[NSFW] FIC - "Snapshots"

BKDKBK | post-canon | getting together

Thirty vignettes. One complete story.

==

SNAPSHOTS

Crave

Izuku has never been very good at asking for what he wants.

So when Aizawa tells the class to team up, he only smiles faintly and turns to Todoroki because Kirishima has already thrown himself onto Katsuki’s back. It isn’t the overly enthusiastic gesture that has Izuku’s stomach in knots. It’s how Katsuki shoves him off with only moderate grumbling, and then simply allows his friend to drape his naked, muscular torso all over him. Izuku can do nothing but watch… and want.

During their second-year school festival when Katsuki gets roped into dancing with a pretty third-year student. Even with only one functional arm and despite his loud protests, he dances perfectly, all but sweeping the third-year off her feet. Izuku can only watch and want. 

When Kaminari drops his feet in Katsuki’s lap, when Sero touches the small of his back, when Mina adjusts his hat and pats down his hair–

When a boy with deep blue hair and ice pale eyes pulls Katsuki behind the baseball diamond to confess, and even though his friends snicker and tease, Katsuki still goes with him and doesn’t even look mad about it… Izuku watches. And he wants.

Sweat

For Izuku, Katsuki’s heroism is so much more than his quirk. It’s how Katsuki never concedes (in meaningless arguments aboard crowded trains; in alleys chasing villains, explosions echoing off the walls; in anything-but-friendly spars turned duels turned brawls). How Katsuki, in the rare instances when he’s cornered, will sink his teeth into the fingers reaching for his neck and use that second’s advantage to sweep his opponent’s legs out from underneath them. How Katsuki keeps fighting through the sweat he blinks out of his eyes and the way he sways when he stands. 

It’s how others look at Katsuki like he’s a storm, all raging wind and shattering thunder, when Izuku has always known that he’s the light that cuts through—brilliant and steady.

Balance

Izuku finds a balance, out of necessity more than anything. He trains and attends classes and goes out with his friends, but he also helps Katsuki with his physical therapy and takes on joint patrols and volunteers with ongoing reconstruction efforts. His friends tell him he does too much, but without One For All, it never quite feels like enough.

It’s Katsuki who points out that he hasn’t balanced anything at all, when he finds Izuku hiding in the bathroom, stitching up a gash in his side.

“What the fuck, Izuku?” He gestures wildly at the blood-stained sink. “Why didn’t you go to Recovery Girl?”

“Because I can handle it,” Izuku says through his teeth. He’s fine. It’s literally just a scratch—hardly the kind of thing to bother anyone else about. He’s fine.

He has to be. Because if he isn’t, if the heroes decide he can’t handle himself in a fight anymore then where does that leave him?

"When did this even happen, you fucking–" With a noise of frustration, Katsuki attempts to still Izuku's bloodied hands.

Izuku makes a sound like a wounded animal as he jerks away from his touch, accidentally yanking too hard on the needle and his stitches. But it isn't the wound that hurts most right now.

"Izuku." Hot hands grip his face, forcing him to look up and meet narrowed red eyes. “Izuku,” Katsuki says again, low and rumbling. “Stop.”

It's unfair that even now, Izuku can't help but listen when he talks like that. The concern in his voice makes Izuku's eyes sting and his throat tighten. He tries to draw a breath but his lungs are seizing—

Katsuki kisses him. All at once, Izuku’s spiraling thoughts screech to a halt.

“Stop,” Katsuki repeats, the word more a shape against Izuku’s lips than a sound. Slowly, Katsuki draws back, pale lashes fluttering against the sudden color high in his cheeks. “Oh… fuck.”

Rhythm

Izuku doesn’t let Katsuki run away. He rather does the opposite. Once they stutter around the fact that neither of them have so much as held hands with anyone not related to them, they mutually agree to expedite things.

Izuku's thighs clench around Katsuki’s waist as he’s pressed harder into the mattress, their bodies coming together in broken rhythm. Hands claw at the sheets. His mouth falls open in quick, staccato gasps, his pleasure cresting. Then Izuku arches and cries hoarsely, Katsuki’s arms tightening around him. Katsuki groans low into Izuku’s neck, sweat and heat and cum slicking between them. Clinging to Katsuki's hair, Izuku trembles and bares his neck to the hungry lips that mouth the frantic pulse beneath his jaw.

Few  

There are few within 2-A who don't know about the change in their relationship.

