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Bliss.
That's all Izuku could register in the hazy shadows of his mind as the grip on his neck tightened, bright pinpricks of light bursting as his eyes rolled back. He'd long lost count of how many seconds it'd been since he'd last taken a breath, but found the detail irrelevant as his body surrendured to that floaty feeling he hadn't gotten to in so long.
A thumb brushed up along his windpipe, barely-there pressure. And he smiled, big and dumb, because he felt safe here. Loved, even, if he let himself feel naive enough. The thought didn't scare him like it ought to, like it would have once upon a time. Rather, he welcomed it, let it carry him further up into those clouds as careful, reverant hands traced up and down his body, memorizing his shape, as though he were something precious.
His eyes burned. At the realization, and the memory of all he had put up with to get here. He couldn't help but wonder — if he hadn't subjected himself to years of torture (because that's what it was, wasn't it? Torture and misery and something else he wasn't yet strong enough to name), would he still have ended up here? Would he be held with such tender grace, that hushed voice murmuring words against the shell of his ear that would have the gods smiting?
Izuku choked on a sob. It wasn't the first time he'd cried while they'd been going at it; after all, he'd been pinned to the bed for hours now, content to let himself be ravished as the moon slowly strode along the sky. Usually, the sound spurred them on even more. But it held something heavier this time, something broken.
"Hey," a voice rasped, coaxing him forward. Izuku tried, he tried to lift his head. But everything felt so heavy now that he was in free-fall, and, how had he ever learned to float in the first place?
Another sob. His inhibitions had long disappeared, leaving him torn open and raw. A bloody mess, ugly and daunting, eyes clouded over. But a calloused hand cupped his cheek, brought him back down to the present. Slowly, so that he didn't come crashing down.
He wasn't used to being caught like this.
"Hey, hey, sweetheart," the voice crooned again, and Izuku whimpered something pathetic. Foreign to his own ears, and he was well-versed enough at closing himself away to cry in the bathroom multiple nights a week. It was routine at this point. But tonight. Tonight had been different. And the tears had been from pleasure, licked up as soon as they fell, praised for how gorgeous, how debauched they were.
And yet, here he lay now. Tears threatening to overflow, bitter and acidic. Burning, a trail of fire reminding him of all that had been destroyed in their wake.
"It's alright, darling," the voice said. It was all around him, consuming him, tugging at his limbs. Izuku felt limp, pathetic, useless. Fingers wove into his own, squeezed. Izuku had no more energy, couldn't find it in him to squeeze back, okay.
"Oh, love. It's okay. You can relax. You're safe here. Just let it out, okay? Just feel what you need to feel, I'll be here to hold you. I'm not going anywhere. Breathe with me, will you? Can you do that for me, my darling?"
A shuddering breath, right into a waiting mouth as it hovered over him. A few inches between them now, but Izuku could still feel his heat. His body pressed against his own, inside of him, no longer moving, but not going anywhere, either.
It was enough. Izuku exhaled. Sputtered, then forced another sharp breath in.
The tears were unending.
Izuku thought he might drown.
It's okay. It's okay, darling love. I've got you. I'm right here. I'll hold you through it, make it all better.
Izuku was nodding. Yes, yes, yes, palms opening and closing as he silently asked in any way he could to be held closer, closer still. Not a want, an innate need, convinced he wouldn't be able to breathe unless he was on top of him, seating in his lap, skin pressed against scarred skin, face nuzzling into the crook of a neck.
Fingertips grazed up and down his spine. Izuku had always thought himself ticklish, but this was nice. Soothing, even. And he wondered if maybe the touch just hadn't ever been right for him before. Hadn't been honed in for his body, reading him and adjusting accordingly, giving him pleasure pleasure pleasure instead of—
Izuku shuddered again, focused on that drag of fingertips. The way the nails dug into skin slightly. Not enough to bleed, though he wasn't opposed to that, one day. No, just enough to ground him now. Keep him here. Remind him of who he was, where he was, even when he was.
The room came back into focus. His eyes remained closed, but he could hear the sounds of the walls settling around him. The shuffle of the bedspread beneath his legs. The vanilla cashmere candle that was their only source of light upon the nightstand.
There was still a cock inside of him. But Izuku didn't dare move, couldn't bear the thought of separating for even a moment.
"You back with me?"
Izuku leaned back to blink up at him. His eyes were sealed shut, crusty with dried tears. How long had he been crying for? His arms were sore from how tightly they wound around the neck he clung to, as though he'd been in a violent storm and was desperate not to be swept out to sea.
"Shouta," Izuku whispered. His voice was hoarse. From crying, or the choking he'd begged for, Izuku didn't know. But it didn't stop Shouta from smiling upon hearing it. Warm, open, like Izuku had done something right.
"There he is," Shouta murmured, and leaned in to rub their noses together delicately. The barest of touches, already something Izuku had learned the other man was fond of.
"Here I am," Izuku sniffled. He didn't stop Shouta from bringing his thumbs up to dry away lingering tears.
"You okay?" Shouta asked, and Izuku shrugged meekly. Shouta pressed a slow kiss to the apple of his cheek, right below where his eyelashes brushed against skin, and Izuku shivered. "Want to talk about it?"
Izuku shook his head abruptly, though the question brought flashes of all that had transpired hours before to his mind. He squeezed his eyes shut, legs tightening from where they were wrapped around Shouta's waist.
"Just — um. C-can we keep going?"
Shouta cupped his cheek. Forced Izuku's gaze back on him, dark eyes seeing more of him than ones he'd opened himself to willingly ever could.
"Anything for you."
