Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The apartment is bathed in the soft glow of a desk lamp, papers and laptops scattered across the dining table where Katsuki and Izuku are working late. It’s a typical evening after a long day of hero work, the kind where they catch up on reports and strategize for upcoming missions. The air smells faintly of coffee, and the city’s hum is a quiet backdrop. Katsuki’s in a fitted black T-shirt and sweatpants, leaning back in a chair, one arm resting on the table as he flips through a patrol schedule. Izuku’s perched on his lap, a habit so natural it barely registers—except tonight, it’s anything but innocent.

Izuku’s in loose shorts and one of Katsuki’s oversized hoodies, his curls messy, freckled thighs straddling Katsuki’s hips. He’s holding a tablet, scrolling through a mission brief, his voice soft as he talks.

“So, Mirio’s team wants to coordinate with us on the dockside op, but I think we should adjust the timing to avoid civilian traffic,” he says, all business, but his weight shifts slightly, pressing against Katsuki’s crotch in a way that’s definitely deliberate.

Fuck, Deku. Katsuki thinks, his cock twitching under the thin fabric of his sweatpants. 

“Yeah, makes sense,” Katsuki murmurs, voice rougher than usual, his free hand settling on Izuku’s hip, fingers digging in just enough to feel the heat of his skin through the shorts.

Izuku’s talking, but he’s moving now, slow and subtle, grinding his ass against Katsuki’s growing hardness. The friction is maddening, a delicious pressure that makes Katsuki’s breath hitch. You little shit, you know exactly what you’re doin’. Izuku’s pretending to focus on the tablet, but his lips twitch, and Katsuki catches the glint in his green eyes—he loves this, loves the control, the way he can drive Katsuki wild.

“Mm, and we’d need to brief the rookies by Friday,” Izuku continues, voice steady but lower, a whisper now, as he grinds harder, circling his hips. Katsuki’s cock is fully hard, straining against his sweatpants, and the way Izuku’s shorts ride up, exposing more of his thighs, is pure torture.

Katsuki’s not one to be outdone—he thrusts up, slow and deliberate, matching Izuku’s rhythm, the friction sending sparks through them both. Izuku’s breath catches, but he keeps talking, lips ghosting close to Katsuki’s, so close they’re sharing air.

“The, uh, surveillance team suggested drones, but I think—mm—personal recon’s better.”

“Fuckin’ tease,” Katsuki whispers, his lips brushing Izuku’s, not quite a kiss, as he thrusts again, harder this time.

His hand slides under the hoodie, tracing Izuku’s spine, feeling the warmth of his skin. Love you like this. All mine. Izuku’s grinding is less subtle now, a needy edge to it, and Katsuki can feel the heat of his arousal through the thin layers between them. Their work talk continues, a bizarre contrast to the heat building, but it’s them—always connected, even like this.

“Drones are too noisy,” Katsuki says, voice a low growl, his free hand slipping to Izuku’s ass, squeezing as he thrusts up again. Izuku’s tablet wobbles, but he sets it down, finally giving in, his hands finding Katsuki’s shoulders. “Personal recon’s… fuck… more reliable.” Their lips are so close, breaths mingling, and Izuku’s eyes are dark, pupils blown with want.

“Agreed,” Izuku whispers, and then—fuck—he shifts, tugging Katsuki’s sweatpants down just enough to free his cock. It’s big, thick, flushed, and Izuku’s eyes flick to it, a hungry edge to his gaze. He shoves his own shorts aside, already slick from lube he must’ve prepped with earlier—this nerd planned this—and lines himself up. With a slow, deliberate movement, he sinks down, taking Katsuki’s cock inside him, inch by inch, until he’s fully seated. Both of them groan, the sensation overwhelming, but they don’t stop talking.

“Rookies need… ngh… clear orders,” Izuku says, voice shaky but still whispering, his lips grazing Katsuki’s as he starts to move, rocking gently. Katsuki’s hands grip Izuku’s hips, guiding him, thrusting up to meet each roll. The heat, the tightness, is fucking perfect, and Katsuki’s losing it, but he keeps the conversation going, because damn, Izuku’s commitment to this game is hot.

“Yeah, no vague bullshit,” Katsuki manages, his voice a rough whisper, one hand sliding up to cup Izuku’s face, thumb brushing his lip. Their mouths hover, ghosting, teasing, as they move together, the slow, deliberate pace driving them both insane. “Gonna… fuck… drill it into ‘em.” Izuku’s moans are soft, muffled, his cock hard and leaking against Katsuki’s shirt, and Katsuki can feel him clenching, loving every second.