Half and Half knows because he asked why Izuku has a bite on his shoulder in the shape of Katsuki’s mouth (how the fuck he knows what Katsuki's teeth prints look like isn’t a question he wants answered).

Round Face and Glasses know because Izuku can’t stop looking at him with stars in his eyes (and Katsuki will make sure that never changes).

Shitty Hair and Dunce Face know because they’d overheard Izuku’s screams one night and burst into Katsuki’s room in a panic of flashing fists and sparking electricity (the idiots couldn’t look them in the eye for a week straight, serves them right.)

Aware

In front of everyone else, Izuku is bashful and accommodating, all cheery smiles and doe eyes. He still blushes when meeting new heroes, still extends a hand to anyone in need, even villains more suited for a muzzle than a gesture of faith.

Katsuki watches an arrogant first-year slap away Izuku’s proffered hand. Izuku doesn't take offense, merely raises that same hand placatingly. Katsuki smirks, because he knows what else those hands are capable of. No one else but Katsuki has knowledge of those fingers, those wrists, the crease of skin at the fold of his elbow. Their knuckles brush as Izuku walks away, as green eyes dart to him, that brief contact enough to ignite a familiar burn of awareness beneath their skin.

Compromise

When Katsuki slips away from their raucous class to steal a few moments of quiet, he's only a little annoyed to find Izuku waiting outside his room.

He takes exception that the nerd seems to think Katsuki leaving the common area and the company of others is an invitation. He also takes exception to Izuku's mess of hair and his ridiculously big eyes and his pretty mouth and the way Izuku leans back against the wall, the obscene imprint of his dick visible through his shorts.

So instead of sending him away, Katsuki opens his door. If the nerd is going to encroach on his solitude, then he can find a different way to relax.

Fate

“Do you believe in fate?” Izuku asks him.

The question is a non sequitur, what with them being half-naked in bed. Still, Katsuki angles a curious look at him, one eyebrow raised.

For all his pretty dreams and inspirational speeches, Izuku is a practical guy. Like Katsuki, Izuku will work tirelessly toward his goal–to be a hero, in whatever form that might take. He earned One For All and his place in history–not by lineage but by circumstance. Not by providence but by blood and bone. Izuku, in Katsuki's opinion, can't possibly believe in fate.

Katsuki hums thoughtfully and then licks up the curve of Izuku's bare shoulder. His fingers press into Izuku's body. When Izuku gasps, he murmurs into his mouth, "I believe in myself."

Wait

“Kacchan.” Izuku’s breath is hot against his jaw. Fingers curl like talons around his shoulders, nails gouging welts into his skin.

“Not yet,” he whispers. Izuku makes a desperate, throaty sound and thrusts into the circle of Katsuki's hand.

“Kacchan.” Izuku presses open-mouthed kisses to his neck, sucks wetly on the sticky-salt skin, latches onto the ridge collarbone and bites .

Squirming, he pulls Katsuki deeper inside, clenches his ass, and makes Katsuki forget every tenet of being a hero for a full ten seconds.

Katsuki gasps, grinds his hips upward slowly, deliberately, and hisses, “Not. Yet.”

Reflection 

Mirrors sometimes make Izuku nervous. He hides it well, but Katsuki notices every time they use the renovated training facilities. The rooms are abundant with mirrors, spanning every wall floor to ceiling, so that a single light will set a room on fire in a ring of flame.

Katsuki wonders at what Izuku sees in his reflection. The other boy never looks long, as if he's unsure what he'll find, and then as if what's there isn't quite what he expects.

But there is one mirror, strategically positioned opposite his bed, that he ensures Izuku can't avoid so that he knows what Katsuki sees reflected there—Izuku, straddling Katsuki's hips with his head thrown back, skin glistening with sweat, muscles quivering and thighs flexing as he bears down on Katsuki's dick.

Shift

Despite that he's the savior of Japan, Izuku doesn't exude intimidation. He's coolly focused in battle, and he fights with a confidence he lacked in middle school. However, excess aggression isn't typically a trait villains fear from Hero Deku.

Katsuki knows better. He revels in this secret as the sliding door of his balcony shudders under the force of Izuku's thrusts. Katsuki grins against the reinforced glass, his scalp stinging as Izuku's fist tightens in his hair to keep him still, speared on his cock and exactly where he wants him.

Smooth

Not a single person would argue that Izuku was a smooth talker. Oh, he was plenty inspirational when pushed, but words like those had to be wrenched from his hero’s heart. In most other situations, he never failed to be a shitty nerd.