And Izuku's next sigh out was too breathy, too high, and he was still so unused to these noises coming from himself. But he couldn't find it in himself to stop, not when Shouta was swallowing them greedily, marking up his neck, biting in response to each and every one.
"Perfect. Fucking perfect, Izuku," Shouto moaned, and Izuku's back arched as pleasure shot up his spine. "My darling. Tell me what I wanna hear again, won't you, baby?"
I will, Izuku thought, another smile playing at his lips as he surrendered himself easily again.
Always.
Fourteen hours.
Each one passed slower than the last. Grueling, painful, like the tug of a needle against skin. Izuku hadn't minded at first, but as the mountain of time began to stack up, he found his frown turning wobbly, his responses becoming short.
He didn't think he was asking for much. He'd had little to no expectations going into the day, so used to how he'd been abandoned or ridiculed growing up. But still, some sort of acknowledgement from his boyfriend that it was a somewhat special day would've been nice.
After all, it's not every day you turn twenty-two.
Yet as much as Izuku hated to admit, forgetting momentous days like this was becoming a more common, irritable habit of Kacchan. Though, to be fair, he'd been so swept up in a raid during their anniversary that Izuku couldn't fault him for coming home late to the candlelit dinner Izuku had painstakingly prepared, complete with a meal too spicy for his own enjoyment. He was quick to dismiss how Kacchan's eyes had widened in what he'd taken as surprise at the ornate setup Izuku had spent hours poring over. Though, as the hours ticked by on his birthday with no word from his boyfriend, he began to wonder if it wasn't a pleasant thread of surprise at all on that date night, but something more shameful, hidden away like a regret.
Still, Kacchan had made it up to him for being late. Kissed him deeply, pressed him down into the mattress, let him know how much he appreciate and loved him.
They didn't discuss gifts much, but it was assumed that they would get small, albeit intentional items for one another for holidays and special occasions. Izuku loved scouring the internet for rare, collectible hero merchandise that Kacchan would never buy for himself. He was always too busy or missed out on the online auctions, and Izuku was all too happy to do it for him, if only to see that smile break across his love's face.
Izuku always appreciated the thought more than the item when it came to gifts for himself. When they'd first gotten together at UA, Kacchan had been thrilled with the challenge, watching Izuku's every move to get an idea of exactly what he could use that would help him, bring a smile to his own face day after day. From brand new steel-toed boots made in collaboration with Hatsume, to a homemade All Might blanket that Izuku could snuggle up with on winter nights, Izuku loved them all. And even better, Kacchan was more affectionate on those days, waking Izuku with a warm kiss, showing up to class with freshly picked flowers despite their friends' taunts.
Perhaps it was the lingering effects of the war fought too young. Chaos and death, regret and repressed memories. And with it, the realization that they were still living. Together. Hand in hand.
It wasn't the healthiest relationship. Codependence reigned those first few years, but Izuku didn't mind. Not when he was stuck in his own head half the time, flashes of gore and violence tearing him apart night and day. But they got older, went to therapy, and gradually outgrew that phase of their lives. It wasn't sustainable, the way they were constantly attached, hands linked, unable, unwilling to lose sight of one another for more than a few hours each day.
Izuku had been so proud of them. The way they'd overcome their trauma, moved forward together. It was a rocky journey full of arguments and yelled confessions, but he was convinced they emerged on the other side even stronger. And by the time they graduated and moved in together, it was like they were entering a whole new reality together.
Never to be parted.
He didn't realize that the road to healing would also be what tore them apart, in the end.
Izuku didn't think he was being all that distant. Just living life as a normal, independent human being. But he couldn't deny the fact that Katsuki seemed to bristle at the lack of updates Izuku would usually give him, taking it as Izuku ignoring him or trying to make a point out of nothing. Of course, this just led to even more arguments, around and around again as Izuku tried to explain, to plead his case. That of course he still loved Kacchan, he just couldn't stay how they'd been in high school forever. Of course he still needed him, relied on him, but in a deeper way, not really. Because he was a hero, god dammit. And so was Katsuki.
They could be better than that.
They had to be.
They had to grow out of toxic headspace, if only so that they could continue their pursuit of being number one heroes. How could they possibly get through a regular day of work, separate patrols, hell, even long-distance missions if they still couldn't bear the thought of being apart?
Years rolled by, and the arguments popped up like persistent weeds. But Izuku took each one in stride, endlessly patient, because he didn't know how else to be with Kacchan other than understanding. After all, who else would understand his boyfriend better? Who else could he talk to about this if not Izuku?
So he stood strong when the verbal insults turned nastier. When the silent treatment lengthened from an hour to a day to a week. When more special days they used to be giddy over celebrating together—disbelief that they'd survived long enough to reach those days together—turned bittersweet or downright sullen, before being forgotten entirely.
Just like today.
Izuku didn't know what to do.
But that was a lie.
He knew. He knew.
He just hated thinking about it.
Another hour gone. That's fine. There was still time in the day. He'd given Kacchan so many chances, and even still, as the sun faded across the sky, beginning to paint the clouds in faded shades of pink and orange, he trusted that his boyfriend would come through. That he'd hear the telltale sound of explosions in the distance propelling him to the window of Izuku's classroom he still kept open, despite having not been visited for months now. It was foolish, he knew. But he was always a fool for Kacchan.
There'd been no birthday kiss to wake him this morning. No sign of flowers to greet him as he rounded a corner. And the window remained empty, peaceful birdsong filling his heart with a cold dread.
