuku’s rotation of regular dosages. He’s expected to wake naturally somewhere in the next twenty-four. While unconscious and recovering, he’s only allowed four visitors: Katsuki, Inko, Aizawa, and Toshinori. Katsuki is the only one of those who pretends ‘visiting hours’ don’t apply to him, and no one’s brave enough to enforce protocol. Inko would sleep on the linoleum if they allowed it, but Katsuki assured her she’d be his first call once Izuku wakes. 

He comes to around three in the morning, and his first thought: the afterlife is an inpatient room? Except, Izuku doesn’t want to believe Katsuki’s would be the mug awaiting him after death. He’s reclined in the crease of a large armchair, and his long legs are propped at the corner of Izuku’s cot. His ankles are crossed, and his hands are laced atop his naval. Untamed, ashen spikes are flattened against the cushion from where his head is tipped back. 

So, he lived. Katsuki’s titillating rescue wasn’t a hallucination. 

Secondly, he feels...mostly normal. It’s a strange thing, as if all that excruciating pain was another figment of his imagination. His ribs still ache, so does his shoulder, but it’s comparing the sting of a mosquito’s bite to being burned at the stake. Lastly, he’s parched, like he’d been sucking on cotton puffs in his sleep. There’s a plastic cup on the bedside table, a bendy straw poking over the rim. It’s screaming: I’m water, Izuku, drink me! Sweet, sweet hydration! 

He can’t resist and starts to reach—

“Don’t fuckin’ try it.” 

Izuku jumps, and his arm snaps back against his chest. Katsuki’s looking down his nose at him, as he’s not yet lifted from his slump. His voice isn’t gritty with sleep. Has he been awake the entire time? Izuku wasn’t sure what to make of a sleeping Bakugo Katsuki at his bedside, let alone an awake one—looking at him, talking to him. Katsuki drops his legs from the cot and pushes up, pinching the cup from the table. He passes it into Izuku’s hands, and Izuku stares at it like it’s a foreign substance. 

“…thank you.” 

God, he sounds like an anti-tobacco advert. He clears his throat and pulls greedily from the thin straw. It’s half frozen with ice chips, nearly shocking him into another coma. Katsuki watches him, and while he looks like has half a million things to say, he’s unusually quiet. Izuku’s not sure how to act in front of him now, as previously he behaved in one of two ways. Sobbing through an ambrosial orgasm, or the ‘just a coworker I barely tolerate’ schtick. Neither of those options are available to him now. Besides, his last memory of Katsuki was…

He looked very, very unhappy. 

It seems Izuku has direct access to all his buttons, as his first question is not one Katsuki’s pleased to hear. Mild annoyance snaps to barely concealed rage, and Katsuki doesn’t withhold his scowl when Izuku asks: “How’s Yuki?” 

“She’s swell.” He grits, leaning forward. “‘bout a thousand times better off than you, Deku.” 

He says it like it’s a bad thing, and something about Katsuki makes it impossible for him to ignore a provocation. Even if he’s wrong, he wants to bite back: “I’m fine now, so what’s the problem?!” 

“You weren’t fine.” It’s a scathing hiss, and Izuku flinches. “You would’ve been crushed to death if I’d gotten there any later than I did.” 

“What was I supposed to do?! Let her die?! I didn’t have my phone, she would’ve—!”

“Yes.” 

The ensuing silence makes his skin prickle, his ears ring. He stares at Katsuki with wide, horrified eyes. Katsuki stares back, unmoved. 

“How…can you say that?”

“It’s not your goddamn responsibility to save everyone!” 

Oh, right. How dare he put his life at risk, when Katsuki’s much more valuable life directly hinges on his? How dare he act autonomously? His chest is caving in. 

“I’m more than just your guide.” He hisses back. “I do what I’m supposed to do, I take care of you, but if I can prevent someone’s death, I won’t just—nngh!” 

Whether deliberate or intentional, Katsuki’s energy swamps the room, and it feels as heavy as the surface of Jupiter. It’s like someone dumped ten weighted blankets on his shoulders, and they crush forward. Izuku chokes, clutching his chest. His lungs struggle to inflate. Katsuki’s standing now. He leans over the cot and white-knuckles the headboard. The flimsy plastic creaks under his grip. He must think better of suffocating his guide to death, because that pressure recedes. Their faces are so close, Izuku can feel the rhythmic warmth of his breath. 

In his periphery, Katsuki’s vermillion eyes are thin, bright, and penetrative. Izuku won’t meet them, instead staring at his own hands twisting the sheet to knots. In a low, gravelly tone that he’s never heard before, that zaps a tingling heat down his neck: 

“Understand me. I don’t give a single shit about anyone’s life if it means putting your life at risk. We’re in a position where my rampage might kill you anyway, but even that bullshit you pulled at the Nikko gate? I was in a separate dimension, no one would’ve died but me. Don’t pull that shit again. Don’t come after me if you don’t have to. You’re not allowed to fucking die before I do.” 

His words make an immediate mess out of Izuku’s head. What is he saying? Why is he saying it? What does that mean—? 

“Izuku.” 

Look at me. 

Izuku snaps his face up, Katsuki’s tone full of a command he can’t refuse. 

His expression is severe, though no longer angry. This close, they could count each other’s eyelashes. His breath is short for an altogether different reason now, and Izuku laments the days his libido was a dormant afterthought. His body is singing for Katsuki, just from his proximity. Is it because their interactions before this almost exclusively revolved around sex? Is their compatibility for guidance affecting him physically? Is Katsuki secreting pheromones or something? 

His lower belly is hot and tight. He squeezes his thighs together, as his reaction is perilously close to becoming a visible one. He’s anticipating a kiss, and his mouth is already dropping around soft, eager puffs. Izuku thinks Katsuki’s average temperature would be considered a low-grade fever for anyone else. He’s always hot to the touch, and his tongue makes it feel like the inside of his mouth is melting. 

Izuku wants that—

Satisfied that he got his point across, whatever it was, Katsuki pulls away and drops back into his chair. Izuku stares, because...what? 

Then, his phone is suddenly dropped into his lap. 

“Call your mom.” 

“Wha—? Why? It’s...not even four in the morning.” 

“I told her I’d have you call as soon as you woke up, day or night. She made me swear.” He huffs. 

Unbeknownst to Izuku, Katsuki is on weirdly good terms with Inko. Saving her son’s life had a lot to do with it, but she seemed to enjoy his brand of crassness even after the situation had calmed from a critical place. Normally, when Katsuki makes an off-color or questionable comment, he’s met with some form of disapproval. Inko just titters and says: “Oh, you.”

He doesn’t argue it further, knowing Inko won’t be bothered by the ungodly hour if it’s for something like this. He slumps down in the bed and seals the receiver against his ear. The dial tone is ominous. It’s sure to be a strenuous conversation, and it’s uncomfortable to be having it when he was waxing poetic over Katsuki tongue-fucking his mouth less than a minute ago. 

Crackling into his ear: “Baby, is that you?”

God, she already sounds weepy.

“Yeah, mom, I’m awake.” 

“Oh...my God, thank God.” She whimpers. “Izuku, how are you feeling? You looked so much better after the treatment, but...” 

She’s crying. 

Izuku swallows around the lump of guilt stuck in his throat. “I’m...really fine, Mom. Just a little sore, that’s it.” 

“Baby, I’m...I wanted to tell you how—how proud I am to be your mother. You did something so unbelievably stupid, and you could’ve died, but...you’re so brave, Izuku. What you did for Yuki-chan in that terrible place, I couldn’t believe it. Never, ever do it again, but—good job, baby. I love you so damn much, I can’t even express it.” 

He expected a blubbering lecture, not praise. Inko’s proud of him, she...

The tip of his nose burns, his eyes sting. He whispers, “thanks, Mom. I love you too. I’m...sorry for scaring you.” 

“If you’re really sorry, don’t do it again.” She huffs a watery laugh. “I’ll be there first thing in the morning. Yuki-chan wanted to come, too, is that alright?” 

“Oh, yeah, definitely!” 

“Wonderful, okay. Is Katsuki still there with you?”

...’Katsuki’? 

Since when did she start calling him that? Izuku glances at him from the corner of his eye. He’d returned his ankles to their crossed position at the corner of the cot, arms strapped across his broad chest, watching Izuku lazily. 

“Uh, yeah...?”

“Let me speak with him, please.” 

“Why?!” 

“It wasn’t a request, son. I need to talk to him, it’ll only take a second.” 

Izuku pulls the phone back and appraises the screen. This is his mother, right? Slowly, he extends it to Katsuki. “She wants to talk to you...?” 

Katsuki takes it, and he doesn’t seem curious or surprised. He tucks it between his jaw and shoulder, maintaining his slouched position in the armchair. “What’s up?”

Izuku’s brows jump into the roots of his hair. His mouth is hanging, but he can’t bring himself to close it. He can make out Inko's voice, but he can’t decipher what she’s saying.

“Tch, I got it, Christ.” 

She laughs. 

Dear God, where is he? What’s happening? Did he actually die and reincarnate in the body of an alternate version of himself? How long was he asleep? 

“Yeah, probably in the next day or two.” 

Their back and forth lasts for almost two minutes, and Izuku openly stares the entire time, dumbfounded. When he finally hangs up the call, he snorts at Izuku’s floored expression. 

“Since when are you so chummy with my mom?” 

“We’re actually engaged, so feel free to call me daddy.” 

It took fifteen minutes for Izuku’s ears to stop blistering. With the rising sun, visiting hours reinstated, he receives callers by the pack. Prior to that, with Katsuki refusing to abandon his bedside vigil, they have a more lighthearted, in-depth conversation about Izuku’s time in the gate, the circumstance leading up to it, and Katsuki’s violent means of ending it. Izuku thinks it might be the longest they’ve ever talked at one time, and the most genuine exchange in a while. He’s now realizing just how far he went to avoid Katsuki during their working hours. 

Inko and Yuki, predictably, are the first pair to arrive.

“Katsuki! Izuku!” She charges up to the cot with clear intentions to launch. Katsuki hooks into the back of her shirt. 

“No jumping, brat, his ribs are still fucked.”

“Ka— language!” Izuku admonishes him.  

Yuki sticks her tongue out at the esper, and Katsuki returns it by flipping her off. Izuku is completely baffled by this reciprocity. In a further mindfuck, Inko comes bearing a tote brimming with edible goods and baubles. She hands off a steaming cup of takeout coffee to Katsuki, and does she know his coffee order? 

Izuku decides to ignore the Twilight Zone-esque changes that have happened in the two days he’s been asleep. It feels like a huge conspiracy he’s not privy to, and he doesn’t have the energy to spare. Katsuki’s apparently much more likable than he gave him credit for. He scoots over in the bed, patting the empty space on his left. “Up here, Yuki, you can hug me on this side.” 

Yuki squeals, doing so with all the grace of a child barely free from toddlerhood. She does, however, take care to nestle gently against his side. She wraps her short arms around his torso, but doesn’t squeeze. She looks completely fine, and Izuku’s so relieved, he almost cries. Her legs, riddled with gouges last he saw them, are unmarred save a few commonplace bruises all children seem to have. Thank God for recovery-type espers. Izuku returns her embrace, resting his cheek on the crown of her fluffy, golden head. He breathes with visceral relief:

“I’m so glad you’re okay.”

“Me too.” She sniffs. “I’m really, really happy.” 

Katsuki promptly excuses himself, though he says nothing about where he’s going or why. Izuku doesn’t see him for the rest of the day, and he’s so caught up in entertaining visitors, it’s the last thing on his mind. Inko and Yuki stay for two hours, and that time is spent chattering, creating knock-off Picassos [crayola on printer paper], and grazing his way to an uncomfortable bloat. It’s like therapy. Once they leave, his coworkers come in pairs or the occasional trio. Aizawa and Keigo, Kirshima and Kaminari, Ochaco, Mina, and Iida. Toshinori even makes a boisterous appearance. Izuku thinks Aizawa put him up to delivering the requisite lecture, as it came out halting and not remotely stern:

“Young Midoriya, you’re by far the bravest and most virtuous individual I’ve ever had the privilege of employing! You’re also suspended-from-field-duty-for-a-month, but enough about that—!”

He also engages plenty with the facility’s nurses and physicians as they take images, run tests, and gauge his mobility. It’s a private, secluded facility heavily funded by Dynamight, and though the owners technically have no affiliation with the Guild beyond pocketing Toshinori’s money, they handle most of their more sensitive medical needs as a form of symbiosis. Confidentiality is a religion to these people. All in all, it’s a good day. Exhausting, but...good. He’s grateful to be due for discharge in the morning. 

He didn’t expect to see Katsuki again so soon, and he isn’t sure which he was hoping for—to see him, or not. He’s still a bit miffed about getting hot and bothered all by himself. But, shortly after the lights are dimmed in his room, Katsuki comes through the door. He’d showered, changed, but the rest of how he spent his time away is a mystery. Izuku shuffles into an upright position, tilting his head.  

“You’re back?”

“No shit, Deku.” 

“Ugh, I meant—why? Can’t you read between the lines?” 

Katsuki huffs something Izuku thinks might be a laugh, before throwing himself down in the same chair. “I can’t leave my guide unattended. For all I know, a gate could appear in here, and you might feel like killin’ a few monsters.”  

“You’re such a bastard...” He grumbles, but the only thing he can really focus on is: my guide. Izuku berates himself for reacting so strongly to a simple pair of thoughtless words, but the fluttering in his chest isn’t quelled. It’s just because Katsuki’s so damn good looking, that’s the problem. Even sprawled in the armchair like an ill-mannered hooligan, he makes it look like a photoshoot. Ripped with stupid muscles, a strip of hard stomach where his T-shirt wrinkled upwards, a jawline sharp enough to give him a papercut—

He smells good, too. God, is that shower gel? Shampoo? It should be criminalized. 

Izuku’s half a second from slapping himself in the face. Instead, he asks: “You’re not sleeping here, right?” 

“You think I came back at nine for a fuckin’ powwow?” 

“You—! You really don’t have to stay here. I’m fine.” 

“Great, I’m glad you’re fine.”

“So, go home.”

“Nope.” 

Izuku groans, flopping back against the paper-thin pillow. “I won’t be able to sleep with you here!” 

“Why not? Should I read you a story? I can sing Twinkle Twinkle Little—”

“Shut up, please.” 

Katsuki grins at him, white teeth and perpetual implication. “Just roll your ass over, close your eyes, and count some fuckin’ sheep.” 

How is he supposed to do that with Katsuki oozing his...sex pheromones everywhere?! Izuku scowls, but shimmies beneath the comforter and flips onto his side, giving Katsuki his back. He stares at the wall, and his pulse is a hammer in his throat. His blood feels too hot. He’s very aware of the esper’s presence in the room, and even more aware of the stirring in his shorts. It’s literally torture. He’d rather fight another big lizard than squirm through a bout of sexual frustration, the cause of it less than two feet away. It’s too quiet, and Katsuki’s existence is too loud. 

After five minutes, he says: “Tell me what you did today.”

“Why?” 

“It’ll help me fall asleep.” He mumbles. 

“...yeah?”

“Mm, but don’t leave anything out. Even if you did something cool, make it sound really, really boring.” 

Katsuki laughs, and fuck, that laugh is a sin.  

Katsuki begins his impromptu monologue, and he’s speaking in a deliberately low tone, dragging his syllables: “Well, I didn’t want to have to bear witness to all your pitiful, weepy reunions. It was eight o’ something in the morning when I stood up, walked ten paces to the door, opened the door, and walked into the hall. I took a left—”

Izuku smiles to himself. He’s such a smartass, but it’s working. That deep, gritty voice carries, and Katsuki takes care not to change his pitch or enunciate any one word. It’s a giant, smooth run-on sentence that sets Izuku’s tension to unwinding, lids to drooping.  His last string of conscious thought is of how he’ll get to go home tomorrow. He and Katsuki are both suspended from field work, so they probably won’t see each other but once a week for guidance. 

He’s...strangely disappointed, but also relieved. Something is very, very different between them now, and he’s not sure what it is. It’s bothersome and embarrassing to be constantly worked up, unable to do anything about it. Without Katsuki around, he can clear his head a bit. 

Once Izuku’s dead to the world, Katsuki stops talking. 

He lifts from the chair and bends over the bed, bracing one hand on the mattress in front of Izuku’s stomach, the other curled into the headboard. He spends at least a full minute studying Izuku’s profile, burning it into his memory. The way dark lashes graze freckled cheeks, eyes rolling beneath their lids. He flushes when he sleeps. The sweet color tints his face and travels down his throat. Katsuki knows very well how red Izuku can get. He drops his head, dusting his lips against the soft patch behind his ear. He stays like that for longer than he bothers to track.

Katsuki is no longer confused or angry in regards to Izuku. 

This is what he wants.  

In the following week, Izuku’s hopes are trashed.

Instead of in his ass, Bakugo Katsuki is up his ass.

They’re very, very different. 

He was discharged from the facility with an almost clean bill of health. He was advised to keep any physical activity to a minimum for at least four weeks, for his ribs to completely heal. Katsuki took that as him needing a ‘round the clock babysitter, and no one else is better suited to the job than him, apparently. Izuku would find it funny, as he would never peg Katsuki as a caregiver. He’d probably kill a goldfish in twelve hours or less. But, it’s not funny. 

It’s stressful. 

His cartoonish fantasies of what their cohabitation would be like was incorrect. It’s...normal, easy. Katsuki is actually very easy to spend time with, at least for Izuku. He isn’t the messy, inconsiderate guest Izuku imagined he’d be. In fact, he cleans up after both of them, messes Izuku didn’t even realize he’d made. They don’t go out much, but when they do, it’s pleasant. Date-like, Izuku’s aghast to realize. He’s also an excellent cook, what the hell is that about? Why does Katsuki, who lives in a dorm, know how to cook? 

It’s just...overwhelming and very frustrating. He’s taking his babysitter role way too seriously, as he won’t let Izuku do anything remotely taxing. He can’t carry his own grocery tote. He’s not allowed to cook, clean, or walk long distances. In aiding him, he’s always touching or close enough to touch. Obviously, sex is a taxing thing. He’s expected to endure all this...proximity and contact, with no sex? 

Somewhere down the line, Katsuki rewired him, because he didn’t used to be like this. He used to be...normal! He used to be perfectly content with a non-existent sex life. To prevent anything, Katsuki takes the couch. Izuku should be grateful for the mental break, but he’s not. Just knowing he’s in his home is agonizing. He’s just...out there, with a perfectly functioning cock, and Izuku’s in here, thinking about it. His ribs barely hurt anymore! Stewing in frustration as he is, Izuku convinces himself that just getting off together one time should be enough. 

Katsuki might be confusing the shit out of him lately, but he’s certain their physical attraction is mutual. It’s midnight now. Izuku departed for bed around ten. He’s been laying here, losing his mind, for two miserable hours. He tried doing it himself, but nothing is working. His fingers aren’t long enough, thick enough. 

His libido isn’t the only issue plaguing his sleep. Since coming home from the facility and being made to sleep in his own room, alone, he’s suffered vivid nightmares. Despite his complaints, maybe Katsuki’s presence at his bedside had put him more at ease than he realized. Now, it seems like whenever he closes his eyes at night, he’s made to relive the events of the gate. His mind goes out of its way to exaggerate his trauma, conjuring monsters he’s never seen before. He’s dreamt of Yuki’s death, his own death, and the devastating outcome of Katsuki’s rampage. 

He’s horny, lonely, and scared. 

Finally at the end of his rope, Izuku climbs out of bed. In their recent domestic facade, he learned that Katsuki’s an insanely light sleeper, so he takes care to avoid those steps that creak and groan. He tiptoes into the living room, and Katsuki, for all intents and purposes, is asleep on the couch. Izuku gets all the way to the armrest before pausing, hesitant. Because he runs hot, Katsuki sleeps with little on, just a pair of shorts [with a scandalous inseam]. One leg is slumped off the edge of the couch, the other bent against the backrest. His left forearm is slung across his eyes, and his right hand is spread above his groin. 