“C-come on, baby, give it to me harder.”

Katsuki stops mid-thrust and stares .

Izuku, face flaming, tries for a meek, “Sorry? I-I thought maybe you’d like...” And before Katsuki can start shouting, Izuku covers his face with both hands and makes a sound like a dying donkey. “I knew he was lying, I knew it.”

Katsuki quickly connects the dots. “Why the hell would you take Dunce Face’s advice?!”

Kaminari makes himself conspicuously scarce the rest of the week.

Tongue

Izuku mentions once that his control over Blackwhip was so precise that he could manipulate it with his tongue.

While mourning the loss of that particular kink, Katsuki happily allows Izuku to crawl into his lap, thick thighs braced at either side. He snatches Katsuki's hand mid-motion as he's reaching for the light switch. Then he sucks Katsuki's fingers into his mouth, one at a time, tongue sliding over knuckles and thick calluses. Pulling back, he smiles sweetly and scrapes his teeth over the tip of Katsuki's index finger.

Again

Katsuki really fucking hates hospitals. His awareness returns in stages of swimming nausea. His gaze gradually focuses on a mottled face stained with tears and possibly snot and a smear of freckles. Those green eyes widen even as his face crumples with emotion, restless hands passing light and quick over Katsuki's hair, brushing away the sweaty strands.

Then Izuku kisses him—frantic and devouring, all emotion and no finesse. He moans, and the sound is more obscene than any cry of orgasm.

“You came back,” Izuku says between sobs. Katsuki feels the way his voice breaks all the way to his core.

Nerd , Katsuki thinks, a little helplessly. Did you think I had a choice?

Fleeting

The war taught him that life is fleeting. He spent years wrapped up within his insecurities, measuring his worth by all the wrong scales, and when he’d finally found his footing, Shigaraki had blasted all of it away in a single moment.

The war taught Katsuki about strength and a will to win. But also that there is nothing that cannot be endured because nothing is everlasting. Not life. Not even death.

But maybe… maybe this thing with Izuku could defy the odds. This unfamiliar but not unwelcome quickening of his breath, this wanderlust spilling from his palms, this urgency in his gut that inexplicably takes precedence over every other goal he’s ever set for himself.

Transparent 

Izuku's want has gone from a monstrous, gluttonous thing to a tenuously leashed creature. But given how often Izuku feeds it now, it's no wonder that it has grown.

Katsuki is his escape and his sanctuary. His ship and his moor. He's barely turned the corner toward the dorm before Katsuki's silhouette appears through the large tinted windows. Katsuki's spacial awareness is next to none, and he always knows when Izuku is nearby.

Izuku draws comfort in that—in how Katsuki's door opens before Izuku has even reached for the knob; how Katsuki welcomes him without Izuku ever having to ask.

He holds Katsuki close, wipes the knowing smirk from his lips with a kiss, and wonders when this became what it felt like to come home.

Scar

Izuku's fingertips graze over the raised, pink edges of a scar that splits the center of Katsuki's chest. The skin is glossy and a little fibrous, but against all reason, it's healed well.

Katsuki tells him that it's a reminder of what was and could still be. What he's willing to sacrifice not just as a hero but as the person closest to Izuku (whether Izuku likes it or not).

For Izuku, the scar is a challenge—he kisses it, traces his tongue where the mended skin meets plush pectorals, so that when Katsuki sees it, he will be reminded not of a nearly stolen future, but of Izuku's mouth, his hands, his lust, and the promise that it will never, ever happen again.

Inverse

There was a time when Katsuki believed he could accept Izuku's feelings without being consumed by his own. When he'd naively believed he could separate want from need, lust from passion, obsession from love. He would have Izuku. He would claim him. He would possess him.

Beneath him, Izuku spreads his legs and strokes himself, moaning Katsuki's name as his stomach muscles tense and contract with impending release. Katsuki bites back an animalistic sound that nearly chokes him, and finally stops denying exactly which of them has been possessed.

Constant

For all that Katsuki has accomplished as a hero, his quirk is still called Explosion. There is little Katsuki has touched that he has not destroyed.

But not you , Katsuki thinks as he thrusts into Izuku. He runs his hands down narrow hips, gripping tight enough to bruise, enough for Izuku to moan and writhe and circle Katsuki's wrists—not to push his hands away but to keep them in place. 