Izuku withered, even as he stayed behind a little late to grade some extra papers. Sometimes when they'd first started this little routine, Katsuki would get caught up on patrol, or held up with paperwork of his own that always left him in a sour mood. But he'd always speed over to Izuku before he could leave work, even when they were fighting. Insisted he liked to finish his patrol by Izuku's side, as it should always be.
Maybe that was part of it. That Izuku wasn't a hero anymore. That his quirk was long gone, just a sharp and painful memory, something from another life. He could still feel the spark in his palm, only when he calmed his breath and closed his eyes now.
Katsuki had never wanted anything to do with him before he'd been gifted One for All. He shouldn't have been surprised that by the time the final ember flickered out, Katsuki, too, would be gone.
"You're still here, kid?"
Izuku turned from the window he'd been staring out of, regarding his former teacher as he lounged against the doorframe. Aizawa didn't look much different from when Izuku was his student. Still had that long dark hair, though he wore it tied back most days now. His eyes were a little more crinkled around the edges, but Izuku found it rather beautiful. The passage of time, written onto skin, defiant and triumphant against all odds. Every time he saw them, Izuku's breath caught with a strange emotion, gratitude filling him, alive alive alive.
"Yeah," Izuku sighed as he looked away, shuffled his papers just to give himself something to do. "Just lost track of time I guess."
Aizawa hummed. "You don't have any special plans to get to?"
Izuku shrugged. Tried not to be bitter about it. But Aizawa was always good at seeing through his bullshit. The man strode over, footsteps heavy and slow.
"Forget about all this. You can pick it up next week. Go home, Midoriya."
Izuku didn't want to go home. He didn't want to go see their empty apartment, cold and unwelcoming. He didn't want to face the inevitable disappointment he knew Kacchan would put him through again. How he'd have to plaster on a fake smile if only to avoid another argument, just to get through another day, numb.
Because that's how this all felt now. Like he was just going through the motions of a relationship. Like he knew the boy he had spent so many years chasing no longer loved him, and he was just letting himself be dragged along because he wasn't strong enough to cut whatever final cord linked them together. Even if it exhausted him in the progress.
But Izuku had never been an expert at doing what was good for him.
So he just let it happen. Time and time again. Katsuki would see it every so often, try to make it up to him with more of his kisses or nights rolling around together. But Izuku knew it wasn't enough. That it was just putting a bandage on a gaping wound, and they were both bleeding out, waiting for that final breath.
And yet, at his core, Izuku was an optimistic hero. He couldn't help but see the good, the possibility even when things looked dark and hopeless. So he straightened himself up, fixed himself with a smile, ignored the puzzled look on Aizawa's face, and told himself it was still okay to hope.
"Okay, Aizawa-sensei," Izuku said, and huffed a tired laugh at how Aizawa rolled his eyes at the title. But he'd long given up on correcting him.
"Listening on the first try? What happened to my problem child?" Aizawa asked, a brow crooked in Izuku's direction as he rose to his feet.
"I grew up," Izuku said simply, though his smile flickered. "Thanks for still looking out for me, sensei."
Aizawa just looked at him, and Izuku knew that clever mind was going a mile a minute as it analyzed him. That's fine. Izuku didn't care to hide himself anymore. Knew he wore bags under his eyes that were turning permanent, and that the usual glimmer that had made him so appealing as a hero in the first place had long dulled. But Aizawa still regarded him just the same, as he had all those years ago when he'd first made Izuku throw that ball across the field. The same as he had when they'd reunited on the battlefield at the end of the war.
Alive. Alive. Alive.
He wondered, if in those quiet moments where they just looked at one another, if Aizawa was thinking the same thing.
"Go enjoy your birthday, Izuku," Aizawa said finally. And something in Izuku just pinched. Broke off, lost forever.
He could only nod as his eyes welled up, and he took off for home.
Cold.
Empty.
The clock was too loud as the second hand ticked by.
Kacchan wasn't home.
Izuku wasn't surprised.
He'd left early this morning, said he'd be working late again today. Some confidential mission involving a handful of their former classmates. That's fine. Izuku understood.
He wasn't even surprised when said former classmates texted or called him, gave him birthday messages of their own once they got off work. Izuku waited for the punch to the gut, the moment when he'd keel over and become sick at the knowledge that Kacchan had lied to him. But he'd known. He'd known.
And he'd just let Katsuki continue to drag him along. Tired, exhausted, unable to even lift his fingers to let go.
So dumb, useless.
Izuku squeezed his eyes shut, but it didn't make much difference anymore. It was dark out now, growing later still. His phone had fallen silent, save for a few last minute messages coming in from friends who were just waking up for the night shift.
Text from Aizawa Shouta:
>Hey, kid. You doing okay?
Izuku didn't want to think about why his former teacher was texting him like he was a fragile, emotional child. Sure, he hadn't adorned his usual mask when looking at him earlier, but he rarely had to do that with Aizawa. They trusted one another enough to be real like that, to not question or prod into personal lives. It was one of the things he loved most about their relationship, that Izuku could fully be himself, and not have to worry about being interrogated like he would with Ochako or Shouto.
And yet, he'd put on that fake smile before walking out that door earlier.
A slip, or the reverse of a slip, he supposed. Pulling up a mask where one wasn't needed. And of course, Aizawa had seen it.
Midoriya Izuku:
>I'm fine!! Don't worry about me. Just tired, you know how it gets.
It was more bullshit. Izuku didn't know why he was lying to the one person he didn't need to.
(He knew. He knew he knew he knew.)
(Call me out on it. Poke and prod at me. Ask me questions. Make me talk to you. Bring me back to myself. Please.)