Izuku swallows, wringing the hem of his shirt in his hands. He’s so...stupidly hot, it’s unfair. Massive, well-proportioned, no one muscle having received any more or less attention than another. His eyes zoom in on that one vein, the one that snakes past his naval and into the band of his shorts. Then, he ogles that obvious outline in the fabric. Even soft, he’s hung. So, so unfair. 

He’s undecided on if he should wake him or not. He could just bail, like a coward. If he goes through with it, how should he do it? Call his name? Blowjob? Cannonball over the side of the couch? The possibilities are endless. 

“Take a fuckin’ picture, Deku.”

Izuku yelps, flinching hard enough to pinch a nerve. 

“You...you’re awake?”

“I am now. What’s up? Did’ja wet the bed?” He snarks, but there’s no malice in it. 

Izuku scowls at him anyway. He should’ve gone with the cannonball while he had the chance. “No, jerk. I—”

Shit, he’s getting cold feet. Is he really, really about to ask Katsuki for sex? Can he ever live something like that down? 

“Spit it out, dork. You’re cuttin’ into my beauty sleep—”

“I wanna have sex.”

Katsuki stills, and Izuku doesn’t miss the way his eyes blackout. They always do when he’s turned on, like a shark smelling blood. So far, so good—

“No.” 

“Wha—? Why not?!”

“You’re seriously asking me that? Did that concussion make you stupid?”

Izuku glowers for all he’s worth. “Fuck you! What the hell is that supposed to mean?!”

Katsuki heaves into a sitting position, swinging both legs over the side of the couch. “Deku, if I fuck you, your ribs will snap like twigs. I won’t touch you until they’re healed—”

“We...we don’t have to do—all of that...”

Katsuki’s staring at him hard. His jaw is tight, and his fingers spasm against the fabric of the couch. Come on, come on, come on, just say yes. 

“Even if we didn’t, I—” He pinches his eyes shut and exhales forcefully, massaging circles into his temples. “I don’t know how easy I can be with you, right now.” 

Okay, now’s the time to be bold. Katsuki’s pent up too, he’ll definitely cave. Izuku pads around the couch, and Katsuki eyeballs him warily. He stops in front of where he sits, looking down with eyes as desperate as he can make them. Katsuki looks up, frowning. “Deku, I’m fucking serious—”

“Just a little bit? Please...? I—I need you, please—”

“You unbelievable asshole.” He snarls, clamping a big hand around his wrist. Izuku’s stomach erupts with fireworks. He tugs on his arm, and Izuku drops into his lap, folding his knees on either side of Katsuki’s hips. He bends his arms around his neck, pressing against him like a fucking cat in heat. It already feels so good, and they haven’t even started. He really did need this. 

“I won’t fuck you, Deku. Got it?”

“Yes, yes, I got it, just—do something, please!”

Blood is pounding through his face and his heart rams splinters out of his already-in-bad-shape ribs. He’s anticipating this kiss in the same way he’d anticipate an orgasm, his entire body thrumming with excitement. His toes are practically curling over it, a simple kiss. Katsuki leans up and sucks his bottom lip between his teeth, and Izuku can’t even begin to describe the sound that escapes him. It’s nothing dignified, but Katsuki groans like it’s the hottest thing he’s ever heard in his life. 

Then, his tongue is a sear in Izuku’s mouth, tasting everything he’s missed in their celibate period. It’s breathless, wet, and desperate. His hands are everywhere, so Izuku’s not sure at what point he decides to refocus all of that attention on his ass. He’s squeezing hard, almost to a point of pain, before digging against him through the seam of his shorts. Izuku spasms into his chest, breaking the kiss to hitch a gasp. 

“Wait, wait, nngh—!”

“Fuck, feels wet. Did you...play with yourself, Deku?” 

“Hah, God, yes, shut u-up! Hngh!” 

“Jesus Christ—” He swears hotly. 

He wastes no time in slipping beneath Izuku’s shorts, sinking his middle and ring finger into him. The butt of Katsuki’s hot palm is flush against the swell of his ass, and he can’t stop himself from sitting back into it. His arm is a tight band around Izuku’s waist, and he brings the hem of his T-shirt to his mouth. 

“Bite it.” 

Izuku takes the material between his teeth, and Katsuki sets to work replacing imprints of his own in the places they’ve healed. His fingers curl just right, and Izuku swears he’s got a blueprint of his body. He chokes a noise into the cotton stuffing his mouth, a twitching mess. 

“Hah, that’s it, fuck, fuck, I missed this so much, Deku—”

He’s about to make Izuku cum in his shorts, like he’s fifteen with his first boner. With how thin the material of his own pants are, Katsuki’s cock is a hot, hard imprint between his thighs. 

“K-Katsuki, don’t! I don’t...wanna cum yet, wait!” 

“‘s okay, lemme take care of you.” He murmurs against his throat, raking sharp teeth up and down his jugular. Izuku can tell it’s killing him not to bite down, leave a mark there too. His voice, in moments like this, shoots a physical thrill up Izuku’s spine, into his scalp. He has him pinned tightly to his chest, bumping his hips up to grind into the warmth between his legs, and working his wrist in something like a fast, hard circular motion that puts constant pressure on that buzzing knot of nerves. 

Izuku’s losing his mind, and it’s barely been fifteen minutes since they started. It could’ve been hours, but the little clock on the end table laughs at him: 12:37PM. Moments later, it’s official, Katsuki’s actually trying to kill him. He fishes their cocks out of the front of their pants, gripping them together in the broad expanse of his hand. He really is bigger in every capacity, and God, why is that so hot? 

“Deku, your hands, grab ‘em—” 

He does, having to use both of his. The dual sensation of slipping through the channel of his palms, their rigid flesh rubbing together, is way, way too much in combination with his fingers [three now, Christ] working him open. Izuku can feel the bass of his pulse in at least ten places. As intense as it is, as good as it feels, he wants more. He doesn't feel full enough, he needs more of him. He wants that gouging pressure in his stomach.

“Katsuki, please, it’s...it’s enough—! Nngh, fuck me, please!” 

“You know that’s not gonna happen.” He mutters, flashing him a hard look. Izuku hates him for it, just a little. The pressure is mounting though, because he’s goddamn good at what he is doing. Izuku can barely keep half a mind on his hands wrapping their dicks, but if he’s going down, so is Katsuki. Izuku drops his head and spits on their conjoined erections, then tightens his grip and sets the sliding, twisting motion of a professional. Katsuki hisses through his teeth. 

“Holy shit, fuck—nngh! That’s...fuck, that’s so hot, you’re—”

When Izuku cums, more than seeing stars, he can taste them. He screams through his teeth, dropping his hips back into Katsuki’s hand with uncontrollable, jerky movements. He’s probably cut the circulation off to his fingers, but it’s an occupational hazard. Izuku strangles the life out of their cocks, but he can barely feel it. His body’s like static. Katsuki’s head thunks back against the cushion, his body tightening up and hips lifting of their own accord. Their combined orgasm hits hard enough to spray them to the jawline, no man goes unscathed. 

Being filthy isn’t enough to drive them apart. Izuku sags forward, burying his face in the base of Katsuki’s throat. He makes little balls of his hands and tucks them between their sternums. Katsuki brings his arms around, gripping him by the waist and nape. They feel like a safety net. Neither of them make the move to get up or break away, not for a long time. They’re unmoving and content. Eventually, Izuku mumbles: 

“Will you sleep in the bed with me?”

Katsuki scoffs lightly. “Why, so you can grind your ass against my dick all night?”

 Izuku shakes his head. “...bad dreams.”

He clicks his tongue, and Izuku knows that gesture was directed at himself. Insensitivity is built into his genetic code, after all. In an uncharacteristic move, Katsuki flushes a soft kiss to the top of his head. 

“Let’s go to bed.”

Chapter Text

Depending on the circle they spread in, rumors can be debilitating, sort of embarrassing, or easy to overlook. The type of rumor is also relevant, obviously. ‘So’n’so wears socks in the shower’ isn’t quite as damning as ‘So’n’so can only get off if he’s wearing a soiled nappy.’ Whether it’s true or not isn’t of consequence. People believe whatever they want based on their personal biases, no matter if they're a friend or stranger. The more scandalous and exciting the rumor, the more liable it is to catch. Gossip is an excellent placeholder when coworkers need to fill an awkward silence in the breakroom or news outlets need to pad their time slot. 

Izuku is brutally reminded of his and Katsuki’s place in the limelight. 

They’re three weeks into their one month suspension, though they’d be out of commission anyway with Izuku’s recovery. If Izuku can’t work, Katsuki can’t either. He thought the esper would be livid at the mandatory sabbatical, but that’s not the case. He’s more relaxed and even-tempered than Izuku’s ever seen from him, and he’s all but moved in. They do split for separate activities more often now, as Katsuki slackened his grip on the metaphorical leash after Izuku’s latest check-up, but he still returns to the apartment faithfully. 

Naturally, they’re together, a lot. 

Naturally, people notice. 

Everyone, actually. 

Everyone in the Guild, in the city, in the country, in the fucking world. 

‘Top 10 Power Couples of the Year’

‘Imprint Announcements and Predictions for 2024’

‘Bakugo and Midoriya, Will They/Won’t They Imprint?’ 

‘Bakugo Katsuki Seen Coming and Going’

Memes, articles, fanpages, overstepping commentary on YouTube, risqué edits on TikTok. It’s everywhere. They’re...trending. This, Izuku might’ve been able to ignore, but it’s grown roots amongst his innermost circles. 

He’s actually losing his mind. Is he missing something? Did the entire planet come together and decide ‘world peace is so last decade, let’s all mindfuck Midoriya Izuku instead’? Katsuki’s just...helping him, while he’s healing. He’s overprotective right now because he nearly lost the only guide he’s compatible with. Sure, they have sex, but they're not dating. Why is imprinting suddenly all anyone can talk about? That word hasn’t cropped up between them, not once. To make matters worse, Katsuki’s reaction to their private lives being plastered all over the Internet, shared between their friends and coworkers like the trifecta of STDs in a community for retirees—

Nothing. He’s not reacting. He hasn’t acknowledged it at all! 

Izuku was channel surfing just last night, and NHK had run yet another speculative segment about their recent domesticity. He let it play for a full two minutes to gauge Katsuki’s response, but he didn’t even look away from his phone, apparently riveted by a game of Mario Kart Tour. But, there’s no way he hasn’t noticed it. Katsuki can be dense, but he’s not blind and deaf. 

When anyone asks him directly, either friend or lionhearted journalist, his response is always the same: “It’s none of your fucking business.” 

Is it...such a ridiculous, inconceivable idea to him, he doesn’t feel the need to acknowledge it? Dating, imprinting. They’ve never talked about anything like that, and despite the recent changes between them, in Katsuki himself, he doesn’t seem any more inclined to bring it up. Previously, their relationship was...coworkers who fuck. Now, he’d describe it as a bonafide FWB. They’re friends, and they fuck. Well, there’s the living together thing. 

Eat together.

Watch TV together. 

Groom together.

Spoon. In bed. Together. 

Izuku tells himself this will all stop as soon as he’s officially recovered and back to work. Katsuki won’t have any reason to stay here after that. But, if Izuku’s honest, he barely has a reason now. It’s not like he’s recovering from a cesarean section or chemotherapy. He can do just about everything for himself. Katsuki could go back to the dorms now if he wanted to, but he hasn’t. For some reason, Izuku can’t bring himself to suggest it. He’s taking a passive role and he knows it, but he blames it on the ramshackled state of his head.

He’s...enjoying their time together, and while he believes it will end eventually, he doesn’t want to be the one to end it prematurely. It’s nice, not being alone. Mundane tasks aren’t so mundane with Katsuki around, and everything feels like it’s been dusted with a bit of excitement, powdered sugar to beautify an overdone shortcrust. 

“Deku—!” Speaking of the devil, he bellows from the bedroom, “—Christ, you’re not a goddamn crocodile!” 

Izuku snorts, spitting the foamy coagulation of spit and toothpaste in the sink’s bottom, rinsing it down the drain. “Coming, geez!” 

Like a porcelain teacup in a rage room, their peaceful period inevitably shatters apart. 

Their return to the Guild is just as publicized as everything else they do [Izuku actually saw a Twitter thread thrashing him for using coupon clippings, like he’s not allowed to be frugal]. His friends and coworkers celebrate the end of his suspension like he just went into remission, and his cubicle is cluttered with trinkets and treats. Many of them are from espers. 

To Izuku, it’s business as usual, but everyone else seems to find his version of that odd. Sitting across from Aizawa in the man’s upper floor office, he’s about to sign off on a thin stack of paperwork, the Guild releasing him back to his duties. This interaction is the first of many to unsettle him. 

“...and did you want to change your status?” Aizawa asks absently, flipping his stylus across his knuckles. 

Izuku frowns. “My status?” 

“Your current status is open-ended.” Aizawa says, like it shouldn’t be. 

“Uh, yeah, that’s...fine. You can keep it like that.”

“You’re...still going to take requests?” 

“...why wouldn’t I?” 

Aizawa clears his throat. “Right, right. We’ll leave it as is, then.” 

When Izuku departs from his office, Aizawa leans back in his shabby desk chair. The old thing squeals into a recline, counting the days until it collapses beneath the weight of its owner. He blinks at the ceiling. Without needing to lower his eyes, he rummages in the left-side drawer for an orange, white-capped bottle rattling with Imitrex. He pops one and swallows it dry. Behind the migraine beginning to roll through his head like a black cloud fat with storm, there’s one question: why?

Why are two of the world’s most powerful, capable manifesters so stupid? 

Why is he the one who has to suffer the all-too-frequent outcomes of that stupidity? 

Aizawa knows Bakugo Katsuki very well, and while he’s only known Midoriya a fraction of the time, the kid’s an open book. Bakugo’s been different since the Musutafu gate. He sorted some things out for himself, and with clarity comes a sense of calm. While showing up at the Guild to use the fitness facilities, as well as participate in training, it’s obvious. He’s mellowed out by miles. With him all but moved into Midoriya’s apartment this past month, Aizawa assumed they worked everything out. Hell, he halfway expected them to show up already imprinted, or...wearing promise rings or some shit. Midoriya seems like he’d been into that.  

Bakugo’s never been happy with Midoriya’s open-ended status, but it wasn’t something he could prevent. Their rapport wasn’t one that granted any leeway. If they’re dating, it’d be different, but that interaction just now tells him one thing: Midoriya’s in the dark. His relationship with Bakugo might be more amicable, but as far as he’s concerned, that’s it. 

Meanwhile, Bakugo’s staking territory, a dog pissing all over the most coveted tree in the park. Yes, yes, he’s a man of action, but some things need to be said out loud. Everyone else in existence might be able to piece it together, but apparently Midoriya’s not great with hints. 

Long story short, Bakugo’s going to bust a vessel when he finds out Midoriya’s still taking requests from other espers. 

Should he…say something?

Midoriya’s life isn’t at risk, so—

“Nah.” He sighs. “He’ll figure it out.”

For Izuku, the uncomfortable reactions continued. 

He has a few guide requests pinging on his tablet just before lunch, and this didn’t go unnoticed by the guides on his team. Shion, a B-class guide in the next cubicle over, snagged his attention as he was pushing back from the desk. She’s the sort of woman who’s classically pretty and knows it, but not to a point of expecting privileges she hasn’t earned. Pale and flawless. Pronounced, clear eyes. Black stripes of long, face-framing hair that abides by a ruler’s rigid edge. She has a lot of respect for herself, more than she possesses for anyone else. 

They get along just fine, however. Izuku could befriend a hornet. 

“Midoriya-san, you’re going to the guide rooms?” 

Izuku thinks she’s needing something in that direction, so he nods. “I’ve got a few requests, it won’t take long.” 

Her manicured brows slide upwards, and Izuku would never say it aloud, but he’s surprised her forehead has the ability to wrinkle. “So, you’re still taking requests then?” 

“Yes, why...wouldn’t I be?” 

“Forgive me for assuming, I just expected you’d change your status to exclusive when you and Bakugo-san resumed work.” 

With Shion, at least she’s direct. 

Izuku shakes his head. “No, no, he was just helping me this month while I recovered. I have no reason not to take requests. It would burden our team, as well as the other teams who are short-staffed.” 

She nods while he speaks. “I see. Well, do be careful. I might be overstepping again, but I’d advise you to put those gifts somewhere out of sight.” 

Izuku glances at his desk, the little bowtied packages and bags stuffed with tissue paper cluttered behind his desktop. He assumes she finds it unprofessional, so he flushes faintly with shame. “Right, right, I’ll...do that. Thank you.” He offers an aborted bow, then carries on his way. 

In the guide room, he receives a similar reception from his first requester, Shinso. In Izuku’s mind, if the profiles of everyone he’s ever known were printed in a book, Shinso and Aizawa would have parallel pages. They’re almost the same person, just in different fonts. Soft-spoken, calculative, chronically fatigued, inconvenienced by...everything. They even sigh the same. Izuku gets along with him just as well. 

“Midoriya, long time no see.” 

“It’s good to be back, I was going stir crazy.”

Shinso smiles, replying with a dubious, “is that right?” 

Izuku drops into the opposite couch. “I don’t appreciate your tone.” 

“Hey, woah, I have access to the Internet just like everyone else. You and Bakugo looked real cozy, that picket-fence lifestyle. I’m serious, I saw a picture of you arguing over which discounted cutlets to buy in the middle of a freezer section.” 

Izuku huffs. “It’s a hill I didn’t realize he’d be willing to die on. Besides, you know that stuff is all blown out of proportion. He was just helping out! My…ribs!” 

“Bakugo Katsuki, playing nursemaid. That’s all it was, huh?”

“That’s—“ Izuku stutters. “…yes, that’s all it was. Do you want me to guide you or not?”

Shinso grins a tiny, amused thing. “Oh, yeah, that’d be great. I’ll take it while I can get it, y’know?”

Izuku scowls, sticking his hand out. “No, I don’t.” 

He should’ve known better than to spend his lunch hour with Ochaco and Mina. Instead of nabbing a quick bite from the Guild’s cafeteria, which actually isn’t the disappointment one associates with a workplace amenity, they make the short trip to a coffeehouse two blocks down. It’s a shoebox much beloved by the neighborhood, and its exterior is overgrown with creeping ivy, the big, spongy leaves of chameleon plants, and beds of white clover. Inside is snug and eclectic: mismatched furniture, amateur prints scattering the walls, and handheld eats on display in plastiglass casing. 

As soon as they’re tucked away at a corner table, he’s devoured. Who better to go to for gossip than the source?

“So—?!” Mina leans in, sucking up eager mouthfuls of cold brew through her straw. “We barely heard from you while you were gone!” 

Ochaco titters behind her hand. “Maybe he was too busy...” 

Izuku can take his fair share of innocuous ribbing, but this is something he feels should be gently nipped in the bud as soon as possible. Before he goes insane. Mina, specifically, will beat a horse past death—to pulp in the pasture. “Listen,” He sighs. “—it’s...really not like that.” 

They pass a befuddled look between each other. 

“It’s not?” Ochaco frowns. “But, he’s been with you all month, right?” 

“I mean, yes, but we’re not in that sort of relationship. We...” His face burns. “...get intimate, sometimes, but it’s just physical. He was helping out while I was recovering, that’s it.”

Mina leans back, crosses her legs at the knee, and folds her arms beneath her breasts. “Izuku, I’m not saying you’re lying, but are you sure that’s all it is? I mean, have you guys talked about it?” 

“Look, you...you weren’t there, at the gate site.” Ochaco starts, though she looks uncomfortable recalling it. “Bakugo was...I’m not sure how to describe it, but I’ve never seen anything like it. It was...terrifying, if I’m being honest. I really don’t think he would have reacted like that if you were someone he didn’t at least care about.”

Izuku’s a little dazed at the thought, but he can’t help but want to rationalize it away. “I’m the only person who’s ever been able to guide him, our rating aside. I’m sure that had a lot to do with it.” 