Izuku locks his ankles behind Katsuki's back and forces him to thrust harder, to fill that space inside him carved deep by his cock, to not hold back. Because while Izuku has been broken in the past, Katsuki has learned that he is his own sort of constant.

Sweet 

“I don’t like sweets.”

“But I do,” Izuku says, and places the small square of chocolate on Katsuki's chest, specifically atop the generous curve of one mouthwateringly tit. Katsuki would kick him if he called it that out loud, but facts were facts. The man did not skimp on working his upper body strength.

Katsuki scowls at the candy. “It’s melting on me.”

“I spent all morning making these with Sato.” Izuku trails the chocolate down the crease between his tits, along the path of his scar. Katsuki makes a strangled sound. “Are you going to eat them or not?”

“No.” He eyes the mess Izuku's made with a curl of his lip.

“Fine, I’ll eat them then,” Izuku says and leans forward to lick across a stained nipple.

Gaze

Katsuki should be used to Izuku’s gaze. In most situations, he is, and he likes it that way. Izuku should only ever look at him.

But moments like this, when Izuku hovers over him, big eyes taking in every detail of Katsuki’s flushed face, his bangs sticking wetly to his forehead, overstimulation spilling tears of frustration down his temples faster than Izuku can lick them away—like this, Katsuki wants to hide even as he wants Izuku to never look away. Izuku's hips roll in slow, grinding movements so that Katsuki can feel every girthy inch of him. The dim light from his headboard shelf outlines him in fuzzy shades of yellow, like an old photograph.

Katsuki’s heart clenches. He kicks at the blankets, which slide to the floor. Then he reaches out and grips the back of Izuku’s neck, tugging him down. Izuku makes a sound against his mouth, thin and needy, and his fingers card through Katsuki’s hair.

Panting quietly, Izuku pulls away to once again catch Katsuki’s gaze. With a huff to conceal his embarrassment, he stretches out a hand and turns off the light.

Button

On graduation day, Izuku pulls Katsuki aside. Katsuki’s eyes narrow, watching as the other boy fiddles his thumbs and gnaws on his lower lip.

Against his will, a seed of unease sinks through him.

They haven’t spoken much about their plans post-UA. As far as Katsuki knows, Izuku is attending a local college so that he can save money by staying with his mom, while Katsuki will be starting at the Genius Office as a full-time sidekick. They won’t have as much time together anymore, but Katsuki thought it went without saying that they were on the same page about making it work. Has Izuku changed his mind?

Katsuki can already feel a lump forming in his throat, growing ever more uncomfortable in the absence of an explanation. He’s going to be sick.

Then, the fucking idiot squeezes his eyes shut and thrusts his open hand into the space between them. There, resting on his slightly sweaty palm, is a button.

Katsuki stares at it. Confusion eclipses his dread. What the fuck?

It’s a button from a UA uniform. A quick glance confirms it’s Izuku’s uniform, the broken thread from where he’d ripped it free still dangling loosely. It takes another moment before Katsuki realizes it’s the second button off his jacket.

“I-If Kacchan doesn’t want this, it’s okay—I mean, it’s just a button, right? This was silly, ahah, sorry for being weird—”

Katsuki swipes the button just as Izuku begins to withdraw his hand. Face aflame, he says, “Fuck you, this is mine.”

Frenzy

Katsuki really fucking loves when Izuku lets go—when Katsuki has to brace his good arm against the wall to keep from getting slammed into it; or when Izuku kneels behind him, open mouth sipping from the curve of Katsuki’s spine and all that softness in him lying scattered with their clothes across the floor; when Izuku's fucking him so hard that his jaw aches with how he has to clench it.

Hand

Katsuki is only a little ashamed by how much he loves Izuku’s hands. He shouldn’t, given what Izuku put them, and himself, through. But that’s difficult to remember when scarred fingers and knobby knuckles, crooked from being broken too many times, slip between his legs and press into him. He should be disgusted with himself, but instead, he draws in a disgracefully thin breath and says, “Fuck.”

And later, when Izuku extends a hand to help All Might from a car, when he flexes his fingers against Todoroki’s shoulder or reaches out to accept a new mission file, Katsuki will recall the texture of that hand inside him, a motley of ridged scar tissue, smooth skin, and rough calluses.

Give

Katsuki is observant as a rule, and he sees the way the nerd moves among every person he meets like a damned beacon, drawing everyone in with golden smiles and shiny words. Izuku gives and gives as if he is incapable of doing otherwise (but even a burning candle has only so much wick), and few seem to notice that Izuku has trouble enough holding onto what’s left of his own dreams.