But Izuku dropped his phone in surprise as the door slammed open. He wasn't anywhere unusual, doing anything out of the ordinary. Just sitting on the sofa mindlessly watching the news. But still, it surprised Katsuki.
"Fuckin' Christ, nerd, the fuck are you doin' just sitting in the dark like a creep?"
Izuku shrugged, but Katsuki had already turned away.
"Just tired from work. Wanted to relax, I guess."
"You're tired?" Katsuki scoffed. "Shit's got nothin' on what I had to deal with. Listen to this bullshit."
Izuku did. He hummed at all the right moments, nodded in affirmation in the split second moments Katsuki took to look at him, just to make sure he was listening. Offered support when it felt right, asked questions only when Katsuki paused to let him do so.
It was all so formulaic. No wonder Katsuki had grown bored, and Izuku was miserable.
Not even a birthday was enough to keep things interesting.
"Kacchan?"
"Nerd."
Izuku wrung his hands together, a weak flutter of something daring to rise in his throat. So small compared to how it had been when he'd first asked Kacchan out on a date at UA, barely alive, sputtering out.
"D-do you wanna maybe go to dinner with me?"
"Ha? Tonight?"
Izuku nodded. Waited for the moment where Katsuki remembered. For the look he used to always give him, so full of love and adoration, maybe even a little bit of disbelief that he, too, got Izuku to himself.
But no such look came to pass. And Izuku wanted to cry when he felt that final flutter within him fall still.
"Didn't you hear any of the shit I just told you? I feel like I need to sleep for the next two months. Gonna shower and have a night in."
Okay.
That's fine.
Izuku didn't even hurt at all.
Just let the TV continue to play, even more exhausted from his roll of being Katsuki's emotional blanket, or whatever the fuck relationship they'd devolved into now. There was no more pang of jealous or anger when Katsuki answered his phone, laughing louder than he'd let Izuku see in years. Cracking that smile he'd once fought so hard for.
His phone pinged again, and he read through the messages he'd missed while Katsuki held his attention.
Aizawa Shouta:
>I know how it gets. But that's not how you get.
>You don't have to talk about it. But you probably should. With someone.
>Remember, I'm used to cleaning up your messes, problem child.
Then, a final one came in:
>Oh, and happy birthday, Izuku.
He stared at the message until his phone clicked off.
Izuku didn't know how he ended up here. One moment, he was numb on the couch, basking in the darkness like a statue frozen in time. Then, he was up and moving, not registering where his feet were taking him until he was in front of a mulberry door he hadn't visited in so long.
He hadn't told Katsuki where he was going. Not that his boyfriend likely cared anymore, anyways. After all, his mission had kept him rather preoccupied. And Izuku was tired of feeling the stab to his numb heart with every hearty chuckle he heard Katsuki give to whoever it was on the other end of that neverending phone call.
He was fine.
Really.
He just couldn't be around that anymore.
Had to look for something brighter.
Maybe it was some small ember in him, barely there, begging him to search for any remnant, to sift through the sands of his soul, dredge it to find that self-preservation he knew he'd never kept safe within him. At one point in time, Katsuki had coaxed it more to life. Sat with it, tended it with gentle fingers. But he must've grown tired of keeping watch, or assumed Izuku was well enough to take care of it on his own.
Now, he just felt cold.
But there were others who'd tried to stoke it before. Friends, mentors. Whether in the form of quiet discussions on the side of training, or curt words that made it seem less optional, Izuku wasn't always receptive. After all, how was he expected to play it safe when he'd been gifted One For All? Didn't they understand that with that came the innate need to protect, no matter the cost of his own body?
It was a futile thought to follow, leading nowhere anymore. As his quirk had flickered out, so had any lingering desire to take proper care of himself. Funny, he thinks now. How he'd been so bad at it before because of the responsibility he held so close to his heart. Yet now that it was extinguished, he felt worse off, no point to protect himself, body, soul, or heart.
His knuckles knocked against wood without his permission. It was late, but he knew the occupant would still be awake for a while yet. When the door creaked open, wary at first, just a peek of dark eyes taking him in, he knew he must've made a pathetic sight. Slumped from the weight of existence, eyes red from staring aimlessly at the TV waiting for Kacchan to return to him. He'd shed his teacher clothes upon coming home but had forgone a shower, opting instead to wear athletic gear he rarely needed anymore.
"Midoriya," Aizawa's voice was level and deep, but Izuku knew he must've been at least a little surprised at his sudden arrival.
Izuku didn't know what to say. But he'd always had a bad habit of wearing his emotions on his sleeve, and one look from his former teacher and mentor had his eyes welling up, and that numbness that had seized him for so long slowly began to uncoil. Aizawa ushered him inside, closed the door tight behind them, and Izuku didn't know if he ought to feel uncomfortable or let out a deep breathe in the apartment he'd never before stepped into.
It was simple. Quaint. Maybe a bit cozier than Izuku would've first guessed for someone as stoic as Aizawa. But the man was known for his tired nature, so really, it made sense that his living room was piled full of plush blankets and pillows, no light save for the soft glow of lamps illuminating a few plants here and there. There was even a small scratching post in the corner, and the telltale shred marks along the arm of the sofa where a cat must've made itself at home.
A firm hand settled upon his shoulders, drawing his gaze back.
"What are you doing here, kid?"
He wasn't ready to speak yet. Didn't want to say any of it out loud. Feelings, fears, and truths he'd hidden from. So instead, he let his lower lip wobble. Lifted his eyes up from below his lashes in that way he'd done to Katsuki so many times when they'd first started dating. He knew it wasn't playing fair, but he had an advantage and knew now was the time to use it.