They both shoot him a look, one that says: oh, you sweet, little idiot. 

As often as it’s happened, Izuku’s beginning to second guess himself. How can everyone be so certain of things they aren’t privy to? He’s spent a lot of time with Katsuki in the last month, more than anyone else has, and there have been no grand declarations of love or affection. No ostentatious, romantic gestures. No proposals for imprinting or dating. So, why? Why is everyone so sure? 

More than confusing him, it’s making him...irritated. He doesn’t enjoy being the talk of the town, he doesn’t like his friends and family assuming things about his personal life. It’s not even that he would dislike the idea of...dating Katsuki [he’s got indigestion, those aren’t butterflies], it’s just not true. Whether it is or isn’t, it’s their business. What if it reaches a point where Katsuki’s forced to make some sort of...humiliating public statement? 

“I am not in a romantic relationship with that guide, Midoriya Izuku. I never told anybody to lie, not a single time—never. These allegations are false, and I need to go back to work for the people of this nation.” 

Izuku groans to himself. 

“But, like, how’s the sex though?” 

thunk! 

That would be the sound of the other shoe dropping. 

In Katsuki’s mind, balance is restored to his life. Or, more than restored, it’s finally been achieved. The sun shines a little brighter, the birds sing a little sweeter, and all of that pisses him off a little less. It’s his feel-good, Disney era. Living with Deku in these past weeks has given him a piquant taste of just how satisfying domesticity can be with the right person. Now that his emotions have been reduced to a simmer, he’s more willing to wade through their depths. He likes Deku. It may have come about because of their compatibility, but he’s decided not to keep punishing himself for circumstances beyond his control. 

He’s allowed to like Deku, it just took admitting that [brushing up against death is a real motivator]. There are many odds and ends that connect personality with behavior. Deku mumbles in his sleep, he pokes the tip of his tongue between his teeth when concentrating, he prefers to fold his legs beneath him when he sits, he’s sensitive to the cold, he’s a fiend for bargains, he cries at least once a week over something trivial [this past week was a commercial for life insurance], and a hundred other little things that make him who he is. Katsuki fucking likes it all. 

They’re as good as married, in his simple, simple mind. 

Imprinting seemed like a given, but he was able to scrape together enough critical thought to withhold discussion of it. He and Deku only just started getting along, and imprinting is a big move. For Katsuki, it’s a no-brainer. It poses a huge risk to other espers, but it’s a risk he’s already living with. Once a pair imprints, that esper can only receive guidance from their partner, and vice versa. For your run-of-the-mill esper with average ratings, they’re fucked if anything happens to their imprinted guide. It can be a frowned-upon practice, as espers already outnumber guides by a wide margin. If there are too many imprinted pairs, it leaves a Guild shorthanded. 

Katsuki can only receive guidance from Deku anyway, but Deku is a one-fits-all guide. He’s a huge asset to the Guild, and with his fucking martyr complex, he’s sure to be hesitant to take himself off the pitch permanently. Katsuki almost expects some pushback from the Guild itself. 

That being said, he thought the little fuck would at least change his status to exclusive. Guidance can be an intimate thing, and when a guide is open-ended, many espers take that to mean: available. 

He learns that isn’t the case after afternoon training with the recruits. 

In the underground levels of the Dynamight Guild, there are three training rooms, their size just shy of a football pitch. They’re like giant, off-white, cement boxes. High ceilings, sanitary lighting, and wired for both video and audio. Katsuki finds all the white to be a morbid choice, as it tends to look like a sterile slaughterhouse more often than not. He’s grouped up with five of those ten recruits from the Nikko gate, as they’ve clung to a sense of hero-worship with both hands. In simulation training, Katsuki always plays the antagonist. 

He hovers, lazily spitting blasts of pressure, fire, or just raw energy at the espers below. If they come up with a respectable strategy to get him out of the air, he’s supposed to just let it happen, like a parent pretending to fall dead when their toddler nails them with a barrage of foam bullets. This particular group has seen significant improvement, the one E-class combat-type acting as their strategist to compensate for her lack of energy output. 

Slabs of cement jut out unnaturally all around the room, makeshift stairs and platforms, courtesy of their B-class with mineral manipulation. The reconnaissance-type ‘distracts’ him with...bubbles, is what he’d call them. They get in close, and when popped, there’s a deafening bang! 

Two of the recruits have climbed the stairs and platforms in his ‘blindspots’, and in his moment of ‘distraction’, he’s caught in bodytight netting. It’s sufficient enough to take down a B-class monster, so he cuts them a ‘pass’ for today’s effort. They cheer like they’ve just closed a disaster-class gate, and Katsuki snorts to himself, fighting a smile. Back on the ground, he releases enough energy to melt away the netting. He didn’t exactly go easy, and they burned a lot of energy—it’s licking off their skin, brightening their eyes. 

Guidance is the obvious topic at hand once they’ve come down from their post-victory high. Katsuki’s only half-listening, as he has the same thing on his mind. Shower, then suck Deku’s tongue out of his face. They must think he’s out of earshot, or maybe it isn’t the big secret he thinks it is, because he stops mid-step at: 

“Do you think Midoriya can squeeze me in real quick?” 

“Probably not, man. You know Bakugo’s going for guidance, too.” 

“But, he always showers first! It takes like, two minutes when Midoriya does it—”

There it goes, his sanity. 

He hadn’t bothered to check Deku’s status in the system, he just assumed, like a fucking idiot. He’s still taking requests? How many useless fucks has he guided today? How many espers has he touched—touched him? How many espers have permeated his body with their poison? 

He winks out of existence, reappearing behind the nonethewiser group of recruits. “Oi.” 

They shriek, flinching and clutching onto each other. “Holy shit, Bakugo, you—”

Cutting to the chase, cold and low: “Is Deku taking requests?” 

It’s a loaded question, and they know it. The air is staunched, and their sort-of-lighthearted instructor is no more. Now, it’s Bakugo Katsuki, X-class, pissed. He isn’t yelling, barking, or scowling, as those are almost good signs. He might be annoyed in those instances, but he isn’t willing to shed blood for it. Standing a head above, looking down with a locked jaw and thin, pitch eyes, it’s damned if you do, damned if you don’t. Lying will always be the riskier choice, however. 

“Oh, uh, y-yes, but he’s...been taking them? Since...before—”

They’d almost prefer the room’s spontaneous collapse to what happens next. Katsuki smiles, closed-mouth and barely-there. “I don’t dislike you, you know that, right?”

It’s a pack of mice crushed into a corner, leered at by a well-fed cat only out for the thrill. They nod slowly, as there’s not enough breathable air to speak. 

“If you request him, now or ever, I’ll snap your legs in half the next time you walk through this door.” 

“Yessir!” 

Satisfied, Katsuki goes on his way, skipping the shower. He contemplates teleporting up to Deku’s floor to save himself the time, but that burns more energy than its worth, given it isn’t a primary ability. Besides, he could use the time to cool his head. Deku’s not one to roll over for him [in matters outside the bedroom], and he doesn’t want this to spiral into an argument. He’s sensible enough to realize his own error. They didn’t talk about anything before coming back to work. Katsuki was too content in a fairyland of his own making. 

He heads for Deku’s bullpen first, doing his damndest to tamper down his output. Deku bitched him out for ‘suffocating everyone’ on his team when his stability was poor. It can’t be helped, however, when not only is Deku missing from his cubicle, there’s a bunch of bullshit scattering the surface of his desk. He picks up a few of the small gifts, inspecting the tags, and his blood-pressure skyrockets. From espers, signed with cutesy hearts. 

Should he just burn down the entire Guild? 

The velveteen box of assorted chocolates in his hand finds itself compressed to the size of a golf-ball. There’s a quiet, pained sigh from the next cubicle over. It’s a woman he recognizes, but couldn’t put a name to if his life depended on it. 

“Room Two, Bakugo-san.” She says. 

He’s guiding someone. 

Katsuki’s never been a rational person. He acts on instinct, a puppet strung up by anger. He has a difficult time stifling knee-jerk reactions, thinking better of the first words that pop into his mouth. Consequences are few and far between, because there’s nothing that can really be done to him. With Deku, with wanting someone to like him, he’s the harbinger of his own consequences. No matter how powerful, how undefeatable, a relationship between two people can’t be conquered with force. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he understands this. 

But, old habits die hard. 

The deafening clatter of the guide room’s door smashing against the wall brings a hush over the entire floor. The pair within jump nearly a foot from the cushions of their respective sofas. Deku gapes up at him, floored: “Kats—?”

“Get the fuck out.” 

The nameless esper with a forgettable face has never moved so fast in his entire life. Katsuki slams the door shut behind him and seals the interior of the room in a barrier. Izuku’s on his feet at this point, arms flung out in a ‘have you completely lost it’ gesture. 

“Katsuki, what the hell are you doing—?!”

“Why...” Katsuki enunciates each word between hard, ground-eating strides. “...the fuck...” Izuku stumbles back. “...are you still taking requests?” 

With his back sealed against the far wall, he can only look up, eyes blown even bigger with confusion and the beginnings of fear. Katsuki boxes him in, exuding raw malice. 

“What...are you talking about?! Why wouldn’t I be?!” He snaps, shoving ineffectually at the wall trapping him. “Move—!”

“Why wouldn’t you...?” Katuski pushes a chilly laugh through his teeth, ducking his head. “Do you have any idea what that means to them? To espers? Do you know what the fuck they’re thinking about you, Deku?” 

Izuku frowns. “I...don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

Dropping his head further, until his lips graze the soft line of Izuku’s jaw, he grits: “It means you’re easy. More than half the espers that sit across from you, they think they have a chance. They think if they try hard enough, they’ll get to fuck you.” 

Izuku’s body snaps with tension against his, and heat swells up the shaft of his throat. “That’s—not true...” 

“You think you know better than I do?” 

Izuku’s hands are pale, pink-knuckled fists in the front of his shirt. “Even if they do, I—don’t! I wouldn’t, and everyone knows that! I can’t neglect my work over something like—”

Katsuki bites. Izuku flinches against him, his back bowing against the wall. “Nngh, stop—!”

“You wouldn’t? You do it with me, don’t you? You guide me all the time when I fuck you, so who can say you won’t do it for them, huh?” It’s at this point Katsuki knows he should shut the fuck up, as he’s being driven by inexcusable pettiness. He knows Deku doesn’t engage with other espers in that way, nor does he intend to, but they don’t know that. Espers think with their dicks when it comes to a compatible guide. He shouldn’t be taking it out on Deku like this, but he’s so pissed at the idea, he can’t think straight. 

Izuku resumes his struggle. He shoves against his chest with his forearms and elbows, bringing his knee up to try and jimmy some space between them. “Fuck you! You’re such a dick, you know that’s not true!” 

“Change your status.” 

“ No.” 

Katsuki tenses, pulling back. Izuku’s glowering at him with wet, hard eyes. He continues: “It’ll be a huge burden on everyone else if I do that. There are too many espers at this Guild—” 

“This fucking Guild got by just fine before you showed up. On a day to day basis, they’ll survive without you guiding every goddamn esper in the building.” 

“You’re not my fucking boss.” Izuku hisses. 

Katsuki’s never been so furious, so achingly hard, in his entire life. “I’m your esper, and you’re my guide. If you won’t change it, no fuckin’ problem. I’ll take care of it myself.” 

“What are you—”

Katsuki cuts him off, getting in close again. “You’ll guide me now, right, Deku? It’s your job, isn’t it?” 

Izuku’s still glaring at him with all the disdain he can muster, but the tension is too thick, too palpable to ignore. Their breath is a balmy wash across each other’s face, accelerated from the fuss they’ve kicked up. Close as they are, their mutual excitement goes unnoticed by no one. Katsuki’s 96.4% sure Izuku won’t turn him away, so he scoops him up by big handfuls of lush thigh. Izuku grunts at being spontaneously hefted, then squeaks as he’s deposited roughly on the sofa. 

“I swear to God, I won’t fuck you in here—!”

“Tch,” Katsuki scoffs, yanking his shirt over his head. “—you’re just tryn’a make a point.” 

He pushes between the split of his legs, dropping his considerable weight through his hips, a hard grind. Izuku bites viciously into the meat of his bottom lip and digs the side of his face into the cushion. His fingers are like little claws curling into Katsuki’s shoulders, and the sensation zaps down his spine. Untucking the ugly button-up from Izuku’s waistband, he bunches the fabric upwards, gathering it against his wrist. His hand rests as a bracket on either side of Izuku’s jaw, and his mouth finds a pink, pebbled bud to eat up. 

Izuku jerks hard as that tender flesh is caught in the bear trap of Katsuki’s teeth. He’s so heavy, hot, and hard in every sense of the word, and all that pressure against the soft places between his legs is making it impossible to preserve his displeasure. Katsuki’s energy is seeping through him at every point of skin-to-skin contact, and his innards are feverish with it. 

“No one can hear, so don’t hold your voice, Deku. I wanna hear you beggin’ for my—” 

Katsuki kept his word, somehow. 

Izuku hasn’t verified the details, but since Katsuki’s over-the-top outburst, he hasn’t received a single guide-specific request. All of the gifts had also vanished from his desk, and when asking Shion, she only replied with a dry, burdened look. That was four days ago. In no uncertain terms, Izuku told Katsuki to gather up his necessities and fuck off back to the dorms. In no uncertain times, Katsuki refused, calling him a ‘dumbass who attracts trouble all the fucking time, you’ll probably paralyze yourself in the shower the second I walk out the door!’ 

Izuku didn’t push the issue for reasons he won’t be analyzing, but Katsuki did get the boot back to the couch. It’s the weirdest fight they’ve had to date, in a sense that it doesn’t feel entirely serious. It feels like the sort of fight children have. He’s more confused than ever, and while he’s definitely bothered by the cruel things Katsuki spouted off in the guide room, why is it an issue now? 

He’s been an open-ended guide since he started, and Katsuki never took any action to change that. Why, now, does he feel confident in controlling his work? Izuku isn’t so naive as to deny everything he’d said. He knows espers often associate guidance with sex, but no one’s made any overtures towards him since that first week. Even if they’re thinking illicit things about him, that doesn’t give him the right to neglect a job he’s being paid to do, right? 

...right? 

Izuku knows he has a tendency to self-sacrifice, place the needs of others before his own, but his high-class guidance has gone a long way in relieving the overworked guides of the Dynamight Guild. Can he reasonably neglect everyone in the Guild except Katsuki, just because the esper’s...territorial? Or, whatever he is? 

Izuku doesn’t often run into Keigo, as he comes and goes from the Guild like a whisper in the wind, but they catch each other in the cafeteria. Keigo’s the one who spills the beans: 

“Yo, Midoriya! How’s it hanging, kid?”

“Takami-san, it’s good to see you again.”

Keigo drops into the seat across from him, nibbling on what looks to be a breakfast croissant. They make idle, banal chitchat for a few minutes, before even Keigo can’t seem to choke back his curiosity. “So, what’s up with you and Bakugo?”

Izuku replies stiffly, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Come on, man! You two are like a couple of cats and dogs, from what I hear. Bakuo’s in a shitty mood again.” 

“His shitty moods are his business.”

“Actually, they’re everyone’s business, and everyone knows it’s ‘cause you’re fighting again. I heard he almost ripped the door off one of the guide rooms you were in on Monday.” 

“You sure hear a lot, huh, Takami-san?” Izuku mutters, accusatory. 

Keigo flips his hands up: I'm innocent, I swear! “Plus, he crushed Enita’s leg in training, the stupid bastard—”

Izuku coughs violently, having inhaled his swallow of canned espresso. “H-He what?!”

Keigo blinks at him. “You really didn’t know? Word on the street, ‘request Midoriya for guidance, bring your own body bag to training.’” 

Oh. 

So, that’s what he meant by ‘I’ll take care of it myself.’ 

Of course, they fight about it. Izuku’s back to the apartment by four, whereas Katsuki rolls in somewhere around six. This leaves him plenty of time to pace, stew, and further lose his mind. Why is doing all this? Why is he kicking up such a fuss over Izuku, when they’re nothing more than—

“Izuku, I’m not saying you’re lying, but are you sure that’s all it is? I mean, have you guys talked about it?”  

“Of course not, baby. Matters of the heart are never going to be obvious. That’s why communication is so important. You might think you know Bakugo Katsuki quite well, but how much do you really understand about what he’s feeling? Thinking? If you haven’t spoken with him about these things, it’s the blind leading the blind.” 

It isn’t just Katsuki, Izuku thinks bitterly. He hasn’t said anything either. He hasn’t questioned the esper’s feelings, intentions, or actions. He’s just been rolling with the punches, because talking is hard. The thought of having to listen to something you don’t want to hear, having your fears and doubts confirmed, is scary. All this time, he’s convinced himself that any conversation with Katsuki would gut him. In that cruel, mocking tone, he’ll say something like: “You’re just my guide, I like to fuck you, that’s it. Of course I don’t want to date you, come on.” 

His chest tightens at the imagined response. That would...really, really suck to hear. Where would they even go from there? There are so few options available to him, where Katsuki’s concerned. He proceeds to work himself into a froth for over two hours, which is why, upon Katsuki’s appearance in the corridor, Izuku launches a decorative pillow at his face with all his strength. Katsuki doesn’t even have the good graces to let himself be hit, as the projectile bounces off a forcefield and plops to the ground at his feet. 

“The fuck, Deku?!” He snaps. 

“Are you threatening the other espers?! You broke Enita’s leg!”

“Who the fu—oh, yeah.” Katsuki shrugs, resuming the process of shucking out of his boots. “I said I’d handle it, so I’m handling it.”

“It’s not something for you to handle! I’m just doing my job! What’s your problem?!” 

Katsuki looks up, incredulous. “Isn’t something—? Are you fucking kidding me? I already told you—!” 

Izuku throws his arms out. “I was there, I don’t need a recap, Katsuki! I know what you said, but that doesn’t excuse your bullshit. I accept requests to lighten the load of the other teams, and I can’t do that if you’re—”

Katsuki well and truly snaps, and it’s one of those moments that injects straight terror into his veins. He’s across the room before Izuku can finish a blink, using every bit of his height to shrink him into the mindset of an amoeba. His eyes burn with reactive energy, and his rage is the type of cold Dante describes Cocytus to be, the type of cold only Lucifer could create in his suffering, for the continued suffering of those most loathsome sinners. It’s smothering, impossible to stomach. Moments like these, Izuku’s forced to remember who Katsuki is, what he’s capable of. 

If he wanted to, he could deconstruct his physical body cell by cell in...tenths of a second. 

“You’re mine. My guide, mine period. You’re an X-class, you want to sacrifice yourself, I fucking get that. That’s done now, Deku. The only person you need to guide is me, everyone else will get by just like they’ve been doing.” 

Izuku steadies himself, forming the question of all questions in his mouth with the utmost care. His voice still cracks on the delivery, but it can’t be helped:

“Do you like me?” 

Katsuki’s hard expression slackens, a pure confusion Izuku’s never seen from him before. Then, he looks at Izuku like he’s the stupidest person on the planet: “You—”

His phone blares, and they both flinch. Katsuki rips it out, biting off a snarl. It’s Aizawa, meaning he’s obligated to answer. Without looking away from Izuku, he presses it to his ear, answering with a sharp: “What?” 

“There’s been a breach on Jeju Island, red gate. Not a disaster-class, but close. It’s uncontained. I know you’re with Midoriya, so bring him to the strip.”

Chapter Text

Breach sites are Hell on Earth, and that’s no hyperbole. If you close your eyes and imagine the ground splitting, the contents of a biblical Hell spilling out of those bottomless canyons, it’d be much the same. Blackened firmament patterned like an upside down sea, uncontrollable fires, a society’s wreckage in the wake of ferocious creatures that exist only to slaughter, consume, and destroy humanity and all they’ve accomplished. 