They keep talking—mission details, schedules, all whispered, lips brushing, until the pleasure builds too high. Izuku’s movements falter, his breaths hitching, and Katsuki takes over, thrusting harder, deeper, until Izuku’s gasping, “Kacchan—please.” Katsuki kisses him then, finally, hard and deep, swallowing Izuku’s cry as he comes, spilling over Katsuki’s shirt. Katsuki follows, groaning into Izuku’s mouth, filling him, their bodies trembling together.

They stay like that, panting, lips still close, foreheads pressed together. Izuku’s blissed out, a soft smile on his face, and Katsuki’s heart swells. Katsuki kisses him softly, hands gentle now, stroking Izuku’s sides.

Katsuki lifts him carefully, cleaning them up with a nearby cloth, and they collapse onto the couch, Izuku curled against his chest, work forgotten. Just another night, but with Izuku, it’s everything.

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The apartment is quiet, save for the soft sizzle of vegetables in the pan and the faint hum of the city outside. The air smells of garlic and soy sauce, and the dim kitchen lights cast a warm glow over the space.

Katsuki stands at the stove, shirtless in just his low-slung sweatpants, stirring a quick stir-fry with practiced ease.

He’s still a little flushed, his hair a mess from earlier, and his body hums with the kind of contentment that only comes after losing himself in Izuku.

Speaking of—Izuku’s perched on the kitchen counter a few feet away, legs dangling, wearing nothing but Katsuki’s black t-shirt. The hem rides up just enough to show off those goddamn legs—muscled, scarred, freckled, and entirely too perfect for Katsuki’s sanity.

Izuku’s scrolling through his phone, muttering about some hero forum post, his curls still damp from their shower, and the sight of him in Katsuki’s shirt, all relaxed and his, is enough to make Katsuki’s chest feel like it’s caving in.

Fuck, how is he real? Katsuki’s grip on the spatula tightens as his eyes flick to Izuku’s thighs, thick from years of hero work, the way they flex slightly as he shifts.

Those legs are gonna kill me.

He’s seen them in action—kicking villains, sprinting across battlefields, wrapped around him just an hour ago—and now they’re just there, casual, like Izuku isn’t sitting there looking like every fantasy Katsuki’s ever had.

The shirt’s too big, slipping off one shoulder, exposing a collarbone marked with faint red from earlier, and Katsuki’s brain is screaming at him to abandon the food and climb Izuku right here on the counter.

He loves him so much it’s stupid. Loves the way Izuku’s voice softens when he talks about saving people, loves how he still blushes at Katsuki’s compliments, loves how he fits in Katsuki’s life like he was always meant to be here.

Right now, though, with Izuku’s legs swinging gently, the fabric of Katsuki’s shirt riding up just enough to tease, love is tangled up with a primal need to touch, to hold, to worship every inch of him.

“Kacchan, you sure you don’t need help?” Izuku asks, looking up from his phone. His voice is soft, a little hoarse, and his green eyes catch the light, all warm and unguarded.

He tilts his head, and the shirt shifts, baring more of his thigh. Katsuki’s throat goes dry.

“I got it,” Katsuki grumbles, turning back to the pan to hide the heat creeping up his neck.

Don’t look at him. You’ll burn the damn food.

But his mind’s already gone, replaying how those legs felt under his hands, how Izuku’s skin tastes, how his freckles look up close.

He’s cooked for Izuku a thousand times—late nights like this, early mornings, post-mission meals—but seeing him like this, wearing his clothes, sitting on their counter in their home, it hits Katsuki like a punch every time.

This is theirs. Izuku’s his, and he’s Izuku’s, and the thought alone makes his heart do something soft and traitorous.

Izuku hums, oblivious to Katsuki’s internal meltdown, and stretches, the shirt lifting higher. Katsuki sneaks another glance—a mistake—and nearly drops the spatula.

Those legs, the curve of his calves, the way the scars tell stories Katsuki knows by heart—it’s too much. He loves every part of Izuku, but right now, those legs are his personal hell, and he’s half a second from saying screw it and dragging Izuku back to bed.

“Smells good,” Izuku says, smiling, and he leans forward, propping his elbows on his knees.

The motion makes the shirt gape, and Katsuki’s brain flatlines.