Aizawa's face regarded him. Open, scanning over him as though he was a report to be studied ahead of an underground mission. Izuku let him, trying his best to withhold the first shed of a tear down his cheek for just a little bit longer.
A sigh, though not from impatience. And that firm grip trailed down to his lower back, guiding him further into the apartment, over to the sofa. Aizawa shuffled the blankets around to accommodate him, fluffing up a pillow or two to keep Izuku from drowning in the cushions.
"Talk."
Izuku felt like a stubborn child with the way he shook his head, lowered his eyes. Aizawa sighed again, and Izuku curled in on himself, guilt and shame welling up within him.
"Hey," a hand cupped his jaw, lifted his head back up again. "Don't do that."
"D-don't… what?"
The tiniest twitch of Aizawa's mouth, a smile, barely there. Izuku didn't think his feeble voice would be enough for such an effect.
"Don't collapse into yourself. Something's going on, I could tell earlier. And now you're here."
Izuku shrugged, but didn't refute the observation.
Aizawa spoke again for him.
"You're upset, near tears on your birthday. In fact, you looked like a corpse all day today. You didn't even notice when I stopped by for lunch. You just stared out your window."
Dread curled deep within him, weaving its ugly roots up his throat. He hadn't even realized, too focused on hoping for a lunch visit from Kacchan.
"I even called out to you. But it was like you were on another planet."
"M'sorry."
"No, none of that," Aizawa said quickly. "That's not what I'm looking for here. I just need you to identify the problem so I can understand why you're here."
"I-I…" Izuku began, but his voice faded away, and he was so tired. The last thing he wanted to do was open wounds to be gawked at, bare his soul to a man who he'd have to force himself to smile at the next day at work.
But this was Aizawa, wasn't it? He didn't need to don that mask with him. Even doing so earlier for just a moment left a bad taste in his mouth, even if he was so used to wearing it in front of almost everyone else he knew.
Maybe it was some unspoken part of the man's quirk. Not only could he erase whoever's quirk he looked upon, but he could also strip them bare. See through to their core, or at least force them to stop hiding from him.
It left Izuku feeling naked, vulnerable. He didn't let anyone else see how weak he'd become.
But those dark eyes.
Through classes, training, sparring sessions, wars won, graduations and first jobs, they'd always looked at him like that. Just like that.
And Izuku thought he might like that.
"R-remember how you used to always tell me it was okay to not do it all myself?" Izuku began slowly. His voice cracked and frayed, but Aizawa didn't look away once. As though he were the most important thing in the room.
He almost believed it.
"Of course."
"And how I shouldn't be afraid to ask for help?"
The older man's brow furrowed, eyes narrowing as he tried to read more of what was written all over Izuku's face.
"Midoriya…"
Izuku tugged him down onto the sofa next to him. Far too close to be considered professional. But he had a feeling he'd left that behind when he's crossed the threshold into the apartment. Even if his mind was catching up to him now, maybe some innate part that lingered deep within him had awakened to this long ago, leading him here when he didn't know where else to go.
Or maybe it was just a simple text at the end of the day. A final wish, and history being rewritten.
He found he didn't quite care at the moment. Because Aizawa was still looking at him. Not like he was something that needed to be fixed, or like he'd done something worth getting in trouble over. Just looked.
Studied.
Traced each inch, trying to catalogue and read the story himself, should Izuku never decide to speak up.
He wouldn't prod, that much Izuku knew. But it didn't stop him from being curious. And Izuku thought him knowing wouldn't be the worst thing in the world.
"Can I ask you for help, Shouta?"
His voice was a whisper, and he hoped from the shudder the other man gave that it was a pleasant caress. He was wading into uncharted territory, waist-deep water that could engulf him if he didn't tread carefully. And still, he felt himself leaning in, just so, hypnotized by the way the water churned around them, the symbols and shapes it could carve with their bodies.
"Of course, Izuku. But I don't know how to help if you don't tell me what's going on. You don't have to say everything, but I need to know enough to support you in the way you deserve."
In the way you deserve.
Izuku shouldn't have melted at the words, but he did. A full body shiver, and he shifted even closer, so their thighs were pressed together. Aizawa, Shouta, was so thorough, so intentional with everything he did. Izuku had no doubt taking care of him would be any different. And wouldn't he be so pleased, to see his beloved problem child who'd grown up too stubborn for his own good, taking off on his own to fight against horrors he never should've faced, was finally here in a puddle half in his lap, borderline begging for reprieve? What was this, if not some sort of growth, or a form of surrender, you were right, you were always right.
They were too close now, but Izuku didn't want to stop. It'd been so long since he'd been in someone's warmth like this, knowing they wanted to do nothing but comfort, help, protect. The waves receded, but he felt refreshed in their wake, a new form of life breathing into him like a mermaid's kiss.
Shouta cleared his throat. "Does Bakugou know you're here?"
Izuku's eyes were half lidded, brain going fuzzy as his imagination ran free with the man in front of him. He shook his head once.
"I'm not getting in the middle of this. You can tell me what's going on, or I'll have to find someone who can help—"
"You can help me!" Izuku cried out, hands darting to grasp onto the man before he could stand up. Shouta raised a brow at his surge of energy, and Izuku's cheeks felt hot with embarrassment and need as he looked up at him. He felt breathless, like he was teetering on the edge of something, and he wanted nothing more than to let himself fall.
"Please," Izuku said, voice lower. "You've always cared so much about me. You helped me see that I should take care of myself. I… I'm not good at that on my own."