If a gate is too difficult to close in the twenty-four hour period, one can only imagine what horrors lurk within it. It’s, once again, a joint effort between multiple powerhouse Guilds. Even Bakugo Katsuki cannot be everywhere at once, slay every monster in one swing. He’s not omnipotent, as much as he likes to think so. The gate sits in the water of Moselupo Port, blaring its ominous color like a redlight reflects off a nighttime puddle. The initial hordes had all but wiped the nearby seafaring community off Jeju’s map, spreading into Daejeon like a viral infection. 

Fortunately, when a breach seemed imminent, most of the island’s inhabitants were evacuated to the opposite side of the island. Those able to leave did so with haste. Some civilian casualties have been reported, but all things considered, it’s not as devastating as it could’ve been. The multiple Guilds participating, primarily South Korean forces, have scattered in something of a triangle pattern from coast to coast, Jocheon to Namwon, ending in a point at the center of the island, Hallasan National Park. It’s a massive, widespread operation with many moving parts. 

Fifty espers were deployed from Dynamight, forty from Endeavor, forty from the United Front, twenty from Jeanist, and twenty from the League. Only the best of the best of the best. Izuku’s group is stationed on the outskirts of Bangseonmun valley, just before manmade structures give way to rolling forest. The monsters identified thus far are C-class and above, all the way to SSS-class. Their sum is somewhere in the thousands, some as big as horses, others towering over trees and buildings with more than ten stories. Their types...abstract—masses of gyrating, howling flesh that can barely be likened to any animal or insect. 

Monsters, by every definition. 

Normally, guides would be stationary. They contribute nothing to an active combat zone, and said zone is almost always within the bounds of another dimension. In a situation like this, more than just blind eradication, the espers are attempting to hold a line, preserve the territory. It would weaken their ranks for too many espers to travel a long distance for guidance. The espers are strapped with tracking equipment, and guides and medics are packed into armored vehicles to pursue them at a distance of no less than five miles. 

Their truck had stopped thundering forward, and the sudden lack of so much sound is…deafening, suffocating. It means their espers, some miles ahead, have also stopped moving. Izuku’s eyes are glued to the bulky tablet he clenches around, just as they have been—he couldn’t describe the faces around him if asked, as he’s barely looked up. Guides with a designated or imprinted esper were given these devices, as well as a direct line of communication. His gaze is glued to the particular orange, blinking speck that represents Katsuki. The map is littered with similar dots, and the color represents that esper’s stability. 

Despite the rarity of a breach, the Guilds are well prepared with both equipment and strategy. 

But, with uproarious claps of explosion rocking the hillside, the gravel jumping like Pop Rocks beneath their truck’s tires, Izuku doesn’t feel any better for it. He hunches forward, as do the other guides in the cramped bay, bracing themselves against the noise and vibration. Like maple leaves transitioning through the seasons, orange and red dots begin to outnumber the green ones. Which means—

“Disembark! Priority espers incoming!” 

Katsuki’s still in the orange, so he won’t be a part of those aforementioned espers. Izuku disembarks regardless, as he’ll guide whoever’s in need. The sky is heavy, the last of the day’s light trapped behind rolling, sable clouds. Bright rust is cast off the those woolen thunderheads, a reflection of fire scattering the island. Smoke and ash haze the air, and grating wails echo the woods like birds calling to each other from their respective branches.  

boom! 

The earth quakes, another distant explosion. Izuku can’t help but think Katsuki’s behind all of them. Their position is less than a mile from their designated group of espers, and as most are able to fly short distances, they appear over the ridge before long. They look...awful: exhausted, filthy, injured, and lit up with the neon of an imminent rampage. Those with a designated or imprinted guide head straight for their partner, while others let themselves collapse near the truck’s wheel wells. They’re attended to by frantic medics and open-ended guides, and it reminds Izuku of a pit crew buzzing around an F1 racer. 

He does the same, crouching next to battle-weary espers and framing their tight jaws in his hands, allowing their swell of energy to bleed through. It feels...fatigued, raw, and defeated. It slides through him like sludge. He hasn’t felt anything like it since the disaster-class gate in Sendai. No matter how much of it he burns, how many creatures he kills, or how long he’s fought, Katsuki’s energy never feels like this. Katsuki wouldn’t know defeat if it slapped the taste out of his mouth. 

chhhhh—! 

The bud in his ear crackles, and Izuku slaps a hand against his opposite ear. 

“Oi, Deku—”

“Katsuki!” He gasps. “Where are you? Do you need—?”

“Nah, I just had to tell you something.” 

“What is it?” 

Through the piece, Izuku can pick up the telltale sounds of conflict. Shouting, cracks of energy, monsters yowling. Then, Katsuki laughs, and that wicked rumble humming directly into his ear—

“I like you—” 

Izuku thinks his entire body flushes with warmth. “This is not a private line!” 

[>01:23:57]

“Let’s go, dumbass, we’ve got work.” 

Katsuki shoves his phone back in his pocket, and at the mention of work, Izuku gets a head start by working hard to gather himself. He collects every bit of composure he can muster, putting his broken heart on ice to stitch up later. He isn’t sure what Katsuki had been about to say, but his expression made a sufficient replacement: “How the fuck could you even ask me that?” 

Relaxing his shoulders, blanking his face, and cycling a full, deep breath, he asks: “Right, what’s going on?” 

Katsuki explains the little he knows of the situation, and they’re out the door within five minutes of receiving the call. One of the Guild’s emergency vehicles is already waiting on the street, tires kissing the curb, and they pile in the back of it. It’s unnecessary for Katsuki to do so, but he’s made a habit of escorting him to the airstrip if Izuku has to fly anywhere. He had hoped that wouldn’t be the case this time, so he could at least spare himself the awkwardness on top of the nerves. 

The back of the cab is a vacuum, no noise permeating from outside, no dialogue happening within. It’s like they’re both trying to breathe as silently as possible. Glancing at Katsuki from the corner of his eye, the esper is glaring holes through the window, though he almost looks...contemplative. Probably thinking about how he got stuck with a gullible, lovesick guide like Izuku. He burns with embarrassment and shame, turning his own face fully towards the window. 

Just like he thought it’d be, this is the worst. 

Fortunately, with emergency lights slicing the air and sirens blasting their urgency at the comings and goings of traffic, it’s a short trip. Aizawa and Toshinori are awaiting them at the base of the boarding stairs, a handful of other personnel already making the climb into the jet. They climb out of the vehicle and approach the grim-faced pair. They’re given a more thorough shakedown of the situation, the immediate plan upon landing at Jeju International, and the overall strategy. While he speaks, Aizawa latches something like a digital watch around Katsuki’s wrist. 

Human technology doesn’t work inside the gates, so Izuku’s never seen it before. Aizawa gives a brief explanation afterwards: it serves as a tracker, a wireless radio, and a miniature measurement device that keeps constant monitor of an esper’s stability. 

“Deku,” Katsuki calls him, and the bastard has the gall to smirk. The gall! 

“Zero me out, won’t ya?” He says. 

This is your job, Izuku, this is what you signed up for. You’ll be guiding this son of a bitch for the rest of your miserable, pathetic life, so just suck it up—

With a plain face that he struggles to maintain, Izuku offers his hand. Katsuki lifts his own, reaching out, and gently grabs him by the wrist. Then, he tightens, yanking on him hard. Izuku gasps, stumbling forward into the stalwart wall of his chest. Digging his face out from between those annoyingly well-developed pectorals, he lifts a scathing glare. “What the hell is your—?!”

“Of course I like you, you stupid shit. Fuck’s sake, Deku, should I have rented a biplane and spelled it out in the sky?” 

Izuku gapes, then colors to the crown of his head. Vaguely, he’s aware of Aizawa and Toshinori standing less than two feet away. If he could see their expressions, he’d probably want to kill himself on the spot. Regaining his dignity, Izuku puffs his cheeks out, scowling. “Or anything, you ass! You could’ve just said it!”

“Well, I’m saying it now, so guide me like ya mean it.” 

He knows how Katsuki is, his domineering way of kissing. Determined to seize the upper hand between them for once, he punches up on his tiptoes, sandwiches his face between his hands, and lunges for his mouth. Before Katsuki can overwhelm him, Izuku puts his entire soul into guiding him down. Katsuki actually melts, hitching forward. Izuku braces his feet against the cement in effort to support all that boneless weight. He tugs his bottom lip between his teeth, sucking on the smooth, pliable flesh until Katsuki breaks off a ragged groan into his mouth. 

It only takes two minutes to achieve a zero-out, and halfway through that period, Katsuki seems to remember himself. He crushes forward like he’s trying to eat, strangling Izuku by the nape and hip. It’s the way he kisses when he’s about to rampage. Lightning crackles between them, the visible transference of energy and Katsuki’s descent to a zero-out. If not for their audience, there’s no telling when it might have ended. 

Aizawa coughs loudly. 

Izuku pries his hands between their faces, shoving Katsuki back. “You’re...good! Back up, you animal!”

Katsuki lets himself be pushed away, scoffing. He rolls his shoulders, then his neck in a broad circle. Ghostly, carmine energy evaporates off of him like steam over a boiling pot. “Deku, kiss me like that when we’re done, too.” 

Izuku’s never maintained a striking blush for so long, and he’s starting to feel dizzy with the improper disbursement of blood. “Just—just go!”

He does, shoving his hands in the pockets of his snug, uniform pants. He lifts from the ground, and he doesn’t break eye-contact until he’s too high to see properly. Then, Bakugo Katsuki is a shot streaking the sky, wobbling the atmosphere and creating a thunderclap overhead to deafen them. Izuku distantly wonders if that’s what ‘breaking the sound barrier’ looks like.  He sighs, turning to face his bosses. Aizawa has never looked so dry and pained in all the time Izuku’s known him. Toshinori has the tip of his hand pressed to his mouth in an ‘oh my’ gesture, not bothering to fight back his little smile. 

“Right, well. Shall we?” Aizawa drones, turning towards the stairs. 

They’ve been active on Jeju Island for nearly three hours, and so far, so good—as good as it can be. Amongst both the Korean forces and their Japanese backup, a raid of over five thousand espers and military personnel, there’s been only three hundred casualties. A casualty is a casualty, but the numbers are promising. In some places, the line is holding. In others, the monsters are being pushed towards the coast from whence they came. Izuku’s caravan moves at a steady pace, naturally, as Katsuki marches his own group ahead relentlessly. 

Even he eventually needs guidance, and if Izuku’s being honest, he’s dreading it. Red to a zero-out is going to knock him on his ass. The truck growls to another jarring stop, and Katsuki’s speck is now an ominous red jerking across the screen. Since he tends to get a little...carried away [out of his fucking mind] the more destabilized he is, Izuku pages him through the comm after hopping out of the cab. 

“Katsuki, do you read?” 

chhhh—!

“Loud and clear, baby.”

Izuku scowls. “I’m approximately three clicks northwest of your position, report for guidance.” 

“You’re just missin’ me, huh?”

His team’s lead is side-eyeing him, and when Izuku turns, he snaps away sharply with an uncomfortable cough. Not everyone is tuned into this channel, but there’s far more people than Izuku would like. “Sure, sure, just get your ass back here before you explode.” 

“Be there before you can count to three—”

“Don’t, you’ll just burn up more—!”

thwomp—!

Izuku gags, as Katsuki’s untamed, pre-rampage energy is never something he’ll get used to. He garners similar reactions from everyone at the temporary encampment, some are even brought to their knees. Just like in the hospital room, it’s being crushed and smothered beneath a mountain of heavy blankets. He drapes himself over Izuku from behind, and now he’s being contorted beneath his physical weight, too. 

“Deku, I like you…“ He murmurs hotly against the underside of his jaw. He’s gross, sticky. Izuku can feel how filthy he is through his uniform. 

“Nngh, you crazy—get...get off! I have to guide you!”

“Fuck me, you’re right!” He chuckles, and not for the first time, Izuku likens him to a gangly drunk when he’s in this condition. Whenever the caravan stops, the medics drag out a few portable cots in case any espers return in dire need of aid. Katsuki twists him around, bends at the knees, and hooks his arms around Izuku’s upper legs. He hoists him off his feet, and Izuku braces his palms against his shoulders, glaring down at him. He doesn’t make any bids to be put down, because then it would be so much more humiliating than it already is. He can feel the unwanted attention. 

Katsuki walks them over to the cots, and he’s wearing that lazy, swaggering grin he gets when intoxicated off his own energy.  Smug, handsome bastard. Once beside a cot, he lets Izuku slip through his arms until his feet are replaced on the ground. Izuku sits, just wanting to get it over with, God, this is gonna suck. Katsuki kneels in front of him, which isn’t all that surprising anymore, but he does something new. He wedges his broad frame between Izuku’s thighs and drops his head in the cradle of his lap. His arms loop loosely around his waist.

Izuku blinks down at the intimate, vulnerable gesture. Katsuki’s so grubby, his hair is flattened in some places and the color is more pink than blonde. He’s breathing deeply against his stomach, and Izuku can tell he’s getting something out of his scent. It’s...nothing special, just whatever fabric softener the Guild uses, he thinks fondly. Instead of his face, he rakes his fingers across his scalp, sealing his palms to the top of his head.

“You ready?”

“Mm.” 

Izuku reinforces his core with a deep, held breath. It’s just as awful as it always is. He breaks in a cold sweat instantly, nausea tightening up the muscles in his throat. He tries not to squeeze Katsuki’s head like a grapefruit, and his hands tremble with the effort. Magma makes the slow crawl through his nervous system, burning every tissue in its path to a crispy memory. His stomach churns violently. 

“‘m sorry, Deku.” Katsuki mutters. “I’ll finish this, I swear.” 

Izuku stares down at his head, eyes as wide as they’ll spread. 

...sorry? He’s sorry? Bakugo Katsuki is sorry, enough to say it out loud?

Despite the major stress his body is under, Izuku bites his lip, eyes burning. He sniffs discreetly, squeezing his eyes shut to dry them. He can’t decide which feeling is more pressing, the emotional or physical. He still wants to yak, but...Katsuki likes him and he’s sorry. He whispers patterns through his hair with the tips of his fingers. 

“‘s not your fault. It’s okay.” 

It’s finished, and Izuku shoves Katsuki out of his lap—so he can fold over the opposite side of the cot and repaint the ground with today’s lunch. His back heaves, and it feels like acid thrusting itself upwards through his esophagus. He barely recognizes Katsuki’s hand warming the space between his shoulder blades, but he does hear his snapped order:

“Get him some fuckin’ fluids!” 

He’ll pass out, as he always does when Katsuki’s destabilized to hell, but before that, his designated esper arranges him on the cot and crouches beside it. Katsuki swipes at the limp, damp hair sticking to his face, but his hand doesn’t retract. It’s like a thick, warm washcloth against his brow, and he wishes he could feel it better through the static in his skin. 

“I’ll be back before you wake up.” He assures him gruffly. 

Izuku huffs, wry: “Great, then I can black out all over again, can’t wait...”

One Katsuki becomes two, then the two Katsukis fizzle out in the kaleidoscope of his fading vision. 

“...!”

“...what’s—!”

“...get—!”

“...out of here now, go!”

“No, no, not like—!”

“I can’t! There’s nowhere to—!” 

“A-class?! Get an esper on the comm, now!”

“Call Baku—! Argh!” 

His ears are still squealing when, whatever vehicle he’s in, flips. Izuku dumps out of the cot and bounces off a cold, metallic floor like a potato that got away from its netted sack, plunging off a steep countertop. It doesn’t stop there. He’s thrown against the unforgiving interior of the vehicle as it makes the full toss onto its roof. With knocking his head around more than the recommended amount, disorientation swamps his senses. Pain, more pain. He’s so, so sick of being in pain. 

Through the walls of the metal container, horrible sounds reach him. 

Gunfire. 

Panicked screams.

Monsters. 

Blinking the daze away, he glances around. He isn’t alone in this vehicle, but from the lack of bodies and the surplus of medical equipment, he deduces this is one of the mobile clinics. There were three others in the cab with him, all medics. One is bleeding profusely from a gash obscured in her hair, unconscious [ or dead... ], another is crumpled up in the seam of the roof beside him. Izuku whimpers at the sight of a bone gouging through the skin above his knee like driftwood jutting out of the surf. He’s groaning, at least. The third person is—

Izuku grits his teeth, closes his eyes, and turns his face away like it’ll wash the image from his mind. Her head is snapped backwards, an angle no person could survive. Inspecting himself with micromovements and skittering glances, he’s...okay. He’ll be purple tomorrow, a few things might be sprained or fractured, but it’s nothing that should immobilize him. Bracing his palms against the floor [roof], he scoots up against the wall. 

“H-Hey...” He tries, a crackle that reaches no one. Inching closer to the man beside him, Izuku places a hand on his forearm, shaking him lightly. 

“Sir, can you hear me?” 

If he was conscious, he isn’t anymore, as he’s still and silent in response. “Nngh, please…” He begs. His face scrunches with the beginnings of a sob. There’s no one he can rely on, and none of these people can rely on him. Once again, he can do nothing but wait around and get hurt without Katsuki. The noise outside hasn’t dissipated. Looking over, he sees one of the two rear doors has partially ripped off its hinges, hanging ajar. The shiny tin of its interior reflects fluttering orange. Outside, there’s fire. 

Izuku’s not experienced many life or death scenarios, only two so far. Well, three, now. The only thing that saw him through was a clear objective. 

Guide Bakugo Katsuki.

Protect Yuki. 

Now, he needs the same. Things like ‘run away, hide, find help’ aren’t good enough, too broad. Crawling towards the rear doors, he decides on ‘find a working comm’ as his initial objective. For all he knows, it’s moot. Someone else could’ve radioed for help as soon as the monsters appeared, and Katsuki might show up in the next five seconds. He doesn’t know that, and in case it hasn’t been done, his priority is to call Katsuki. 

He shimmies his body through the narrow crevice of the doors, taking strange relief in the cool grass crunching under his palms. Their vehicle had tousled down a short embankment and smashed against a cluster of time-tested trees. Up the hill, there’s only billows of smoke and ember. The incandescence of fire brightens the opposite treeline. He keeps to a crawl, his belly dragging the ground, as he creeps towards the swell of the knoll. When that audible chaos has a moving picture to accompany it, Izuku smothers his mouth behind clammy hands, sobbing into it. Tears soak through his fingers, and their salt tangs on his lips. 

There’s only one monster, but it’s just as big as the pseudo-leech boss from the Musutafu gate. He barely has the words to describe it. Hundreds of wide, unblinking eyes, just as many mouths, just as many teeth. Wings, tentacles. It’s spewing brimstone and electricity from a place he can’t identify. Once, a long time ago, Izuku scrolled past an artist’s rendering of the Christian angel, just as the Bible describes it. He thinks...it looks like that, like an angel. 

It bobbles to and fro, jerky, and while it appears to be hovering, it’s tentacle-like protrusions slap the ground as a multitude of feet. It shrieks, and Izuku seals the meat of his palms to his ears. When it shrieks, it sounds like a thousand voices harmonizing their misery at an inhuman pitch. It utilizes every mouth it has, and if he’d left himself exposed to the noise, he’s positive an eardrum or two would’ve burst.

His companions are strewn across the gravel road, some dead but whole, others a puzzle of themselves. Those left alive are armed, but their bullets might as well be pebbles chucked at a lover’s window. There’s no real sense of ‘ we can do this if we try!’ 

But, running isn’t an option. If the espers were coming, they’d be here by now. If Katsuki was coming, he’d be here by now. They don’t know, they haven’t been alerted. Huddled up against the overturned trucks, Izuku sees some of his fellow guides. They’re frantically passing the radio hand to hand, fiddling with them, mashing buttons. They dig their fingers into their ears like enough force will make the comms start working. Right before his eyes, they’re consumed by the creature’s next exhalation of fire. It isn’t hot enough to kill them instantly. 

They scream like the damned. The smell of sizzling, burnt tissue [hair, skin, blood, bone] will live in his nares for the rest of his life. Izuku gags on it. He turns his face and heaves bile into the grass. That heat washes over him, and even at this distance, he’s sure to have first-degrees.