He’s doing this on purpose. Gotta be. But Izuku’s just Izuku—sweet, clueless, perfect—and Katsuki’s the one losing his mind over how much he loves him.

“Stop movin’ around,” Katsuki mutters, voice rough but laced with affection. He steps closer, abandoning the stove for a second, and rests a hand on Izuku’s thigh, fingers splaying over warm skin. Fuck, these legs.

“You’re distractin’ me.”

Izuku blinks, then laughs, soft and bright, and leans in, their foreheads almost touching. “You’re the one touching me, Kacchan.”

Yeah, and I’m never gonna stop. Katsuki’s thumb traces a scar on Izuku’s thigh, and he lets himself drown in it—the warmth, the closeness, the quiet certainty that this is forever. “Love you,” he says, low and gruff, like it’s a secret, even though he’s said it more times than he can count.

Izuku’s smile softens, eyes crinkling. “Love you.” He leans closer, kissing Katsuki’s jaw, and Katsuki’s heart stumbles.

Gonna marry this idiot. And his stupid perfect legs. He squeezes Izuku’s thigh, then forces himself back to the stove, grumbling about the food burning, but the truth is, he’s never been happier.

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It’s just another Wednesday, nothing special—hero work done, dishes in the sink, a half-forgotten action movie paused on the TV. But in their bedroom, the air is thick with heat, the only sound is Izuku’s breathless moans and the rhythmic creak of the bed as Katsuki fucks him into the mattress.

Katsuki’s above Izuku, one hand braced on the headboard, the other gripping Izuku’s thigh, spreading him wide. Izuku’s a vision—freckled skin flushed, curls damp with sweat, green eyes half-lidded with pleasure. His smaller frame is dwarfed by Katsuki’s broader, muscular build, and fuck, Katsuki loves it—loves how Izuku looks so perfectly his, made to take everything Katsuki gives.

Izuku’s cock is hard, leaking against his stomach, but Katsuki’s focus is lower, where his own cock slides in and out of Izuku’s tight heat, slick with lube and their shared need.

“Fuck, baby,” Katsuki growls, voice rough, hips snapping hard, each thrust driving deep.

Izuku’s moans are loud, desperate, his hands clutching the sheets as he arches into every movement.

He loves this—loves being taken, manhandled, used by Katsuki, only Katsuki—and Katsuki can feel it in the way Izuku’s body clenches around him, begging for more.

Katsuki’s mind is a haze of love and lust, his heart pounding with how much he adores this man—his strength, his submission, the way he trusts Katsuki completely.

“Kacchan—please,” Izuku gasps, voice wrecked, his legs trembling as Katsuki angles to hit that spot that makes him see stars.

Katsuki’s cock stretches him perfectly, and Izuku’s lost in it, in the way Katsuki fills him, owns him. Katsuki leans down, kissing him hard, all teeth and tongue, swallowing Izuku’s moans as he fucks him faster, harder.

“Gonna come inside you,” Katsuki rasps against Izuku’s lips, and Izuku’s whimper—needy, pleading—pushes him over.

He thrusts deep, groaning as he comes, spilling hot and thick inside Izuku, his cock pulsing with every wave.

Izuku’s right behind him, untouched, his cock spurting across his stomach as he clenches around Katsuki, milking him dry.

Fuck, you’re perfect.

Katsuki stays there a moment, panting, forehead pressed to Izuku’s, their breaths mingling.

But then he pulls back, slow and deliberate, and fuck, the sight—he watches his cum leak out of Izuku, white and thick, dripping down his thighs, and it’s the hottest thing Katsuki’s ever seen.

Izuku’s still open, fucked-out and pliant, and Katsuki’s cock twitches, already half-hard again.

Fuck. He reaches down, fingers scooping up the mess, and pushes it back into Izuku, slow and deliberate, relishing the way Izuku shudders, oversensitive but eager.

“K-Kacchan,” Izuku whines, voice soft, but he spreads his legs wider, inviting, and Katsuki’s heart surges.

He loves this—loves marking Izuku, claiming him, knowing it’s his cum inside, his touch making Izuku tremble.

He keeps going, fingers working gently, pushing more back in, watching Izuku’s face—blissed out, eyes fluttering, a dreamy smile on his lips.

“You’re such a mess,” Katsuki murmurs, voice gruff but laced with affection. He leans down, kissing Izuku’s thigh, his hip, cleaning up the rest with his fingers and pushing it back, possessive and tender.