"You're not on your own," Shouta deadpanned, and Izuku squirmed uncomfortably, still not letting up on his grip.
"I am," he insisted. His voice wavered again, catching as his eyes burned. Katsuki had always said the tears brought the green out more, and he secretly hoped Shouta liked that now. "I am on my own. I c-can't… I don't know…"
He was crying now, and Shouta didn't waste another moment, just curled him into his chest like he belonged there. And Izuku let himself sob. Let his tears soak the man's shirt, clung to him as though he was terrified something would tear them apart.
He didn't know how long they sat like that, or when they'd shifted to laying down. Izuku had a slight headache from all the tears he'd shed, sniffling as the snot ran down onto Shouta's shirt. But the other man didn't seem to mind, just traced idle fingers up and down his back, soothing him and whispering hushed words into the crown of his hair, sweeter than he thought Shouta was capable of. It made his cheeks pinken, and his body pressed in closer, eager for more.
"He forgot my birthday," Izuku said. It held a finality to it that he wasn't prepared for, but it didn't frighten him. Not now, when he was being cradled in strong arms, tender kisses being pressed into his forehead when the other man thought he was too hysterical to notice.
"I had a feeling," Shouta scoffed. "I knew I should've reminded the bastard."
"I'm glad you didn't," Izuku replied, and nuzzled up closer, letting his nose trace along the skin of Shouta's neck. The other man adjusted his grip in tandem, bringing a hand to massage along his scalp as though he could coax Izuku into talking more.
"It's not the first time he's forgotten something like this. I just didn't want to accept it."
Shouta hummed thoughtfully, and Izuku shuffled closer to feel the vibrations of the sound, chest to chest.
"I deserve better. Right?" Izuku asked, pressing his face against warm skin. It didn't burn him like Kacchan's, but was relaxing, smelling of fresh coffee and spice. Izuku's mouth watered.
"Of course," Shouta replied, voice tight. Careful. "Did you two… break up?"
"No," Izuku sighed, fingers clenching up at the reminder of all he still had to face. But he didn't have to worry about that today, right? After all, it was his birthday, and a miserable one at that.
He deserved some good, didn't he? Even if it was right there at the end. Even if it didn't turn into anything, and left him regretful in the morning.
This was Shouta. Aizawa Shouta, who'd looked after him for years. Drilled important lessons into his head to keep him safe, built him up into the hero he'd always dreamed he could be. The same man who stopped by his classroom each day to say hello, check up on him. Who looked at him with that same level of care in his eyes, only now, it'd grown into something deeper.
Izuku tilted his head, rested his chin against Shouta's chest as he peered up at him.
His eyes were still watery. Sore and begging for sleep after crying for so long. But Izuku didn't want that right now.
He wanted to be taken care of. To be touched tenderly, as though he were precious. As though he himself were a gift. He wanted to be looked at like he was the whole world, and even if he wasn't saving it anymore, he was still worth something.
He wanted Shouta.
"You want to help me?" Izuku asked. Shouta nodded instantly.
"Birthday or not, I'll always want to help you, Izuku."
Izuku couldn't hide his small grin, mirrored instantly by the man he laid upon. "Is that some leftover instinct from me being your problem child?"
"Oh, I have a feeling you'll always be my problem child."
He blushed, that flutter that had gone dormant suddenly rising again with excitement. "Sounds tempting."
"You have no idea," Shouta murmured, almost too low to hear. But Izuku watched his lips as he spoke, and didn't miss a single one. He leaned in, just enough for Shouta to feel the warmth of his exhale against his own mouth.
"Give me a birthday gift, then? It's my way of asking for help. Please?"
Shouta nodded again, hypnotized. Izuku wet his lips, arched his back so he pressed further into his chest.
"Make me feel better?"
Izuku's limbs had longed turned to jello. His muscles, once trembling, collapsed in a heap now. His slow grin didn't leave him even as he drifted.
It shouldn't have surprised him, how Shouta had an inhuman stamina and was willing, eager to stay up all night taking care of Izuku. He could read him just right, knowing when to reach up and cup his jaw when Izuku's head flopped after another orgasm. Dug nails into his skin in a way to keep Izuku right there with him, followed by the light pad of fingertips to soothe the pain. Even now, in his half-asleep state, he could feel tender touches coaxing his legs open, the light scratch of Shouta's scruff rubbing along his inner thighs.
Katsuki hadn't touched him in so long, but Izuku was still so pent up and anxious that it took a while for him to calm down enough to cum the first time. But Shouta seemed to bloom in the challenge, lips quirked in a feral smile Izuku had only seen when he'd faced off villains he knew he'd soon bind. Soft mumurings rose from between his legs as Shouta's mouth explored him slowly, taking him apart as though he wanted to indulge in every inch of him.
Izuku didn't have time to feel nervous about the idea of hooking up with his former teacher. Maybe for a moment, when they pulled apart after licking into each others' mouths like they had no concept for oxygen, a thick hardness pressing just right up against Izuku's core. No, he was quickly all too focused with the man's hiss of surprised once he finally hooked his fingers into Izuku's waistband, tugged off his shorts until he was bare.
"Do you like it?" Izuku asked sweetly. Shouta's eyes darkened, and Izuku couldn't resist trailing a hand down his stomach, dipping a finger into his folds to feel the wetness that had collected during their making out. Touched himself slowly, languidly, then brought his wet fingers up to massage his clit in small circles. Thighs bowing out enough to entice Shouta, but still hiding his entrance just enough to leave him leaning in for more.