So, that objective is out. The comms aren’t working. He can’t call Katsuki. 

Izuku retreats back down the hill, though it’s more of an uncoordinated slide. Before that, he snags a nearby twig and scratches in the dirt, just before it transitions into grass. 

New objective: find Katsuki. 

It’s restricting. 

They’ve made it all the way to the village of Onggi, though it's little more than a cluster of sheds spanning a quarter of a mile. They’re so fucking close to Daejeong, but it’s just them. A few of the other squadrons have pushed close to this point on their own portion of the line, but to Katsuki, it feels like it’s taking them twenty years. With the gate still open, creatures keep pouring out of it, restocking their ranks. It’s unknown whether the boss is somewhere on the island or hanging back in its own dimension, and that’s the only reason Katsuki hasn’t headed straight for it. 

He can’t ‘do whatever the hell he wants’ during a breach. Instead of fleshing out the boss, they’re jobs are to prevent as much damage and loss of life as possible until the boss can be identified. It’s a huge waste of his fucking time. He could clear these numbers easily within a gate, but the distance is just too much to cover. Even zeroed-out as he is, he’ll rocket his stability into the red in less than an hour if he tried to move coast to coast, all the way to Moselupo. So, the only thing he can do is obliterate the forces directly in front of him until they reach the port. 

He’s worried sick about the strain this is putting on Deku. So far, he’s only needed guidance once, but Deku has to guide him to a zero-out every time. He knows it’s fucking hard on him. The longer he fights, the more he’ll require guidance. Barely focused on the battle at hand, his brain keeps returning him to the side of that cot. Crouched in the dirt, watching Deku’s eyes roll back. He needs to end this, yesterday. For his own peace of mind, he’s been abusing the comms. 

Deku pretends to dislike it, but it’s the fastest way to verify the other is okay, alive. There’s a winged creature dropping its body through the sky, a bird-type bigger than any bird has a right to be. It intends to skewer him on its massive beak, and Katsuki promptly disintegrates it. It turns into a gory rain overhead, showering him. With no more aggressors in his immediate vicinity, he nudges against the earpiece. 

“Deku, you read?” 

chhhhhh—! 

“Deku, come the fuck on.”

chhhhhh—! 

Katsuki scowls, and his stomach tightens with discomfort. Glancing around the village, he decides to spend the extra energy. Classed from ‘C’ to ‘S’, there are ten creatures remaining. Pinning their positions on a mental map, he sets to ripping apart the fabric of their bodies with pinpoint dispersions of energy. Like water-balloons, sacks of meat and fluid, they pop into nothingness, splattering the ground and the espers facing off against them. Said espers lurch back, belting their surprise at an impromptu end to their individual battles.

The team they saddled him with are competent enough. He hasn’t had to go out of his way to save any of them but a handful of times, and they’re keeping up with his pace. Now, however, he needs their undivided attention. 

“Group up!” He shouts. 

Once they’ve gathered at the outskirts of the hamlet, he cuts through their post-victory chatter. “Oi, all of you try to reach your contact with the guides. I can’t get an answer, but my shit might be faulty.” 

It better be fucking faulty. 

Each esper sets to buzzing their contact through the comm, and anxiety ricochets against his ribs like a ball tethered to a paddle. No one’s getting an answer, just white noise. 

“Hold this fucking position, double back if you’re not confident.” It’s his only command before blurring out of existence. 

His last check-in with the team’s lead put the guide’s caravan two clicks west. Deku was still unconscious at that time, roughly thirty minutes ago. It’s downright stupid to teleport, but he literally can’t help himself. Deku’s not answering the comms. No one is answering their comms. This island is crawling with threats, and it isn’t impossible to think a creature broke past the line further north. He can feel the bubbling of his energy reacting to his fear. So help him God, if anything happened—

Smoke.

Fire. 

It’s in the wind. 

It’s an actual miracle he doesn’t inflate himself into an instantaneous rampage upon finding the wreckage of the caravan. Calm, calm, calm, fucking calm down or your dead. Deku’s dead. Calm the fuck down, breathe, you know how to fucking breathe, come on—

Pulling sharp, shallow breaths through his mouth, Katsuki picks through the carnage. Not every corpse is burnt, but some are blackened husks. For those, he uses every bit of deductive insight he possesses. That charred corpse is too tall, that charred corpse has breasts, this charred corpse has tufts of blonde hair. No one looks like Deku, and he clings desperately to that. He looks inside every upturned truck, the ditches, the—

                           B  K   

Katsuki stares at the symbol carved in the dirt, his initials in Deku’s scrawl. Then, he looks down the sloping embankment. A huge, fanged grin breaks across his face, and he belts a hard laugh. So hard, he nearly clutches his sides through it. 

“Fuck, I love you—”

Izuku picks his way through the brush.

Honestly, this is nothing compared to his time in the gate with Yuki. He still has his shoes, at least. Certain places do throb with each step, but it’s more of a discomfort than anything debilitating. The constant transition from uphill to downhill is fatiguing him, however. His own breathing might drown out an approach, friend or foe. After twenty minutes of travel, it occurs to Izuku that he has no sense of direction. He thought he was heading east, following the curve of the road on instinct, but after a while, all woodland looks the same. 

He left that message for Katsuki, but if he keeps stumbling about blindly, he’s only making it harder for himself to be found. Katsuki can’t keep needlessly burning through energy either. He finds his stopping place in a tiny clearing, as big as his apartment’s bedroom. Lost in some monster-infested woods, again. It’s only happened twice, but God, he’s sick of it. This is really his life now. 

He was a data analyst five months ago. The most daily excitement he’d get was a coworker’s surprise birthday party, betting on which flavor of generic, store-bought cake awaited them in the breakroom. Now, it’s a good day if no one dies, let alone bearing witness to the brutal slaughter of his entire party. Cold flashes through his limbs at the fresh memory. His fingers are numb. But, what is it they say?

When it rains, it pours. 

Another harrowing boom! rattles the forest encasing him. It’s way, way too close for comfort. So close, Izuku can see half of the source. It’s more fire, always fire, but a tinted flame he recognizes. 

Todoroki Touya’s signature, cerulean blaze. 

Izuku’s barely relieved. The only positive in seeking out Touya, he won’t be killed. Guides are valuable to espers, and the League has already tried to recruit him once before. Maybe...

Maybe they’ll protect him, until Katsuki comes. Who’s he kidding? It’s his best bet. Staggering to his feet, Izuku starts in Touya’s direction. He estimates him to be roughly a hundred yards off, and he can only pray the esper doesn’t...warp away or something before he gets there. Touya’s a capable esper in his own right, and whatever threat he’s facing, Izuku expects it to be ash by the time he arrives. The closer he gets, the screams of a suffering beast ring out more clearly. God, is he torturing it? 

Laughter. 

He’s laughing. 

So, probably. 

Izuku almost cries again. He misses Katsuki. Batting away the low-hanging limbs, he can feel the heat of Touya’s uncontrolled burn as much as he can see it. It would be...pretty, under any other circumstances. His manifestation has lit the woodland in sulfur, waltzing tones of ice that contradict the blistering, skin-sloughing heat it produces. The brush, trunks, and branches of surrounding flora have succumbed to that haphazard handling of energy. Centered in the clearing, Touya is gleefully roasting a canine-type creature to death. 

Izuku heavily contemplates turning back, and he nearly does, but—

“Hah!” 

He got too close, and the fire caught on the hem of his pants. Touya whips his face up at the sound of an intruder, a potential enemy [or victim, as he’s clearly feeling frisky]. When he sees who it is, his face splits with a manic smile. Izuku watches on, horrified, as he lifts his leg and smashes the creature’s half-burnt skull to goop beneath his boot. If he had anything left to vomit, it’d be all over his own boots by now. Touya is headed in his direction now, and he breezes through the flames like it's a field of poppies. 

“Wow, wow, what do we have here? That you, Midoriya?”

Oh. 

Oh, shit. 

Izuku knows the signs and symptoms of a pre-rampage all too well, and Todoroki Touya might as well be advertising them like he’s getting paid to do it. Manic, uncontained energy, eyes aglow. He’s looming over Izuku now, grinning. 

“If it isn’t my lucky day.” 

Chapter Text

Choice is such a luxury. 

Having a choice, being able to choose, is such an underrated privilege that Izuku dearly misses. Now, more than ever, he mourns its passing from his life. This is, without a doubt, another situation where there’s only one option available to him. Technically, there’s two, but he doesn’t want to die. If he’s being even more brutally honest with himself, there are no options or choices at all. If he refuses to guide Touya, he’ll be forced to guide Touya. If there’s a scenario where Touya doesn’t receive guidance, they’ll both die. Everything in him revolts against the idea. 

His cells wriggle like maggots beneath a magnifying glass, concentrated sunlight cooking them on the tarmac. He doesn’t want to guide Touya, he doesn't want to, doesn’t want to—

But, he’s a guide. In front of a rampaging esper, autonomy doesn’t exist. So, what can he do? How can he help himself pretend he has a shred of control in a situation like this? The cloying incense of burning verdure. Uncomfortable heat, brain urging the body it controls to back up, back up, back up. Indigo fire that looks of a mystical origin, unsettling in its allure, perhaps cool enough to beckon a touch. Touya, the orchestrator of this symphony, looking just as monstrous as anything that’s come crawling out of a gate. There’s only one form of control he can give himself. 

Digging deep for a faux sense of bravado, a sense of confidence he’s never possessed, Izuku draws his shoulders back, firms his brow, and looks Touya dead in the eye: “I’ll guide you as many times as you need me to, but don’t do anything I don’t like. If you try to force me, I’ll throw myself at the first monster I can find.” 

It’s a huge bluff, as Izuku can think of a hundred other ways he’d prefer to die than in the jaws of a creature. But, he can’t realistically threaten his own life in any way but that. After a brief pause, Touya finds this so funny, downright hysterical, his sides split with laughter. He folds over, gripping his knees for support, and laughs for an entire minute. For Izuku, it’s a long, long minute. Whereas Katsuki is lackadaisical, swaggering, and a little goofy, Touya’s pre-rampage personality is pure mania. He presents as truly insane. 

It could be worse, Izuku thinks. He could be in a bloodrage. 

Touya straightens, dragging a wide-spread hand down his face. “You’re an actual riot, Midoriya, holy shit.” He walks forward, and Izuku stumbles back, step for step. “Large and in charge, huh? Don’t you know how easy it’d be to lay you out right now? Choke you just a little til’ you’re nice and quiet? You don’t have to be awake to guide me.”

Izuku knows that very well, but—

“Sure, but it wouldn’t be as good quality. It would be better for you if I’m actively trying to guide you.” 

Touya swings his head back on another laugh, though blessedly, it doesn’t last an eternity of a minute. “Shit, shit, you’re smart, too! Ah, you got me. I wanna feel it, this once-in-a-lifetime guidance from the great Midoriya Izuku, especially when he’s trying his best.” 

There’s so little space between them now, less than two inches before their chests touch. He’s throwing his weight around, because that’s what powerful, poorly adjusted people do. It’s often in the physical sense with espers, but also the metaphorical. Squeezing out every inch of height from their spine, squaring their shoulders, darkening their eyes. Intimidation, submission, you should fall to your knees beneath my gaze. Hell, Katsuki’s guilty of it too, time to time, but Izuku would never make the claim that Bakugo Katsuki is a well-adjusted person. 

Then, to Izuku’s flinching shock, Touya drops to his knees, spreading them slightly in the dirt. He takes Izuku by the wrist, a lame appendage dangling at his hip, and brings it to his cheek. He’s looking up through his hair, grinning and bright-eyed. Kneeling, usually an act of supplication, doesn’t fit Touya’s personality, nor his expression. He looks predatory. 

“You like this position, right, Midoriya? I’ve seen Bakugo get on his knees for you just like this. Tell me if I’m being cooperative enough—“ 

His breath blisters across the inside of Izuku’s wrist, as he’s turned his face into it and widened his mouth in the way of someone intending to sink their first bite out of an apple. Izuku stiffens, and his heart feels like it’s doing that dramatic boomerang from a Looney Tunes sketch. Except he isn’t swooning, and this isn’t a heartfelt proposal. He fully expects Touya to rip a bite out of him, to bleed out from his radial artery. The esper might be far gone enough to actually do it. His teeth do make contact, but it’s just a soft scrape that tickles up his arm. 

“I’m getting impatient…” Touya’s gripping his forearm with both hands now, and to Izuku’s horror, they’re getting hot. He’s burning him. 

“Nngh! Stop, o-okay! I’ll do it, so stop!”

It’s an exchange of equal quantity, one part suffering for one part ecstasy. 

When it hits him, Izuku nearly doubles over. The only thing keeping him upright is the fierce desire to not collapse in front of a man like Todoroki Touya. It’s straight ethanol, chemical burns, nothing that has any business inside a human body. Initially, Touya’s somewhere in the high nineties. Once Izuku pins him in the sixties, he tries to pull back. Touya doesn’t let go. He’s no longer manic with an imminent rampage, but he’s got that drugged, dazed look some espers tend to get with him, those with higher compatibility. Izuku’s heart flops into his stomach.

They have a high compatibility rating, then. Why couldn’t Touya be the one esper he has shitty compatibility with? 

“L-Let go—!” He whimpers, but it’s like tugging against an iron cuff. There’s no slack, no give. The more of that energy is vacuumed into him, the sicker he feels. Izuku operates on pure instinct. He wrenches his leg back, and swings it forth with all his waning might. His foot lodges resoundingly in Touya’s unsuspecting gut. While actually hurting him isn’t likely, it stuns him enough that he loosens his grip. Izuku flys back, and those pained odds and ends remind him of their presence when he meets a hard landing. 

Touya coughs, rubbing the place he’d been punted. 

Should he…run away? Try his luck with the creatures? He doesn’t feel great, but it’s peanuts compared to guiding Katsuki. Izuku glances into the pitch coppice behind him, and Touya doesn’t miss these signs of skittishness. 

“Hey, look, I’m sorry—“ He stands, unrolling his spine like it’s a stiff, new rug. He doesn’t sound very sorry at all.“I know we agreed on ‘don’t do anything you don’t like’, so that’s my bad. I’ve never, uh…felt anything like that.”

“You’ve never been guided before?” Izuku asks flatly. 

Touya shrugs. “Not like that. Come on, you really wanna try it with the monsters instead?” 

“…maybe.”

“Don’t be a fuckin’ moron, kid.” 

“Shouldn’t you do some self reflection?!” Izuku accuses, heaving to his feet. “Since it’s something I’m actually debating?”

“Mm, you’re right,” Touya snorts. “I’ll attend a seminar as soon as we get back.”

With what seems like cinematic timing, the forest bristles around them under the unmistakable roam of a nearby behemoth. Then, a sound he’d hoped to never hear again, the macabre harmony of countless wails—the angel’s scream. Izuku couldn’t withhold his terror if he tried, all that bravado crumbling away. He digs his hands into the material of his shirt. He tries to ground himself in the polyester-cotton blend. Touya looks unphased. He glances in the direction of the beast and whistles, as if he’s heard something particularly impressive. 

“That’s a big boy. So, what were you saying? You were debating what?” He mocks. “Well, I’m headed this way. If you don’t wanna, y’know, get gobbled up, feel free to follow.” 

Izuku does, because fear builds corners, walls, and boxes in the mind. It drives you through this solitary maze, promising all your directional choices will lead you to a finish line, somewhere safe. Whether it’s lying or not, it won’t be ignored. He only realizes the potential gravity of this decision after ten minutes of silent walking. Blindly, obediently following a man like Todoroki Touya could have significant consequences. He’s supposed to be looking for Katsuki, but the esper would be much more likely to find him first. 

It’s difficult to make out the silhouette of Touya’s back, as Izuku’s keeping a healthy distance between them. With his dark, strewn hair and black clothing, he melts into night’s obscurity. He wants to find it odd that he’s out here, alone, so far from his squadron’s point on the line, but it’d be hypocritical of him. Things happen. He agonizes over if he should say something, ask where they’re going, break the tedium of—

“Gah!” His nose crushes against a hard back. “What’s going on?! Why’d you stop?”

Touya glances over his shoulder, and Izuku only knows it because his mintleaf eyes gleam like something nocturnal. “Oh, you’ve been back there the whole time, eh? Walk beside me. If you loiter behind, you’re asking to get snatched up.” 

Izuku rubs his sore nose, muttering: “...bastard.” 

They resume walking. 

“So,” Touya starts, nonchalant. “Why are you scampering around the woods in the dark, looking like shit?” 

“None of your business.” His gritted reply. 

“Don’t be like that, you’ll make for shit company.”

“Why are you?”

“Oh, ho. Don’t you know it’s rude to answer questions with questions?”

“I’m not taking a lesson on manners from you.” 

Touya snorts. Izuku’s very uncomfortable with their proximity, close enough to brush arms. “I was put on cleanup duty. Some squadrons further north got fucked, monsters broke through the line. From what I’ve heard, the line was breached in the south, too.”

So, that explains—

“That’s what happened to you, isn’t it? Did your little group get exterminated?” 

Izuku stops, tensing. For Touya to describe it like that, an undeniable truth, but so fucking insensitive, makes him physically ill. On impulse, he turns and begins walking in the opposite direction. 

“Woah, hey!” Touya catches him by the sleeve, and Izuku violently shakes his grip. “I’m sorry, shit, I’m sure it’s a—sore subject...” He finishes awkwardly, and it’s the most insincere apology he’s ever received. He’s persistent, however. Instead of his sleeve, he grabs him by the bicep. “Look, I’ll gargle a bar of soap, just for you.” 

“Where are we going? Do you even know? Don’t you have a radio?”

“I have an excellent sense of direction. We’re headed to the closest convoy on the northern line. They’re Korean, but they should be able to get you back into contact with your guys from Dynamight.” 

They share a terse silence. It sounds like the truth, but Touya could be as much an excellent liar as he is a navigator [allegedly]. In fact, Izuku’s positive. His change in attitude is also suspicious. Earlier, he didn’t seem to care one way or another if Izuku followed or not, but now he’s apologizing and making halfhearted amends. Is it just because he knew Izuku was too frightened to stay behind? But, if they do part ways, it’s back to square one. He’d be lost, alone, and defenseless, praying Katsuki finds him before anything unsavory. 

“Let go. Take me to the convoy.” 

“Fantastic.” 

They carry on their way, and Izuku dreads every step. For the entire half of the island to be in discord, it’s bizarrely quiet. He’s not heard gunfire, explosion, monster, animal, or insect for several minutes. Something...isn’t right about that, he thinks. Izuku glances at his feet, watching his boots smother the tall grasses. His steps are soundless. He can’t hear the weeds swishing around his ankles. He opens his mouth to speak, and while he feels the vibration in his throat, there’s no sound. Touya has noticed this as well, because he’s suddenly grabbed by the front of his shirt. 

He shoves them into a thicket off the path, though it’s hardly a path to begin with. Izuku has no choice but to trust an esper’s judgment in situations like this one, so he doesn’t fight against the hard, heavy body that compresses him into the base of a tree. His back complains against a gnarled mass of roots, but he understands that’s the least of his worries. Touya pushes up on his palms, peering through the pinholes in the shrubbery. Izuku can barely see the face five inches from his own, so he wonders what the esper hopes to find. Maybe espers have superior eyesight. 

Those mintleaf eyes find his own, and any traces of cynical humor are gone. His scarred hand appears in Izuku’s line of sight, and he makes a stern gesture: stay here, don’t move. Izuku nods, because this is the only reason he’s following behind Touya to begin with. Whatever’s out there, he’s hopeful an SS-class can handle it. Touya abandons him in his hiding place, and with the sudden deafness, he can’t help but want to at least try to see what’s happening. Flipping onto his belly, he drags his body across the bed of roots. He digs a porthole out of the bush. For what feels like hours, there’s nothing. 