Izuku’s too far gone to respond, just humming, his body limp and sated, completely at Katsuki’s mercy. Love you like this. All mine.

When he’s satisfied, Katsuki grabs a warm washcloth from the bathroom, returning to clean Izuku properly, gentle despite the intensity earlier.

Izuku’s still blissed out, mumbling incoherently, and Katsuki’s chest aches with how much he loves him. “C’mon, nerd,” he says softly, wiping down Izuku’s thighs, his stomach, careful around his sensitive cock.

He tosses the cloth aside and pulls Izuku into his arms, settling them under the blankets, Izuku’s smaller body curled against his chest.

“You good?” Katsuki asks, brushing a kiss to Izuku’s sweaty curls, his hand rubbing slow circles on Izuku’s back. Izuku nods, nuzzling closer, his voice a sleepy whisper.

“Love you, Kacchan. Love… when you do that.” He’s drifting, content, and Katsuki’s heart feels too big for his chest.

“Love you.” Katsuki says, kissing his forehead, his cheek, holding him tight. He grabs a water bottle from the nightstand, coaxing Izuku to sip, and tucks the blankets around them.

“Sleep, idiot. I got you.”

Izuku sighs, already half-asleep, and Katsuki watches him, memorizing the way he looks—safe, loved, his. Just another night, but with Izuku in his arms, it’s everything.

Chapter Text

Katsuki’s slouched on the couch in their apartment, legs spread, scrolling through his phone with a scowl.

It’s late, the city lights filtering through the window, and he’s still in his casual sweats after a long day of hero work. His feed’s full of dumb hero rankings and fan edits—ugh, why’s Deku trending again?—when the door creaks open.

Izuku steps in, looking soft and worn-out, his Pro Hero jacket already shed, leaving him in a fitted black tee and joggers. His green curls are a mess, sticking to his forehead, and his freckles stand out against the flush of his cheeks.

“Hey, Kacchan,” Izuku says, voice like a warm blanket, kicking off his sneakers. “You’re still up?”

Katsuki grunts, eyes flicking up briefly. Don’t look too long, idiot. But then Izuku does the thing—the thing that’s been wrecking Katsuki for years now.

He pads over, all casual, and plops right into Katsuki’s lap, straddling him face-to-face like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Katsuki’s phone nearly slips from his hand, his brain stuttering to a halt. Fuck. Fuck, he’s close. Izuku’s thighs settle against his, warm and solid, and their faces are so close Katsuki can feel Izuku’s breath ghosting over his lips, inches away from kissing.

“You okay?” Izuku asks, tilting his head, those big green eyes searching Katsuki’s face with that stupid, earnest concern.

His hands rest lightly on Katsuki’s shoulders, and Katsuki’s heart does a pathetic flip. I’m not okay, you nerd. You’re killing me. He loves this man so much it’s embarrassing—loves his dumb smile, his reckless heart, the way he fits here, in Katsuki’s lap, like they’re two pieces of the same puzzle.

But right now, with Izuku’s weight grounding him and that soft mouth right there, Katsuki’s fighting a losing battle against the heat pooling in his gut.

“Shut up,” Katsuki mutters, voice low and rough, but there’s no bite to it. He sets his phone on the couch, one hand instinctively finding Izuku’s waist, the other reaching up to brush through those unruly curls.

God, his hair’s soft. Katsuki’s fingers move slow, deliberate, combing through the strands, and Izuku hums, leaning into the touch like a cat. This guy’s gonna be the death of me.

“So, uh,” Izuku starts, oblivious to the war in Katsuki’s head, “I was talking to Shoto today about the agency merger. He thinks we should streamline the patrol schedules, but I’m worried it’ll stretch the rookies too thin. What do you think?”

Katsuki barely hears him. His thumb grazes Izuku’s scalp, and his eyes are locked on those lips—pink, slightly parted, so close he could just lean in and—focus, Katsuki.

“Rookies’ll survive,” he grumbles, hand still carding through Izuku’s hair. “They gotta learn to keep up. Like you did.” His voice is softer than usual, and Izuku’s smile widens, bright and warm, making Katsuki’s chest ache.

“Yeah, guess you’re right,” Izuku says, chuckling. He shifts slightly, and Katsuki’s grip on his waist tightens, a quiet don’t you dare move in his mind.