"Do I like it," Shouta echoed, and Izuku giggled when he collapsed forward, eye level with his cunt. "Oh, darling. I like it very much."
"Wanna taste?"
Izuku didn't get to play coy for long, because in the next breath, Shouta had him pinned on the sofa, lips pressing open-mouthed kisses along the crease of his hips. Izuku had always loved foreplay, but so rarely got to indulge. Shouta seemed to read his mind, and took his sweet time sucking deep bruises into his pale skin, nibbling when he honed in on a patch of freckles he liked.
"Gorgeous, aren't you?" Shouta said, breath hot against Izuku. "Deserve to be ravished."
Izuku whined, upset with himself for surrendering so easily now. He wanted to string Shouta along a little more, make him work for it. But they could do that another time, maybe once Izuku wasn't so needy and desperate for his attention. He fisted the man's hair, long and silky smooth as it brushed against his thighs, tried to coax it towards his waiting cunt.
"What's wrong, darling?" Shouta asked, making Izuku whimper as those lips just barely brushes his clit as he spoke. "Don't like me talking?"
Izuku just whined again in response.
"That won't work for me. I need your words."
Izuku pouted, and fisted his hair harder, tried to force him, just a little closer, then he wouldn't be able to resist—
"Is it my voice?"
Izuku shook his head. Shouta hummed in thought.
"The praise?"
His cheeks burned, and Shouta just smiled at him, slowly, a cheshire cat. And Izuku suddenly felt caught, tangled up in a web, as though his capture scarf that was hanging neatly by the entry way had suddenly taken hold of him.
"You don't like compliments," Shouta said, eyes narrowed. "They always made you fidget in class. Thought that'd translate to something else in bed, though…"
Izuku did fidget under praise, and was doing so now. But not because he liked it.
"It makes you uncomfortable," Shouta concluded. His mouth was still so close, and Izuku wanted to cry. "I'll remedy that. He didn't tell you enough, did he? He was always slow to learn. I'll train it into you, yeah? Make you listen to all the words you deserve to hear. Soon you won't be able to hear the word good without thinking of my tongue in your pussy."
He wanted to protest, tell him he deserved something, but not that. But Shouta was whispering praises into him, inside of him, and finally, his mouth was against him, tongue sweeping slowly. Eyes on him, watching every sharp inhale of breath, every twitch of muscle to find the best ways to make him feel good.
Maybe it was the relentless compliments layered on top of one another that kept Izuku along the edge for so long. His mind had quickly gone hazy, body honed in on the three fingers that had gradually entered him, the leisurely pace they held so Shouta could say all that was on his mind. Izuku didn't want to hear it, but his hands were swatted away from his ears when he tried to blot it out, and he was forced to listen, every compliment paired with another brush of fingertips against his sweet spot.
And when he finally came, it was to a triumphant look on Shouta's face, his thumb circling Izuku's clit to coax him through his orgasm. Izuku couldn't close his eyes, couldn't look away as those words kept flowing past his lips, so good, look at you, perfect, aren't you? No idea the effect you have on people. How tempting you are. Bet you'll make me feel real good, huh? All soft and tight like this, gonna eat you up, darling.
He let out a guttural moan, eyes rolling back into his head as his legs shook, his entire being erupting into pleasure. And Shouta didn't stop, didn't let up for even a moment. Not when Izuku cried out at the overstimulation, and certainly not when his eyes welled up with tears.
"There you go, love. You warmed up now? Ready for me?"
Izuku was a friend to pain, and had long mastered the art of blending it into pleasure. He nodded quickly, and Shouta chuckled. In a quick motion, Izuku's shirt was gone, as was Shouta's. Izuku couldn't hide how eager he was to see what he was working with here as he grappled at his waistband, tugged impatiently.
"Slow down, darling. The night's long, and I plan to use every minute to make you feel better."
"Please," Izuku whined, and his mouth watered when those pants finally dropped low enough to reveal Shouta's large cock. Thick and uncut, pre leaking from the tip, and Izuku couldn't stop himself from rushing forward to suckle, just a little bit.
"Fuck," Shouta cursed, but didn't pull Izuku off. He longed to choke on him, to feel him all the way down his throat. But Shouta had promised him all night, and he'd always loved being a tease. So he let his tongue dart out and explore, marking where each vein ran, mouthing along the slit to get his first taste. Kissed along the shaft, mouth barely opening as he gazed up at Shouta watching him, a heavy hand resting on his scalp.
"Want me to make you feel real good, darling?"
"In a minute. Having fun," Izuku panted, and dove back in to sucking along that perfect cock. He could get lost here, lose the entire night to this if he wasn't careful. It made him dizzy, the little huffs of breath, the tensing of Shouta's abs whenever Izuku found a sensitive spot.
His movements were frantic, as though the thought of kissing every inch of that cock wasn't enough. He knew he could relax his throat, open his mouth and feel him all at once, but where was the fun in that when he could play around like this? Nip delicately, just enough for the man to give a sharp yelp, and return the look with a wry grin as he licked some more.
Izuku's eyes glazed over, and he floated to the sensation of mouthing up and down that long shaft. He was faintly aware of a hand massaging his scalp, a deep voice telling him he was being good, so good. He moaned into it, drool spilling from his mouth onto his lap in his hunger, then attached his lips firmly to the tip, sucked. Just coaxed that salty taste onto his tongue, swirled it around his mouth and swallowed, then sucked harder for more, opening his mouth to take him completely—
"That's enough for now," Shouta bit out, breathless. "Unless you want me to fuck your throat right now."