Touya’s fire, completely inaudible, makes him flinch. It brightens the woods, leeching across shrubs and limbs. His ears ring. With the spread of Touya’s manifestation, the enemy is visible to them now. Izuku goes cold, frozen to the dirt like permafrost. Katsuki had described a creature like this once, classed as a demon-type. ‘Demonic’ creatures are all considered intelligent, the type to ambush instead of charge wildly. The eradication of sound must be a strategic move. 

Izuku would call it a reaper, those cloaked beings that drift the sterile corridors of a hospice ward, scythe primed for soul collection. Katsuki calls them wraiths. SS-class, though supposedly underlings of an even greater creature. Cast in the blue of Touya’s fire, it cuts a sight that chills him to the bone. Hovering some feet above the ground, a frame much larger than any man, it’s cloaked and featureless beyond that. Tatters of black fabric wisp around it like liquid in a zero-gravity chamber, an ethereal movement of its own creation, as there’s no wind to justify it. It bears a hood, but there’s only an inky void where its face might be. 

Neither hands, nor feet, but from the billow of a sleeve, it wields a broad sword as long and wide as Touya himself. They’re classed the same, Izuku desperately reminds himself. They’re both considered SS-class beings. Touya might look more human out of the two of them, but he’s dangerous too. But, can a wraith be harmed or killed with fire? God, isn’t there a class he can take on this shit? 

It starts as a melee battle, to Izuku’s surprise. 

He didn’t think the sword was a prop, but he thought the creature might have tricks. Surely, it does. With an effective combination of athleticism and calculative bursts of fire, Touya dodges the cleaving attacks well enough. He, too, can hover, and it becomes an aerial clash. When on the offensive, Izuku’s aggrieved to note his fire isn’t having much of an effect. It almost looks to sink into the wraith’s liquescent cloak. With so much happening visibly, the lack of sound is making him nauseous, a horribly disorienting sensation. 

Touya isn’t oblivious to the abysmal effect of his energy, and in response, he ups his output. He’s a supergiant gone nova, and Izuku has to close his eyes and drop his face. His fire is more white than blue, as if the sun dropped out of the sky and landed in his lap. It’s so hot, I can’t breathe, sucking up all the oxygen—

The return of sound isn’t the relief he thought it would be. It comes from the wraith, and it can’t be described as a scream or anything similar, though Izuku thinks that’s what it’s meant to be. It’s almost...a pulse, like Katsuki’s propulsion across the dimming sky at the airstrip. The noise itself isn’t as important, but the feeling it dredges up from his soul. He slumps against the ground, unable to move, turning the dirt to mud with a downpour of hot tears. It’s not fear. Izuku isn’t afraid he’ll die. 

Hopelessness. 

He wants to die. It’s the only thing he can do, it’s the natural outcome. Everything and everyone he’s ever loved and cared for loses value in his heart. It bogs him down. His brain actively rebels against his body. Grief, heartbreak, loneliness, and despair, the onset of which is so powerful and abrupt, it’s immobilizing. He’s convinced this feeling will never go away, never stop, it’s my burden as long as I keep breathing, make it stop, make it stop, make it stop, please—

It’s a complete and total loss of will to live. 

The clearing brightens, which shouldn’t be possible. What’s brighter than the sun, than a supernova? Touya overwrites the wraith’s soul-crushing pulse with his own harrowing cry, a sound that might’ve eviscerated his vocal chords. Like a strike of lightning frozen in time, the clock resumes, and the woods are plunged into a thicker darkness than before. Izuku hasn’t recovered from the roil of emotion, and he isn’t convinced that feeling wasn’t his own. He blinks slowly, sleepily. Espers fight creatures like this all the time, even now, as he lays here boneless with defeat. 

Izuku smothers a laugh at Katsuki’s overt display of athleticism, as carrying a full conversation in the middle of his daily one-hundred push-ups is, frankly, absurd. “You’re not far off. I mean, they look the same, too. Stupid, black cloak, big-ass sword. Creepy motherfuckers, but they’re weak as shit.” 

Katsuki said they were weak. Maybe, every wraith he’s come across has died before it could deploy that defense mechanism. Maybe Katsuki’s never even heard it scream. Izuku shakes with a bitter, breathless laugh. He doesn’t belong in this world. 

“Midoriya!” 

He flinches. Scraping together some energy, he pushes up. The wraith is no more, but its weapon sticks out of the ground like Excalibur. Touya’s sat in the midst of the charred space, and even in the dark, Izuku can see the smoke baking off of him. All that output must’ve done a number on his body. His shoulders jump with short, shallow breaths, and his eyes are once again brighter than they should be. Izuku staggers towards him, then drops down beside him. Without asking or needing to be asked, he grabs the esper’s hand. Touya sags with some form of relief, the only kind Izuku can provide. This time, when Izuku pulls back, he doesn’t cling. 

They sit there for many minutes, catching a breath and reorganizing scattered thought. Izuku breaks the oddly companionable silence: “Now who looks like shit?” 

Touya cuts a surprised glance at him through his bedraggled fringe, then puffs the ghost of a laugh. “You really are funny as fuck.” 

“Thanks.” 

It’s understood that his gratitude is for more than the compliment, but Touya doesn’t comment on it. He only says, “I can’t believe a wraith made it this far past the line.” 

“That’s bad, huh?”

“It’s not great.” 

“Right.” 

“I’m evenly matched with bastards like that, so I can’t blow through a hundred of ‘em like your boyfriend.” 

Despite the gravity of their situation, Izuku still has enough energy to be embarrassed. Cue, topic change. “Can you keep going?” 

“Not much of a choice.” Touya gets to his feet. He rolls out his shoulders, his neck, and bends backwards to squeeze a few cracks from his spine. “Good to go.” 

“You’re a monster.” 

Once again, their journey continues. He’s tensed in preparation for the next inevitable horror, because that’s just how it goes, isn’t it? The line is in shambles. Monsters have breached at multiple points, and by now, these hills must be teeming. Touya’s putting on a tough face, but Izuku can tell he’s hurting. Unless the next foe they encounter is a lower class, they’ll suffer more than a few burns and future trips to therapy. They carry on for thirty more minutes, but the convoy Touya mentioned feels no closer. Sprinkles of conversation happen throughout, and with Touya’s direct action in saving his life, Izuku’s more amicable in participating. 

“So, how’re the Dynamight cunts treating you?” 

Izuku huffs. “Good, I think. I’m in the middle of a dilemma right now.”

“Yeah?” 

“Katsuki doesn’t want me to be an open-ended guide anymore,” Izuku doesn’t catch it, but Touya stiffens, a subtle tension in his frame that he quickly bleeds out. “—but the guides are always so shorthanded. I don’t want to leave them high and dry, y’know? Katsuki’s a big job, but I can do more.” 

“Guides are always shorthanded, Midoriya, in every Guild.” 

“Do you have many at the League?” 

“Nowhere near enough. Guidance doesn’t cause me pain, but my compatibility is shit with the ones we have.” He admits, sliding a glance at Izuku. “We’ve got a lot of higher class espers, but barely any guides above B-class.” 

Izuku snorts. “Probably the lack of boundaries and consent. Your recruitment tactics are awful. Try a cute flier next time.” 

“Your guidance feels good.” 

“I know.” 

“Don’t you feel, I don’t know, indebted? I did just save your fuckin’ life.” 

“Great, so we’re two to one, since I’ve guided you twice now.” 

Izuku even tried to ask about his relationship with his family, but Touya shot that down immediately: “Wow, you want my mother’s maiden name and my social security number, too?” 

It’s...not unpleasant, and like a gullible fool, Izuku drops his guard. 

Thunder rolls in the ground, buzzing in their soles. That familiar harmony in the distance, but drawing nearer. A writhing sea of fire devours the ridge below, the park giving way to temple grounds on the outskirts of Jeju. The seraphim is upon him again. Izuku’s too defeated to weep, he simply watches the ungodly being in its destructive throes. From this distance, in the darkness, in the backdrop of its own conflagration, it reminds him of the long-limbed, bulbous-headed aliens from War of the Worlds.  

“That’s the one that took out my group.” He tells Touya, toneless.

“What a clusterfuck of an operation...” He mutters. 

Strangely, there’s a new sound. It’s like...a sword yoked from a sheath, the squeal of sharp metal. It repeats over and over, at least ten to twelve times. The seraphim [as Izuku dubbed it] is moving in unusual patterns, almost a twitchy stumble in place. It becomes clear why moments later, as many stabs of crimson energy have lanced through its main body. They’re like megawattage spotlights shooting up from the ground, through the creature, and into the sky as beacons. At each point it’s been impaled, the seraphim bursts. Over and over, until it’s ripped apart completely. Such a massive, indestructible thing...torn to pieces, its gutted flesh thumping against the earth like dead fish to a pier. 

“Looks like your boyfriend took care of it for us, fuckin’ show-off.” 

Izuku’s so relieved, he can’t breathe. His chest hitches, his eyes burn, and his nose kicks up its predictable tingle. Katsuki’s finally here, he’s right down there. He killed that terrible fucking monster like it was nothing, and since he’s backtracked so far from Onggi, Izuku knows he’s been on the hunt for him. Katsuki’s been looking for him. He isn’t surprised, but it was starting to feel like they’d never meet again. He wouldn’t even get to say ‘I like you too, idiot.’ 

Sucking in a lungful of air, he cups his hands around his mouth, ready to pump out his voice at maximum volume: “Kats—mmph!”

The lower half of his face is clamped, Touya’s rough hand sealing up his call. His other arm hooks around his midsection tightly, and Izuku thrashes like a mad animal as he’s dragged back into a thicket of trees. Touya slides down against a trunk, and Izuku’s forced to collapse into the dirt with him, back to chest. He screams, sobs, and bites viciously at the hand fleecing his mouth. His feet scrabble for purchase against the ground, and he twists as hard as he can. To no avail, Touya hardly reacts. Now, he weeps. Hunching over, he cries hard enough to have saliva seeping through Touya’s fingers. He was so close, Katsuki’s right there. 

Worst of all, he feels deeply betrayed. 

He sorta, kinda liked the last of his time spent with Touya. He thought they were getting along, sharing a wavelength. He loathes himself for it. Touya releases his mouth, and Izuku panics at the feeling of his bicep curling around his throat. Slowly, he tightens. 

“Hah, sorry, kid. It’s nothin’ personal. If he goes, at least he’ll take this island down with him. It’s already past saving.” 

Izuku grips and claws desperately at the scar-roughened skin of Touya’s arm, but that, too, is totally useless. His vision is spotting, sound is blurring, holographic bubbles bursting gently in his head. He’s sleepy. 

With Izuku limp against his chest, Touya relaxes his serpentine grip. He fishes a comm out of the deep, velcro pocket on the side of his leg and fits the little bud in his ear. “It’s me. Change of plans, I need evac.” 

Thunking his head against the bark, he sighs. His story wasn’t entirely phony. Officially, he was on cleanup duty, as the line is very much full of holes. Unofficially, he knew exactly where Midoriya Izuku’s envoy was stationed and which route they were traveling. His group getting blindsided by an SSS-class rogue, well, that was just dumb luck. Izuku’s survival being the lucky part. Extending beyond luck and into the realm of divine intervention, Izuku stumbling upon him just as he was about to rampage. Even Touya didn’t anticipate the quantity of high-class monsters this far past the line, and before he knew it, he’d landed himself deep in the red. 

Half the work had been done for him. Izuku was lost, alone, and unable to communicate with anyone from his Guild. It was just a matter of keeping him separated from Bakugo. With the unforgiving state of affairs on the island, he wouldn’t last two hours apart from his guide. With his guide missing? He’ll be compelled to use up more and more energy in effort to find him. Bakugo rampages, Jeju Island is wiped off the face of the Earth, and he’s no longer anyone’s priority. 

Izuku would be easy enough to poach after that. It’s a Christmas miracle they haven’t imprinted yet.

If it had worked out that way, there’d be no one to blame. It would be chalked up to tragic, unfortunate circumstances. Except, Bakugo’s a fucking bloodhound. Touya didn’t expect him to get ahead of them. He wasn’t even a klick down the ridge, and he’d have absolutely heard it if Izuku shouted for him. Now, he’s in a tight spot. Izuku won’t go off with the League in quiet mourning after this. 

Glancing down at the unconscious guide slumped against him, he scowls.

“Why’d you have to be so fucking funny? Now I feel like a dick.” 

chhhhh—!

“ Aizawa, do you copy?”

Bakugo’s voice coming through the priority channel, certainly not a ‘I just found and killed the boss, yippee’ tone, is possibly the last thing he wants to hear. He’d actually rather be sitting in an oncology office, pancreas the size of a football, handed a timer counting down the last six months of his life. 

“I copy. What’s going on?” 

“My squadron’s convoy was completely wiped out by a rogue, the line is fucked. I have one imprinted esper on my team, three had designated guides. They need backup and containment—“

Aizawa doesn’t immediately reply, holding his breath. Bakugo’s doing his best to get the details out, but he sounds…

“—I couldn’t find Deku in the wreckage, but he left a message. He escaped to the north. I’m in pursuit.” 

Aizawa releases that breath. He flicks through his tablet, pulling up Bakugo’s signal. “You’re in the orange right now. You have permission to pursue, but for the love of God, watch your output. Don’t do anything unnecessary, don’t kill anything you don’t have to. Yagi’s on standby to replace you, so he’ll regroup with your squadron. Medics and backup guides will be deployed as well.” 

“Copy.”

“I want an update at thirty minute intervals.” 

“Copy.”

This is yet another worst case. Theoretically, Bakugo could wipe out every threat on this island in, maybe, a few hours or less. That would only be possible if Midoriya was strapped to his back like a schoolbag. Where Bakugo is concerned, Midoriya has limits too. Constantly guiding him from red to zero is hard on his body, and there has to be a sufficient cooldown period. It’s just not feasible. Their best bet was centering him on the line so he’d reach the gate site first.

There’s no accounting for errors in the north and south, and with the line breaking on either side of him, it makes any effort feel pointless. With monsters behind the line, everything falls apart. If the guidance convoys go down, the espers on the frontline are effectively dead. Attempts at containment are underway, but the monsters are overwhelming in both number and class. The only way it’d be any worse is if Bakugo was already driven into a rampage by Midoriya’s disappearance. If he’d found his corpse in the wreckage, well, Aizawa probably wouldn’t be alive right now to worry about it. No one would be. 

Bakugo’s keeping his head, but it won’t last. No matter how calm he is [which Aizawa knows he’s not], he’ll rampage sooner or later without guidance. 

He’s counting on one thing: Midoriya Izuku is the luckiest son of a bitch at the Kentucky Derby. 

There’s way too much at stake to lose it, and Katsuki knows that. He knows it, but between his mind and body, there’s a million things going on at once. 

With this raid, it’s become strikingly clear to him. There’s been a major priority shift in his life. He used to enjoy situations like this one. He enjoyed pushing his energy to its limit, slaughtering otherworldly creatures, and standing atop a mountain of their corpses. It made all the pain feel worth something. He enjoyed walking amongst his peers and knowing none of them could stack up. Guidance was always a bitter pill to swallow, but he was too concerned with his own suffering, getting back to the field, to give a shit about the strain he was putting on his obligatory guides. 

That’s no longer the case. He’d rather they be anywhere but here, and he feels desperate to see it finished as soon as possible. While victory through raw violence is a thrill, he can’t revel in it like he used to. 

Now, he’s just constantly fucking worried about Deku. His body had been packed with tension since taking Aizawa’s call at the apartment. During a breach, guides are as much an active part of the field as anyone, just as exposed to danger. Katsuki’s barely been able to concentrate through the ramblings of an overactive imagination. His jaw is stuck in a clench, and his shoulders feel like their shelving boulders. He was able to soothe himself with the direct comlink to Deku, but there was a persistent undercurrent of anxiety.

Katsuki’s never been one to trust in the ability and competence of others, but in this situation, he had no choice. This whole thing feels like walking a tightrope with his hands and feet hogtied behind him. If he overexerts to wrap it up quickly, he’ll push Deku’s body too far. If he relies on others, moving at a snail’s tedious pace, there’s a risk of—

This. 

The squadrons further north on the line dropped the ball, letting monsters through. Deku’s guidance convoy was attacked. Deku’s missing, again. He’s alive, but there’s no telling what shape he’s in. Katsuki keeps remembering the Musutafu gate: bloody, battered, verging on death, and using his own back as a shield to keep Yuki from being crushed in a cave-in. He keeps picturing a terrified, half-dead Deku limping through a dark, infested wood. Katsuki’s afraid, and to subdue that fear, he relies on the comfort of anger. He’s angry with the lack of proper protection for the convoys, with the pathetically weak espers who allowed monsters to get past them, with the gates for existing at all, and—

With himself. He’s furious with himself for failing to protect Deku, for putting him in a position to be here in the first place. Deku never wanted this lifestyle, and he did his damndest to avoid it. Katsuki dragged him into it kicking and screaming, obsessed with the idea of quality guidance. Because of him, Deku’s a target. His face is known worldwide, his actions are critiqued by strangers, he’s sought after by other Guilds, and he has no choice but to follow Katsuki into one perilous situation after another. 

Memories of their short domestic stint cycle through his mind’s eye like Deku’s a thriller film’s love interest who died tragically before the plot kicked off, an excess of lens flares and ‘golden hour’ shots. There is no narrative without Deku. 

The best thing he can do now is not completely lose his fucking mind. He contacted Aizawa as soon as he found that message in the dirt, then he relayed those updates back to his squadron holding their position at Onggi. He’s not a tracker, he doesn’t covertly look for things. He wouldn’t be able to find salvation in a church, let alone Deku in the middle of Hallasan National Park at night. His best bet would be in the air, but he can’t risk burning that much energy. Sliding down the embankment, he comms Takami Keigo. 

“I copy. What’s going on?” 

“What’s your location?” 

“Near Hanwha Resort.” 

“I need you to scatter some plumes from the coastline to the Norusoni hiking trail, your position to the front of the line.” 

“Doable. What am I looking for?” 

“Deku.” 

“On it.” 

Thankfully, there are only a few miles of natural landscape between Deku’s last position and the outskirts of Jeju. The espers’ line slices right through the city and tourist attractions, so as long as he doesn’t run into any other high-class rogues, he should make contact with someone. Katsuki can only pray it’s someone he won’t have to kill, as Deku’s considered a prize worth stealing. He dashes through the dense brushwood, maintaining a light shield to blitz away clinging limbs and rebuff any potential guerilla attacks. He might not be a tracker, but he doesn’t miss the more conspicuous signs of another’s presence before him. 

Smoke, the remnants of fire, a slain canine-type.

Monsters aren’t picky. They’ll kill anything weaker than themselves, including each other. He can’t say for sure if it was the work of another esper or a creature. If it’s an esper, there are many that manipulate fire or something close to it. 

“Hah, goddamnit...” He hisses, moving on. It’s killing him not to take to the air, not to just blast this forest to splinters. 

chhhh—!

“Bakugo, you copy?” 

“I copy.”

“Listen, Aizawa patched me into your location. Less than half a klick northeast of your position, there are signs of a massive firefight. There’s nothing left of the combatant except a weapon at the scene, a broad sword. I haven’t found any sign of Midoriya yet. There’s an SSS-class abstract near Cheon-Wang Sa Temple, three klicks north.” 

“Headed that way.” 

Two instances of a controlled firefight less than a kilometer apart, no hapless scorching in between. If it was a creature, they’d have recklessly burned their way through the park. Behind his ribs, it feels like there’s a bottomless vacuum. It has to be another esper. He isn’t comforted by that, not one fucking bit. He knows next to nothing about the Korean forces, and he isn’t sure who’s comprising the squadrons on the northern line. Loathed as he is to admit it, the only fire-manipulator he’d trust to return Deku unscathed is Todoroki Shoto, and he’s holding the southern part of the line. 

It shouldn’t hurt to fly a little bit, right? 