In quiet moments, when Izuku settles between his legs and brushes his fingertips over the scar that splits his chest, Katsuki scowls and thinks, ‘You have no right to look at me that way.’

Without

In Izuku’s second year of college, Katsuki asks him to live together. He’s sick of only having weekends with his boyfriend and sometimes not even that.

After they get the freedom to fuck when and where and however they want out of their systems, it takes less than a week to realize they’re not used to constantly having another person under foot. Feeling conflicted, Katsuki wonders if maybe they weren’t ready for this milestone yet.

Then Izuku goes with All Might on a diplomatic mission to Egypt. Katsuki is instantly off kilter. No matter how he fills his time or tires his body, returning to an empty apartment has him anxious and restless. Izuku’s absence is like a vacuum, an unshakeable sense of lacking that follows Katsuki from room to room.

Izuku returns a week later. They both attempt to be normal all the way up to when Izuku crawls into bed, rolls onto his side, and fits himself neatly against Katsuki's chest. Katsuki finally relaxes, wraps his arms around him, and hauls him even closer.

Shiver

Izuku might be a boy of summer, but there's something about winter that tugs at him. Maybe it's the dichotomy of it, Izuku's brilliance against stark monochrome. When the sky becomes a gray dome and snow falls in drifts, Izuku conceals his vibrant hair beneath a pale hoodie and wanders down the wooded path behind their apartment, disappearing between the bleached trees.

Katsuki pulls on his coat and follows the fading footprints. He isn't a fan of the cold, but his quirk keeps him plenty warm. Far past a bend in the path, to where the trees crowd too closely and the snow spins in icy whorls about his feet, he pauses.

Izuku is draped against the trunk of an old maple. His legs are parted, an open invitation, and he has one hand shoved beneath the waist of his pants.

“Insane,” Katsuki says, as a shiver races up his spine.

Melt

He steps quietly around raised roots, hidden beneath their winter coats. Izuku regards him, eyes unreadable beneath dark lashes and the snowflakes perched at their feathery tips.

Izuku withdraws his hand from his pants and pushes away from the tree, ducking beneath jutting branches that glisten in the gloom.

“Such an idiot,” Katsuki says, before tugging Izuku against him, arms circling his shoulders and dislodging the snow gathered there.

He sneers, even as his thumb sweeps over the dusting of ice crystals that cover the freckles on Izuku's chilled skin. They melt instantly beneath Katsuki's touch. Izuku tilts his head expectantly, and Katsuki kisses him until their breaths fog the air between their mouths and Izuku's lips flush pink and warm.

Blossom 

Marriage. Katsuki turns the word over in his head again and again, tries to be clinical about it, even though it feels more like flipping through the worn pages of a well-loved book.

With his eyes closed and Izuku sprawled across his chest, he can't possibly imagine a time when he'd thought loving Izuku would be an exercise in futility.

He shifts, the motion stirring Izuku against him. Izuku snuffles wordlessly into Katsuki's shoulder and rests a heavy thigh across Katsuki's lap. A warm finger brushes the pinched skin between his brows.

“Stop that,” Izuku says, voice sluggish.

Smiling, Katsuki rolls them over, gently so that Izuku isn't startled. Then he moves his hips in small, tight circles and watches as Izuku's lashes flutter, as he sighs Katsuki's name into the dark.

Deep

“If you slow me down,” Katsuki had said once, back when he was still a little shit trying to figure himself out, “don’t think I won’t leave you behind.”

Now, he glances over his shoulder and waits with quiet joy as Izuku huffs his way up the mountain trail behind him. Even so, the nerd is grinning, eyes shining and skin glowing with perspiration.

"Are we almost there?" Izuku asks breathlessly, pausing beside Katsuki to bend over and brace his palms against his thighs.

"Two more miles," Katsuki says and laughs when Izuku groans. "Gotta stay in shape to keep up with your brats."

"They're not brats," Izuku protests. "They're hero course students. Same as we were."

"Like I said," Katsuki says, which earns him a fond, lopsided smile. "Come on, nerd."

He holds out his hand, his heart fluttering as Izuku immediately takes it and allows himself to be tugged upright. They continue that way, hand in hand, Katsuki leading even though he's the one gripping onto Izuku like a lifeline instead of the other way around.

(Like a compass, a guiding star, a trail of breadcrumbs, a string of yarn—all paths lead to—)

~fin