Izuku’s breath hitches, like he’s just now noticing how close they are, how Katsuki’s staring. “Kacchan?” he whispers, voice barely audible, eyes flicking to Katsuki’s mouth.

Fuck, I love you. Katsuki’s hand pauses in Izuku’s hair, thumb brushing against his temple. He’s burning up, every inch of him screaming to close the gap, to kiss Izuku until they’re both breathless.

But he holds back, just barely, because this—this moment, with Izuku in his lap, talking about work like they’ve got all the time in the world, looking at him like he’s everything—this is what Katsuki lives for.

“You’re such a damn nerd,” he murmurs, lips twitching into a smirk, but his eyes are soft, unguarded.

Izuku laughs, low and sweet, and leans his forehead against Katsuki’s, their noses brushing. “You love it,” he teases, and Katsuki’s heart stumbles.

Yeah. I really fuckin’ do. His fingers resume their slow path through Izuku’s hair, and he lets himself drown in the closeness, the warmth, the quiet promise of forever.

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The bedroom is dimly lit, moonlight filtering through the curtains, casting soft shadows over the rumpled sheets of Katsuki and Izuku’s bed.

The air’s thick with heat, the scent of sweat and anticipation, as they’re tangled together, clothes strewn across the floor like a crime scene.

Izuku’s on his back, green curls a mess, freckled cheeks flushed, naked, cock hard and leaking against his stomach.

Katsuki’s looming over him, shirtless, sweatpants barely clinging to his hips, his own cock thick and ready, a smirk on his face as he grabs lube from the nightstand.

Izuku, panting, fumbles the drawer, pulling out a condom packet and holding it up like it’s a peace offering.

“K-Kacchan, we should… you know, use this," he says, voice shaky but earnest, his eyes wide with that mix of desire and responsibility that’s so Izuku.

Katsuki freezes, staring at the foil packet like it personally insulted him. “The fuck’s that for?” he says, voice low, one eyebrow raised as he snatches it from Izuku’s hand, holding it up like evidence. “You think I’m wrapping my dick in this shit?”

Izuku’s face goes beet red, and he props himself up on his elbows, stammering. “I-It’s just… safer, and we ran out of the morning-after stuff, and—” He’s cut off by Katsuki tossing the condom across the room, where it smacks the wall with a pathetic thwap and lands in a pile of laundry.

“No way, Deku,” Katsuki growls, leaning down, caging Izuku with his arms, his smirk turning wicked. “If I ain’t cumming in you, I ain’t cumming at all. That’s the deal.” His voice is half-serious, half-teasing, but there’s a glint in his red eyes that says he’s not backing down.

He loves Izuku—loves filling him, claiming him—and the idea of a condom is like an affront to his very soul.

Izuku’s mouth drops open, a mix of flustered and incredulous. “Kacchan, that’s ridiculous!” he squeaks, but his cock twitches, betraying how much Katsuki’s words turn him on. “You can’t just—oh!” His protest dies as Katsuki slicks his fingers with lube and slides two into Izuku’s ass, curling them deliberately, making Izuku arch and moan, hands clutching Katsuki’s biceps.

“Watch me,” Katsuki says, grinning, working Izuku open with a relentless pace, his fingers hitting that spot that makes Izuku’s eyes roll back. “You want my cock, nerd? Then take it raw, like always.” He’s half-joking, playing up the drama, but his voice is low, hot, and Izuku’s too far gone to argue, nodding frantically.

“Y-Yes, okay, just—please,” Izuku gasps, legs spreading wider, his cock leaking as Katsuki’s fingers drive him wild.

Katsuki chuckles, a smug, “That’s what I thought,” before pulling out and slicking his cock. He thrusts in, hard and deep, filling Izuku’s ass, and they both groan, Katsuki setting a steady, intense pace.

“Fuck, Deku, so good,” Katsuki grunts, hands gripping Izuku’s hips, fucking him like it’s a mission.

Izuku’s a moaning, panting mess, clinging to Katsuki, his earlier condom plea forgotten in the heat. “No fuckin’ rubber’s gettin’ in the way of this,” Katsuki adds, smirking, and Izuku half-laughs, half-moans, “Kacchan, you’re impossible!”

As they collapse, panting, Izuku swats Katsuki’s arm weakly, laughing. “You’re such a caveman,” he mutters, but he’s snuggling closer, content. Katsuki just smirks, kissing Izuku’s forehead, smug as hell.