The SSS-class abstract that Keigo mentioned becomes immediately visible once he crests the treetops, mostly because it’s spewing fire like a busted hydrant. Katsuki would bet a year’s salary that it’s the monster responsible for wiping out Deku’s convoy. Aizawa said not to do anything unnecessary, but he’d hardly call it that. Deku’s somewhere in this zone, and that big, ugly bastard looks determined to reduce half the island to ash carried off by the next cold front. Killing it with flare would double as a giant advertisement: here I am, Deku, get your pretty ass over here. 

The temple is a traditional monument under the diocese of the Jogye Order of Korean Buddhism. Even from this distance, its finery and grand, stone stairwells are visible between a nest of autumn-bright foliage. Of course, it’s only visible in the pitch of night because it’s on fire. The abstract-type has made a stomping ground of that holy place, slapping lightning and fire against the structure and surrounding woods with no apparent purpose or target. It’s a hideous thing with more orifices and appendages than could ever be justified. It’s fucking noisy, too. 

Touching down at the sloping base of the ridge, where trees phase into a short pasture, he glances at the actigraph strapped to his wrist. He clocks a stability rating of 69%. He can afford to be a little flashy. When in tune with his energy, he operates it as he’d operate any part of his body. It requires as much thought as it does to turn his head, to lift his arm, to take a step. Once an action is learned, it’s practically involuntary. He imagines it, and his energy functions like a multipurpose limb to make it happen. Impaling a creature [of any size] on a bed of phantom spikes is kiddie stuff, and it won’t drive his rating past a point of no return. 

There’s roughly two hundred feet between them, well within range. Like cupping water in his hands, he gathers a swell of energy beneath it’s ghastly shape. In his mind, the monster’s effigy exists as a vodou doll, and he stabs it over and over. Plunging imaginary pins through stuffing, they take shape as spears of light across the yard, parting the dark firmament like searchlights. For him, it’s a physical thing, just as you’d feel the shape of someone’s innards bouncing back into the palm of your hand through a hilt. That negative maelstrom whipping through his body, he pours it all into each thrust. 

It feels so fucking good. It’s inordinately satisfying to rip something apart, to regain control in the only way he’s ever known. The creature pops like an overfed tick. Katsuki glances back at his wrist, huffing under his breath. 73%, not bad. If Deku’s anywhere close, there’s no way he missed it. 

Keigo comes through his comm after another fifteen minutes. 

“It’s me, your best buddy, Takami, who’s being very, very helpful right now, so remember that—”

“Have you found him or not?!” Katsuki barks down the line. 

“...no, but! But, I have something of interest. It might be unrelated, but there’s some movement from the League half a klick west. Shimura and Bubaigawara, they’ve broken away from their designated squad. It doesn’t look like they’re headed straight for you, but they’re in a vehicle.” 

The dots connect themselves. 

No sign of Deku, controlled firefights scattering the park, the League’s unexplainable movement. He actually feels relieved, because now he knows without a shadow of doubt, Deku’s alive. He’ll be sure to pay Shoto his respects at his big brother’s funeral, however. He closes his eyes, tips his head back, and exhales a ragged laugh. With this most recent emotional upset, he can feel his rating climb. 

He wonders how much trouble he’ll get in if he just...kills them all. 

Upon waking, Izuku wishes Touya would have just killed him. 

It’s for a number of reasons, but the main one being—

“Mmph! Mm!” 

He’d rather be dead than a damsel. Wrists and ankles strictly bound, gagged, and dangling off the ridge of Touya’s shoulder like a bag of Quikrete. If Katsuki finds him like this, he’ll never live it down. Well, no one might live it down. He smacks his knees against Touya’s breast and beats his fists against his broad back. 

“Settle down, or you’ll fall off.” 

“Mm—mm!” 

Their surroundings have changed. They’re no longer bound by the tight, suffocating wood of the parkland. They're in a countryside offset from a tiny suburb, or maybe a village. The largest nearby structure looks like it could be a hotel or resort. It’s a strangely abandoned place, as this close to the line, Izuku expected more activity. Maybe...he’s been out longer than he thinks? Oh, God, where are they? 

Izuku renews his struggle. This is bad. This is crazy. Espers are dying, and he’s halfway across the island, being trotted off like filched merchandise. There’s no telling how much energy Katsuki burned to kill off the seraphim. What if he’s already rampaging? Izuku sucks in air heavily through his nose, lightheaded with a feeling of I can’t breathe. His face is hot with too much blood, and his extremities are like ice. He’s panicking. From the looks of it, Touya’s headed for the resort. 

It’s a dated place that presents eerie at night, as despite being void of life, it’s lit both inside and out. The large windows are a shade of algae, with a slight curvature to the glass. It makes it seem like the entire interior of the building is submerged in murky water. Touya doesn’t put him down until they’re inside of it, and it’s no more modern than it looks from the street. Ugly, white linoleum that could use a stripping, lots of dark wood paneling, patterned furniture straight from an edition of IKEA ‘83. 

Beyond the antiquated design, they’re not alone. 

“Midoriya-san!” Jin sing-songs, flopping his hand in a wave —like he’s not a hostage. 

“Took you long enough, fuck.” The other is a man Izuku’s never met directly, but he’s just as recognizable as anyone else in the League. Shimura Tenko lounges across the aforementioned furniture, flipping idly through one of the [decade old] magazines mused across the coffee table.  

“Oh, my bad, I should’ve called for that fuckin’ cab, what was I even thinking?” Touya scoffs. 

“Any sign of him?”

“No, not since the temple.” 

“That doesn’t mean anything.” 

“Exactly, so can we go already, please? I feel like shit.” 

Tenko smoothly swings himself into a sitting position. He eyeballs Izuku, who’d been unkindly deposited on the floor. He’s intimidating up close. Shaggy, off-white hair. Skin irritation and a chronically chapped mouth that belies his young age. His eyes are thin and a little too close in shade to Katsuki’s, except they're glossy with delirium. He stands and crosses the lobby. His footfalls squeak like he’s stomping mice to death. He squats next to where Izuku’s bound.

“Midoriya Izuku, in the flesh. Nice to finally be workin’ with ya.”

Izuku fixes him with a venomous glare, to which he grins. “Goodness, and here I thought you’d be over the moon for a golden opportunity such as this. We’re a top ten Guild too, y’know. Great benefits.” 

Jin gasps, “that’s what I said!”

Touya shifts on his feet, glancing through the pneumatic doors. “Can we save the chatter for the truck? Jesus Christ.” 

Tenko sighs, straightening to a stand. “Right, best get a move on before Beetlejuice Katsuki shows up. If we say his name three times, it’s game over. Jin, grab our precious cargo, please. He’s fragile, so be careful.” 

“Sure thing!” 

Jin scoops him from the floor, cradling him as a bride, and the trio begins a path deeper into the hotel. Izuku guesses there’s a backdoor. The masked esper is uncomfortably friendly, chittering on about something Izuku can’t be bothered to retain. Jin is just as large and able-bodied as his companions, because once Izuku wriggles in his arms, he tightens them to steel. The lobby’s lights grow dim the further they go, and before long, they’re passing through an unlit corridor. His situation is seeming more and more hopeless, and he’s reminded of that awful feeling burdening his soul, courtesy of the wraith. It’s not to that extent, but what’s he supposed to do now?

Espers aren’t stupid monsters. Izuku can’t win against high-class espers like these with a bludgeoning rock and a resolution. He’s bound, no concept of his whereabouts, and no method of contacting anyone. The only thing he knows for certain is that they’re headed for a truck, so they intend to drive him somewhere. 

They’ve finally made it to the back entrance, and Tenko opens the door by driving his hip against the crash bar. It’s dark, but Izuku can decipher the shape of a large, armored truck nudged up against the resort’s dumpster. Cold sweat tickles down his spine, and his belly flips like crepes on a griddle. Praying for intervention, he tries not to sob when it doesn’t come. He’s packed into the cab like a case of McGriddles headed for a grocer’s freezer section, and Jin joins him. Moments later, the truck grumbles beneath his cheek. 

Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit—!

Izuku tries to count the minutes, desperate to track something. If he’s able to contact someone, he can describe the resort and the distance they’ve traveled from it. He discreetly strains against his bindings, flexing his wrists back and forth against each other. He has to get out of here, he has to. He has to do something! They need him, Katsuki needs him. He’ll...he’ll die without—!

“Mmph!” 

He skids across the floor of the bay, and Jin, bless his misguided heart, quickly wraps around him as a flesh cushion. The truck had come to a sharp, sudden stop, but nothing like a crash. It wasn’t even a sudden braking, they’ve just...stopped. His stomach rolls, and it’s like enduring the breakneck dips of a rollercoaster. 

“Oh, no,” Jin whispers, terrified. “...did I say it three times?”

Izuku looks up at him with huge, hopeful eyes. They’re quick to brim with hot tears. The truck is floating, he thinks, squeezing his eyes shut with intense relief. Then, the vehicle rattles jarringly as its tires make renewed contact with the ground. Like the top of a soup can, the roof is peeled away with a deafening, metallic screech. The sides, too. The truck falls apart around him like a cardboard box in the rain. 

creak—!

The rear bumper sags towards the road. Jin rips a shrill scream as he’s flung from atop Izuku, his body disappearing from the skeleton of the shredded vehicle. 

thud—!

thud—!

His bindings turn to ash, smearing into the skin of his wrists and ankles. Through the blur in his vision, a familiar shape, a familiar red burn. He goes completely limp. The gag is tugged from his mouth, and he sighs all the way from his diaphragm. “Took you long enough.” He mumbles. Katsuki’s no-nonsense expression takes shape above him after a few, hard blinks. “What’s your stability rating?” 

Katsuki softens, snorting. “92%.” 

“I’m so proud of you.” He finds a laugh. 

Katsuki lifts him from the floor of the cab, and Izuku can say with confidence, nothing has ever felt as good as this. Katsuki’s arms, chest, heartbeat, breath, scent, it all feels like the safest place on Earth, or any dimension. It feels like the bones of a childhood home. It feels like a favorite blanket fresh from the dryer, with three sheets of fabric softener. Hojicha in winter underneath the kotatsu. Settling into Friday night with the newest episode of your favorite drama, successfully avoiding spoilers all week. It’s the best. Katsuki’s the best. 

Oh, oh, fuck. 

Katsuki’s mouth, how could he forget about that? It’s a sear on his temple. 

“Hey,” He murmurs.

“Yeah?”

“Don’t kill anybody. You’ll go to jail, and you’re a big softie who respects the law, so you’ll just...sit in there until your sentence is over.”

Chapter Text

Don’t kill anyone?

Katsuki’s almost killed some of their coworkers for breathing too close to Izuku, and now he’s expected to spare this merry band of kidnappers? Getting to Deku was his first priority, so he didn’t take any special care to restrain the League. Todoroki and Shimura are crafty rats, quick to abandon the vehicle even before he hefted it from the ground. His presence wasn’t exactly concealed, so they must’ve sensed his approach. 

Once Keigo was able to confirm Deku’s relatively good health, it was much easier to keep his head. It wouldn’t make sense for them to damage their stolen goods, but the League rarely operates with any sense. They also aren’t the only threat roaming the parklands, and there was no telling what injuries Deku might have sustained during the initial attack on his convoy. He’s no worse for wear, and now Katsuki’s confirmed it with his own eyes. Unfortunately, he’s far from soothed. Once peaked into the nineties, his energy almost behaves...sentient. It’s a devil on his shoulder, a beast in his gut, a malicious possession. 

Retribution is best paid in blood. 

Keeping Deku tight against his chest, he lifts from the back of the truck’s wreckage and touches down on the road. Bubaigawara is unconscious on the bank, but the other two are over sixty yards away. Katsuki’s frankly surprised they’ve not yet made a run for it, as they can fly as well as any high-class esper. Obviously, he’d catch them, but fight or flight is a tough instinct to ignore. Most opt for flight. Glancing down, Deku’s looking up at him with his most pleading, winsome expression. He sets him on his feet, then encases him in a protective bubble. Deku can’t get out, nor can anything classed below him get in. When he realizes this, he smacks against the shield: 

“Hey! Don’t even think about it! Conjugal visits are off the table! “ 

“I’m just gonna have a word with ‘em, swear to God.” 

Teleporting fifty yards won’t tip him over the edge. He blinks out of existence, reappearing before the two members of his least favorite Guild. To their credit, they neither flinch nor seem surprised. Todoroki, at least, has the common sense to look cowed. Shimura is insane enough to scoff. Katsuki couldn’t stop the swamp of his pressure if he tried, not as destabilized as he is, not as fucking pissed as he is. The two before him aren’t unaffected, staggering in place. 

Shimura’s occipital dents the pavement, asphalt webbing apart, Katsuki’s hand clenched around his face like one palms a basketball. He gags, eyes rolling to whites, blood spraying from his oronasal passages. “Is it goin’ like you thought it would?” He chuckles darkly, his own gaze blown with bloodlust. 

Todoroki flinches back, but he knows better than to intervene. Whatever happens here, to them, is a sort of fate. They’re completely outclassed, and getting caught means death or something close to it. When Shimura comes to, he reaches up and grabs at Katsuki’s wrist. His manifestation is disintegration through touch, a fearsome ability in its own right. Katsuki’s flesh isn’t carried off as ash in the wind, however. Shimura can’t override the difference in their class, and his energy fizzles out uselessly against Katsuki’s. 

“Worth a try.” He hacks a wet, messy laugh. 

“Yeah? I’ll make it really worth your while.” He promises. 

He stands from his crouch, and Shimura maintains enough audacity to hold his gaze from his crumpled position on the ground. “Even you can’t be everywhere at once.” He taunts. “You think there won’t be consequences for your greed? You think the entire world will sit back and let you hoard something so valuable, the only of its kind?”

thwomp—! 

Pressure distorts the atmosphere. 

Todoroki crashes to his hands and knees, retching. Moments like this one, Bakugo Katsuki’s human skin is shed, and in its place is an interdimensional entity without bounds, mercy, or weakness. He’s barely recognizable as a mere man that might laugh, frown, eat, or sleep. Where eyes sit in the face, there are only slits of firebright energy. Where a nose, mouth, and brow might flex with expression, there’s only shadow. It’s an intolerable presence, a monster among monsters. Even stupid creatures who’ve never experienced a critical thought in their lives can recognize it. 

Death. 

“I can be...wherever I need to be, wherever he needs me to be. If the world is my enemy, this world can burn.” 

Spreading his hand in front of him, he slowly clenches it into a fist. Just as slowly, Shimura’s right leg compresses into nothing resemblant of a limb. Skin, muscle, and cartilage rip apart. Bone crushed to dust. Blood and flesh splat the ground, and Shimura’s animalistic howl cracks the silence of the abandoned, rural hillside. Any higher class recovery-type can restore it to rights, but the pain is something he’ll remember. Todoroki says nothing, watching from his place hunched on the ground with a tight, grim face. 

Katsuki glances at him, and ‘if looks could kill’ has never rang so true. “He guided you, in the woods.” 

Todoroki doesn’t deny it, or maybe he’s unable to speak.

“How many times?”

Touya stiffens. In theory, it was a solid plan, but now that they’ve been caught, he’s never experienced regret like this. Bakugo isn’t someone they can stand in the ring with. His defense is impregnable, his offense is unfair. He’s all for underhanded tactics, the end justifying the means, but this was a stupid, fucking idea. Bakugo might not land a fatal blow, but it’ll be all they can do to not just lay in the road and wait to die. He contemplates lying, but he feels like a toddler fibbing to a parent. He already knows the truth, and the punishment will be significantly worse if the crime isn’t copped to honestly. 

“…twice.” He admits raggedly. 

It earns him two shattered limbs. Touya’s not unaccustomed to pain and injury, but nothing like this . The snapping, twisting compression of Bakugo’s pressure is so sudden, so excruciating, he blacks out within seconds of impact. Copper is pungent in his nares, on his tongue. There’s no comparison that can be made, not fire, lightning, or acid. It’s unparalleled agony beyond what the brain can process or describe. 

Satisfied, as no one’s immediately dead, Katsuki returns to where he’d left Deku in the bubble. His guide is throwing himself bodily against it, and Katsuki releases it just before his shoulder can make contact. He flies forward and certainly would’ve eaten the road if not for Katsuki catching him around the midsection. 

“Did you kill them?! Katsuki! Did you—?!” He gasps frantically. 

“I didn’t.” 

“I saw blood! Someone was screaming! I-I felt your—!”

“Yeah, but they aren’t fuckin’ dead.” 

Izuku gapes up at him, horrified. “What did you...do?”

Katsuki doesn’t answer, looking towards the ridge where Bubaigawara was last seen. He’s still sprawled in the grass, very much unconscious. Izuku gets tense against his chest. “No, no, no! Don’t, you can’t! He’s...he’s nice.” 

“...nice?” Katsuki parrots, offended by the suggestion. 

“Yes! He...was protecting me, when you lifted the truck!”

They engage in a tense staring match, and neither is willing to back down. Katsuki already knew as much about Bubaigawara, but he was a participant nonetheless. He can’t very well dismember the guy directly in front of Deku, though. The kid doesn’t need more trauma than he’s already got. Breaking away with a light scoff, he makes for the esper’s limp body.

“Katsuki, please—!”

He kicks him squarely in the ribs. Bubaigawara shocks awake. He jerks onto his side, sputtering and squawking to consciousness. 

“Oi.”

Bubaigawara swings around. He looks in every direction as if hearing the voice of his religion’s deity, and when his eyes settle on Katsuki’s hulking, pre-rampage form lumbering over him, they nearly roll out of their sockets. He shrieks and throws his forearms around his head as a protective cage, coming close to a fetal position. “Do it quick, please!” He whimpers.

“Get the fuck up. Make a couple clones and get those pieces of shit to the first medic you can find, or they’ll bleed to death.” 

With a shrill, cracked ‘yessir!’, Bubaigawara is on his feet and sprinting the distance to his fallen Guild members. Izuku breathes a subtle sigh of relief. He didn’t expect Katsuki to let them off with a stern warning, but even he might not get a free pass for the brutal slaughter of his fellow espers-in-arms, not when every available body is needed on the front lines. Plus, Touya was...

He wasn’t terrible. He sounded like he regretted it, if only the tiniest bit. Izuku would never bring that up to Katsuki, as he might just decide to kill Touya for daring to be somewhat likable. What’s done is done, and from what little he could see and hear of it, the League might at least put any other schemes relating to him on the backburner for the foreseeable future. The X-class in question retakes his place at his side, and now that the situation has been resolved in his eyes, he begins a thorough inspection of Izuku’s body. Spinning him this way and that, raising his arms, bending them at the elbows, lifting his shirt—

“What hurts?” 

Izuku bats him away, but he isn’t so easily deterred. “Just a few bruises, I’m fine. You really, really need guidance.” 

They both know he’s right, but to Izuku’s surprise, for the first time in all their time together, Katsuki looks...hesitant. He turns his face away, scowling faintly. 

“What’s…what is it? What’s wrong?”

When Katsuki does look back, his expression is torn up. “You…already feel like shit. Guiding me now will just make it worse.”

Izuku’s reeling. He’s struggling to process what feels like an overnight change. Katsuki never cared about that to a point of neglecting his guidance. His apology back at the encampment was the first time he’s expressed anything like guilt or regret, but it’s instinct for an esper to seek out guidance. They crave it, especially the closer they are to a rampage. Izuku’s not even that hurt, so—

Pushing on his toes, he winds his arms around Katsuki’s neck and draws him down into a tight hug. “I’m okay. I know you’ll take care of me afterwards, so let me do this for you. It’s…the only thing I can do.” 

Katsuki’s arms slide around him in kind, tightening across his ribs and notching at his lower back. “That’s bullshit.” His voice is a rumble through his throat. “It’s not the only thing you can do. This feels good too.” 

Izuku focuses on those places where their skin meets. Katsuki’s face pressed to his jugular, his hands clasped at a warm, strong nape. Tough strands of pale, unwashed hair tickling his knuckles. Slowly, so as not to alarm or have his esper pulling back, he draws that surplus of energy into himself. Despite the magnitude of it, the unquantifiable amount, Katsuki’s peace of mind translates into his energy. It’s...almost pleasant. Instead of fire, it’s like a jacuzzi’s bubbling water sloshing through him. Hot, fizzy, but not intolerable. 