"Sounds nice," Izuku rasped, but plopped himself down onto his back on the sofa. His legs fell open instantly, and he used the precum he'd collected from Shouta's tip to rub along his clit. Shouta's eyes widened, and he pumped his fist along his cock that was lubricated with Izuku's spit.
"You're gonna kill me, problem child."
"I hope not," Izuku said innocently. "I wouldn't mind taking my pleasure from you. But it's still my birthday, and I want you to make me feel good."
Shouta's grin was crooked as he loomed over him, arms caging him in. "You just wanna lay there and take it, like a good boy, huh? Look at you, you're learning so well already. This is why you were always my favorite student."
Izuku moaned when he felt Shouta's tip press against him, just resting there for a moment to coat himself in Izuku's slick.
"You always were too in your head. Need someone to fuck it out of you?"
"Mhm," Izuku whimpered, and rocked his hips to try to coax him inside, inside—
"You're my fucking weakness. Did you know that? And now I've got you. Gonna take real good care of you, okay, darling?"
"Please," Izuku moaned, head tipped back in full submission as that delicious cock finally breached him. He was tight, he always had been, even when he and Katsuki had been fucking like bunnies. It was painful now, but he didn't have time, capacity to ponder how long he'd gone without being split open like this, because Shouta was sinking into him, letting out his own groans that Izuku wanted to inhale. So he did, just reached up and grappled at the back of his neck. His hand was still covered with split and slick, and it got tangled up in Shouta's hair, but he didn't care. Not when that mouth met his own, and they swallowed each other's moans.
"Shit. Holy fuck—"
Izuku tried to muffle his giggle as Shouta rushed to a stop, eyes squeezed shut to keep himself from coming instantly. But it just made his body jolt, and Shouta gripped his hips tight enough to bruise in retaliation.
"Quiet."
"Too good for sensei?" Izuku laughed again, and clenched down on his cock just to be mean.
Another curse, this one bit into the crux of his neck. "Don't say anything."
Izuku feigned a pout. "But I thought sensei was trying to teach me how good I am?"
Shouta groaned, the sound eerily reminiscent to when he'd grow tired of Izuku's antics in the classroom or on the training field. But Izuku was patient, and just pressed soft kisses along his shoulder while he waited for him to move.
"You feel so goddamn good, Izuku," Shouta groaned out. "I swear. You better not let him fuck you like this anymore. God, how the fuck could he not shower you with praise?"
A quick, deep thrust in punched all the breath out of Izuku. With the sensation came a flash of Katsuki's angry red eyes, but pleasure only overtook him instead of clarity. Because Katsuki didn't know Izuku was here. He didn't know Izuku had suckled cock like he'd been starving for it, or that he'd let his legs tip open so willingly for another man, their former teacher. He didn't know he was being filled just right, compliments and praise being whispered into his ear that would be foreign from his boyfriend's lips.
"He's too pathetic for this pussy, holy shit," Shouta groaned, and Izuku dug his nails into his scalp to draw him even closer. He was torn between wanting to hear everything that dropped from Shouta's lips and reducing the space left between them until it was nonexistent, leaving him gasping and whining, hands opening and closing in their indecisiveness.
"Sh-Shouta—"
"That's it, darling, sweetheart. Who's making you feel good?"
"Shouta—" Izuku choked off, rhythmic thrusts massaging deep into his cervix, leaving him keening.
"So close, love. You're so close to the right answer. Try again for me."
"S…Sensei…"
"There's my problem child," Shouta grinned against him, and paired more praise with firm bites along his neck.
"Sensei," Izuku babbled. He was quickly losing feeling in his legs, hands still tangling mindlessly into Shouta's long hair. "Sensei s-so good to me. Sensei f-fucks me so nice…"
As though he'd been holding back, Shouta rocked into him harder, deeper, until it was borderline painful, too much. But Izuku didn't stop him, couldn't if he wanted to. Just let Shouta take him through orgasm after orgasm, let his cunt milk Shouta's cock after each one as though he were nothing but a pussy to be fucked. But he could never let his mind get that far, because Shouta was always there whispering those praises, assuring him he was special, wonderful, lovely, fucking perfect.
"Sensei? Another birthday present? P-please?"
Shouta cursed as Izuku came again, cock throbbing inside as he slowed to stave off his own orgasm.
"Anything for you, darling."
"Inside," Izuku breathed out, his own moan matching Shouta's as the man re-doubled his pace, fucked into him loud enough that Izuku thought the neighbors might be able to hear the wet slap of skin. "Cum inside me, please? I-I've been good, right? S-so I can have sensei's cum?"
"Fuck yeah, you've been amazing, darling, you can have all of sensei's cum. Want me to stuff it deep inside you? Fuck you through it to make sure none of it leaks out?"
"P-please, yes, sensei!!"
Soul untethered, Izuku couldn't hear himself scream as he felt Shouta's cock spurt wave after wave of warm cum into him. The squelch between them, the pulsing inside of him, all of it was too much, and Izuku locked up and cried through his own orgasm, hips rocking greedily as he tried to feel, savor every drop.
Shouta collapsed on top of him, both of them panting heavily. And by the time Izuku caught his breath, he couldn't even remember where he was before that mouth was on him again, kissing him slow and languid, like they had all the time in the world.
"Was good, Shou?"
"So good, darling," Shouta affirmed, and pressed a light kiss to his temple.
"Mm. A-again? All night. S'what you said."
A dark laugh came from above him. The cock inside of him had softened slightly, but Izuku wriggled his hips just a little, felt it throb with interest.
"All night, problem child."
It wasn't such a bad birthday after all, Izuku decided.