His reservations might still be there, but Katsuki literally can’t help but to sink into it. Izuku likes the feeling of his weight, his bonelessness as all that tension drains out of him. It’s a very physical sign of the relief he provides, and of how keenly Katsuki experiences it. His breathing is slow and heavy, dampening the juncture of his throat and shoulder. Izuku intends to achieve another zero-out, but to his continued surprise, Katsuki rips away as soon as he hits the green. Izuku wobbles in place. He’s dizzy, nauseous, but he won’t upchuck or pass out. 

Once again, Katsuki plays medic. Izuku thinks if he had a penlight, it’d be swiping between his pupils to check for proper dilation. “Deku, you alright? Do you feel sick?”

“God, I’m fine.” He laughs. “Why’d you stop? You need a zero—“

“It’s fine like this. You wanna help me wrap this shit up?” 

Izuku frowns. “What do you mean? Like, come…with you?” 

“Yeah, since you’re a bonafide monster slayer, now.” Katsuki smirks. “We’ll find you a big rock, then hunt down the boss. What we’re doing now, it’s taking too fucking long, too many casualties. It’s not safe for you. I won’t leave you with anyone else.”

“Won’t I…get in your way?”

“Never.” 

Izuku breaks into a grin, strangely excited by the prospect. He isn’t sure if it’s the idea of getting to watch Katsuki slay a boss up close, or if he’s having delusions of grandeur, imagining himself bludgeoning the creature to death. “Okay, yeah, let’s do it!”

Katsuki returns his enthusiasm, leering at him with white, sharp teeth.“Fuck yeah, you’re so hot.” 

“That’s—not situationally appropriate!” 

“You’re hot in every situation. Get over here.”

Katsuki yanks him into the net of his arm, and before Izuku can give him the ‘time and place’ speech, he’s speaking into his comm. From the deep, droll tone on the end of the line, it’s Aizawa. He ascertains his location, then ends the communication. 

“Brace yourself, we’re gonna teleport. It won’t be safe for you to fly, it’d be too hard on your body.” 

“B-But, teleportation won’t be?” He squeaks. 

“Nah, not an eyelash out of place.” 

Dynamight’s basecamp is set up not far from Jeju’s International Airport, a well-connected urban area as any.  Some of the eastern parts of the island still hum with electricity, so every Guild has established their hub in those major zones along the coast. Medical pavilions, supply intake, personnel admission and expulsion, communication between Guilds and the squadrons on the front line. It’s a busy, busy place, and Aizawa is a busy, busy man. He’s barely happy to see Bakugo warp into the middle of camp, only slightly more happy to see Midoriya with him. 

He already knows the who, what, why from Keigo, so he’s already fielding the ‘how am I going to keep my X-class out of prison for second degree’ headache. The pair both look...mostly fine, so Aizawa latches onto that and runs with it. They beeline for the medical pavilion, where Bakugo foists Midoriya onto the first team unfortunate enough to cross his path. There’s a few domineering, barking orders. Bakugo tries his best to detach Midoriya’s tongue from the back of his throat. Then, Aizawa finds himself promptly sniffed out. 

“So,” He starts without looking up from his tablet. “—should I go ahead and get the gift basket off to Shigaraki? ‘Sorry for killing three of your high-class espers, couldn’t be helped, love Dynamight’?” 

Bakugo, disgruntled, says: “No one’s dead. Or, I don’t think they are.” 

“You don’t think?” 

“They’re like fuckin’ cockroaches, they won’t die from a few mangled limbs. I didn’t touch the masked shithead, so he carried ‘em off.” 

“A few mangled limbs, right. Fantastic.” 

“How’s the line holding?” 

“Not great. The southern end is holding up alright, but progress is slow. The northern end is falling apart at the seams, they can barely contain the monsters they’ve let slip through. I’m sure taking out two SS-class espers won’t help matters. Since Yagi’s replaced you, your squadron is still pushing forward at a good pace, but at this rate, we won’t make it to Moselupo anytime soon.”

“Has anyone identified the boss? Or anything that could be a boss? I know you’ve got Takami looking, I’m sure there are other reconnaissance-types on it, too.”  

Aizawa sighs. “No. Our working theory is that it’s hanging back in the gate.” 

Bakugo tips his head back, looking off at nothing in particular. “I’m not asking for permission. Deku and I are going.” 

“...excuse me? You’re thinking of taking him into another gate? I thought you were worried about his safety. Have you lost your goddamn mind?” 

Bakugo snaps from nonchalance to malice in less time than it takes Aizawa to blink. “I am fucking worried, that’s why he’s coming with me. Whether it’s in a gate, at the Guild, or at home, I’m the only one who can protect him adequately. I shouldn’t have trusted this stupid, fucking system in the first place. As soon as he’s better, we’re going. Once the boss is dead and the gate’s closed, I’ll clean up the rest of the trash.”

Aizawa understands he has no ground to argue it. Sure, there’s risk, but every possible strategy and formation in instances of a breach carries risk. Midoriya’s convoy already suffered the outcome of those risks, then he became the victim of an ill-timed abduction plot. Right next to Bakugo, wherever that might be, is probably the safest place for him. It’s only because it’s Bakugo that it’s doable, however. No other esper can guarantee the safety of their guide in the midst of battle.

“Based on what we’ve seen so far, the boss is most likely a demon-type, the gate is probably a labyrinth or a field-class.” 

Bakugo swings his eyes. “Tell me something I don’t fuckin’ know.”

“I know you’ll keep him safe. Finish this, for fuck’s sake.” 

Katsuki scoops on his heel and makes for the pavilion he’d left Deku in less than ten minutes ago. Ten minutes feels like a lifetime, and there’s a paranoid whisper in the back of his mind that says Deku’s gone. He’s not there anymore, he’s been taken again. Monsters or foolhardy espers have swooped in and snatched him up. Of course, it isn’t the case. He’s sitting on the edge of a gurney, gently swaying his feet to and fro, making friends with the recovery-type who’s absolving him of his aches and pains. The only thing between him and complete nakedness is a pair of loose shorts provided by the medical team. 

“How is he?” Katsuki interrupts gruffly. 

The esper jumps and drops his hands from Deku none too subtly. “Bakugo-san! Ah, he’s—he’s fine, nothing serious.” 

“Then fuck off.”

Deku scowls at him. “You don’t have to be an ass. He was helping.” 

“Now he’s done helping.” 

Katsuki looks him over, head to toe. The esper did an excellent job, and Katsuki can admit that. No discoloration, swelling, scrapes, or stiffness remain. He’s the cream, freckled, flush with life version of Deku he’s meant to be. With him so unscathed, one article from nudity, Katsuki has to stamp down his libido, grinding it beneath his heel. He really will get the ‘time and place’ talk if he pops a boner in the middle of an active warzone. Not oblivious to the attention, Deku folds his arms across his lithe chest, huffing. 

“Did I pass inspection?” 

Gripping him above the knees, Katsuki pushes them apart and takes his place in between. He doesn’t miss Deku’s hitching breath, the little tremble that snakes his spine, or the jittery glances he casts around. He replaces his hands on either side of Deku’s thighs, curling them around the foam of the gurney’s mattress, and braces his weight through his arms. Despite his nerves, Deku doesn’t lean away as he leans in. Time or place be damned, he could eat this kid alive in front of God and all his mortal subjects. 

“Mm, I’d say you're ready for action.” He murmurs. 

“Then, let me zero you out. You’re already in the green.”

“You tryin’ to negotiate?” 

Katsuki stiffens as a small, warm hand slips the hem of his shirt, resting over his naval. Deku’s lips brush against his cheek. “Like you could resist long enough to negotiate.”

This coming from the same kid who lectured him on excessive, deliberate PDA, citing: “It’s embarrassing!” 

Deku’s already guiding him before he can say or do anything to progress their physical intimacy, which is probably for the best. He groans and drops his brow against his thin shoulder, body shuddering through a high. Drugs and alcohol are neutralized by his manifestation, but this feeling has to be like…that first ascension you’d get with heroin. Up, up, up, until cradled in a cloud, until nothing matters because everything’s as perfect as it can get. Now, Katsuki almost resents it. Between the two of them, it feels like it cheapens their relationship as people. It makes an object out of Deku, something that saves, gives pleasure—an esper’s tool or accessory. 

It isn’t reserved for Katsuki, either. Espers who share a high rating with him feel something just as close, and they can force or coerce it from him. It makes him fucking sick. Whether he embraces it or not, these are their circumstances. What he can do going forward is to loudly distinguish Deku the person from Midoriya Izuku, X-class guide, and safeguard him from those who seek to abuse the latter. 

“See? I’m all good.” Deku grins, eyes shining like dawn kissing summer grass. Katsuki stares for too many seconds, mouth slightly agape. It’s really, really hitting him. He’s...

Katsuki sets his jaw. It’s not the time, not yet. “Get dressed, and let’s find you a weapon.” 

If possible, Deku’s eyes get even brighter. “A weapon?! A real one?!” 

He treats the humble armory like it’s a trip to the candy shop. Oohing and ahhing over swords near his size, double-blade battle axes, spears, war hammers—it shouldn’t be cute, but goddamnit. “Deku, be realistic, you can’t even pick half this shit up.” 

Deku rounds on him, hands wrapped around the leather hilt of a longsword, utterly offended. “Is that a challenge?” 

Katsuki swallows repeatedly to keep from barking a laugh, because that’ll just amp him up more. “That’s not what I’m fuckin’ saying. Look, when you were stuck in that gate, you talked about breaking that big rock apart and using it like, what, a knife?” 

“...yeah?” 

“Then, what about daggers? They’re lightweight, you’ve got a bit of experience with something similar.” 

Deku’s over the moon at the suggestion. The armory has a small selection of handheld blades, most in pairs. He picks a few up, testing their weight in his palms. He swipes one in a deft arc, a stabbing motion, and his expression is strangely glazed. It’s fascinating to watch, as while his motions are those of a novice, there’s practice and intention in it. He’s remembering slaughtering those lizards. The swings he took, the feeling of flesh splitting around something tapered. It’s almost the hottest thing he’s ever seen. They decide on a modern pair of M48’s: stainless steel blades of over six inches, half an inch thick, textured hilts, and a paracord lanyard to tighten about his wrists. He sheaths them along the outside of his thighs. 

So, so hot.  

He has no intention of letting anything get close enough for him to attempt to kill it, but the idea that he wants to is such a turn-on. All those times he hailed him a coward, he’s forced to eat those affronts for dinner. Now, Deku’s acting too brazen for his own good. Knowing himself, Katsuki won’t handle the next near-death experience as reasonably as he has so far. 

“Ready?” Deku asks, as if Katsuki might be the nervous one. He wouldn’t be wrong. Katsuki pulls him into his chest again, tightening around him. 

“Hang on real, real tight, and put your feet on top of mine. When we come out of it, we’ll be in the air. Monsters are still pouring out like fuckin’ termites, so it’s not safe to touch down on the ground.” 

Deku nods, and his sable curls catch. He steps up onto the top of Katsuki’s booted feet, and his arms come tight around his back, fisting in the back of his jacket. Word spread like the type of fire Smokey’s always warning them about, and they’ve garnered a healthy audience from those already nearby. Bakugo Katsuki is dragging the world’s only X-class guide off to a red gate, what could come of this? 

God, he wants to go home already. 

Teleporting is tough to describe, at least for Izuku, as he can’t interpret the process. It isn’t something he’s doing, it’s happening to him. To him, it’s like…nothing. It’s the complete absence of existence for a few seconds, like spontaneously blacking out. One second, he’s pressed so close to Katsuki they might as well be conjoined. The next second, nothing. The third, Katsuki’s there again, gripping him tight. 

He doesn’t see, hear, or feel any part of it. It’s not as disorienting as it sounds, since it’s too fast to properly register. Going from solid ground to midair, however, is quite a shock. Katsuki makes it less so, as no part of him wavers in the air. His feet continue to be a solid foothold, and his grip only tightens to be more secure. But the wind is suddenly a whipping force, and the temperature plummets around them. Even over the wind’s ghastly whistle, mindless bellows reach up from below. Roars, shrieks, squawks, and noises Izuku can’t even pin a name to. It’s not something he can ignore, as this is what they’re here to face, but fear isn’t so simple to reason with. 

“Deku,” Katsuki rumbles near his ear, and suddenly he can’t hear anything but that. “I’ve got you.”

“…I know.”

The scene below is beyond his wildest nightmares. In the sea, the massive gate spasms with energy, pumping out a wide variety of creatures in waves. They make an unholy, anarchist army. Some are familiar shapes that have been twisted into the macabre. Some are almost humanoid, wearing plated armor and wielding bludgeoning weapons. Some crawl, some fly. Small and agile, gigantic and lumbering. The only purpose tying them together seems to be: go forth. They operate with no direction or sense, scattering across the ruined land when they realize there’s nothing left to destroy or kill. It’s no wonder the line is falling apart. Japan should’ve sent every esper they had. 

“What’s the plan?” Izuku halfway shouts.

“It’ll be a waste of time and energy to deal with these cunts right now. We’re going in, we’ll stick to the air unless it’s clear to touch down. But…” 

“What?”

Izuku’s never seen Katsuki look so…pensive.

“Something’s not right. The monsters are all…different.”

“Is that strange?”

“Technically, this isn’t a disaster-class gate, so it’s very fucking strange. Every gate is different, and monsters of the same type tend to be in one gate or another. It didn’t occur to me before, but looking down at them like this, you’d never see giant-types in the same gate as insect-types. What…what the fuck is this?” 

They arrive at the silent, mutual understanding of: there’s only one way to find out. Katsuki hefts him into a more secure bridal carry as they approach the gate from above, and if he wasn’t shitting himself, Izuku might make a Lois Lane comparison. Gates this colossal create noise, and it’s something he was too frazzled to notice in Sendai. It hums, buzzes, like an appliance about to short. The closer they get, the louder it becomes. Izuku firms up his nerve, and he decides he won’t close his eyes or bury his face in Katsuki’s chest. Whatever’s on the other side, it must be dealt with. They phase through it—

“What the fuck is going on?”  

Katsuki’s voice faintly echoes. 

It echoes because the opposite side of the gate is empty. 

There’s no army, no creatures at all. He lowers them to the ground, setting Izuku on his feet, and their heads swing about. It presents as a temple’s great hall fit for the migration of giants. The concave ceiling must be ten or fifteen stories overhead. Ostentatious colonnades stretch inwards on either side, and the floor is inlaid marble. It’s...clean, almost reflectively so. The space is ornate, patterned, and if not for the sheer size of it, Izuku would think they’ve come out on the other side of the world—St. Peter’s Basilica, Vatican City. It’s what the architecture most reminds him of. 

The gate is still behind them, just as red. Katsuki’s baffled, and it’s clear he’s never experienced anything like this. If monsters are pouring out, they should be coming through this place. It’s almost like...a split gate, where those going in are deposited somewhere different from those coming out. It makes things easier for now, but it also racks up too many questions. Will defeating this gate’s boss stop the breach? Is the inside of this gate connected to the breach at all? 

“Deku,” Katsuki’s voice is hard, quiet. “Stay right beside me.”

“Nowhere else I’d rather be.” He breathes a laugh. 

They go forward. For a place so pretty, empty, and silent, it’s ominous. Izuku fondles the hilt of his daggers like they serve a purpose beyond decoration, little more than a security blanket. He can’t see it, but he knows Katsuki’s got them bubbled in a barrier. He’s too paranoid not to. Their rubber soles smack against the marble, and the obnoxious sound only reminds them how quiet it shouldn’t be. 

The hall has high, amber stained-glass windows between each column, and curiously, a sun seems to be setting outside. Izuku can’t help but to try and see through them as they pass, wondering if the rest of this dimension is as seemingly pleasant as this place. The longer they walk without interruption, the more antsy Katsuki becomes. His eyes cut back and forth. He’s coiled tight. Izuku doesn’t run gates, but even he knows this is abnormal. Monsters should appear within minutes, seconds, of entering their domain. This is why, when something does finally appear, Katsuki heaves a visible sigh of relief. 

“Goddamn, finally...” He grumbles.

Izuku doesn’t share that sentiment. 

It’s a smaller, more coordinated army that blocks their path. They’re skeletal beings clad in derelict armor that threatens to slip off their marrow. They wield shortswords, shields, and spears. Their ghoulish shrieks replace the silence that was so disconcerting moments ago. It’s a sect of the army of the dead. Katsuki steps out of the bubble. “Deku, gimme a second. I need to blow off some steam.” 

“Uh, knock...yourself out?” 

He does exactly that. Creatures classed so far beneath him, he could’ve swept them away with a flick of his hand. He chooses not to make it so simple for himself. He wants to crush their ranks with his bare hands. Izuku can hardly process what he’s seeing, just as the undead warriors cannot process the sudden crippling of their force. Katsuki’s a destructive blur, shocks of crimson energy the only marker of his presence. The skeletons are ripped apart, bones and metal geysering into the air and clattering against the walls. Katsuki knew it was a waste of time, because those scattered and splintered remains pull themselves back together after a beat. 

He returns to Izuku’s side, and within five minutes, the battalion has completely restored itself. Katsuki doesn’t look bothered or surprised. “Persistent fucks.” 

They’re not given a chance to regroup or charge ahead. In those next seconds, the herd of chittering bones and their armaments are reduced to dust fluttering to piles on the marble. They can’t restore themselves from dust, apparently. Izuku isn’t as perturbed as he would’ve been some months ago. They carry on, stepping over the remnants of their first obstacle. Katsuki remarks:

“Undead soldiers are barely B-class. I don’t get any of this shit.” 

“Maybe the boss is a big pussy too, then.” 

Katsuki hacks a cough at his unexpected crassness. “Jesus Christ, Deku.”

“What? You’re the only one who can have a potty mouth?”

“See, you just called it a potty mouth, you ruined it.” 

Their next enemy ups the ante. Or, it would have, if it was any esper but Bakugo Katsuki. They’ve reached what’s presumably the end of the tediously long hallway, given the grand double doors that stretch towards the ceiling. In front of said doors, there’s a guard. Even Izuku recognizes this creature, one straight from human mythology. It’s a dog as large as a multistory building, with three vicious, snapping heads. Izuku can’t say he’s ever seen such a... muscular dog, but it’s strength is perceived more than visually. It exerts an awful pressure, smothering him. 

Cerberus. 

Eyes crimson and bright, saliva puddling on the marble beneath its massive paws. When those terrible maws gape, there’s a glow emanating from the throat, like it’s swallowed a bed of coals. The beasts’ roar is deafening, a monstrous pitch that rattles the floor and puts cracks in the stained glass. Fire erupts from one of three mouths as a blazing comet, and Izuku can only watch and trust as it hurtles through the air. He doesn’t step back, but he does strangle the blood out of Katsuki’s wrist. Katsuki slides his hand upward, lacing their fingers. 

Of course, the flames scatter apart against his barrier. It’s only then he realizes, he can’t feel it—the heat. Katsuki nudges him. “Oi, Deku, why not break those daggers in, eh?”

“Don’t be an ass.” 

Looking up at Katsuki, he hears it before he sees it, a sickening crack. He turns back just in time to witness the massive beast collapse against the floor, all three heads twisted to aberrant angles. “There, go stab it in the eye or something.” 

“Oh my God, shut up.” 

It really is all child’s play for him, Izuku thinks. He thought he understood that, but it’s never been more clear than it is now. It’s easy to forget how powerful he is when they’re...anywhere else. When he complains about the recent markup on beef in the midst of a shopping trip, when he gets shampoo in his eyes in the shower, when he’s crowding around Izuku’s cubicle in the middle of the day, bored and whinging. He seems so normal. But, monsters much weaker than this are out there, slaughtering their ranks. Touya had to turn himself into the fucking sun just to take down a wraith.