Archive of Our Own ^omega

Age 5

Izuku nearly falls over his own feet when he reaches the bench that has become the marker for his and Kacchan’s impromptu races. His shoes are clunky, two sizes too big because his mom told him he’d be able to wear them for longer that way. He’s a growing boy, after all. But they slow him down and that is the last thing he wants, especially when Kacchan runs like a panther, sleek and fast. 

They run around the park sometimes, when they get tired of the swings and the sandpit and the small jungle gym. Racing each other is always fun, even if Kacchan always wins. Izuku just likes watching his hands pump at his sides, his feet kicking up dirt and dust, which Izuku always runs into in his haste to pass Kacchan. 

“C’mon, Deku, how are you gonna be one of my sidekicks if you can’t keep up!” Kacchan taunts snootily. His breaths have calmed more than Izuku’s have. Izuku looks up from where he’s bending over, his hands on his knobby knees.

Kacchan stands in front of him, hands on his hips, smirking in satisfaction. Izuku’s eyes catch onto something. It’s his sweat, which beads and slides down his face, gleaming and sparkling in the setting sun. The fringe of his blonde hair is darker where it soaks up the moisture, plastering onto his forehead in random angles. The rest that isn’t bogged down by sweat is windblown, sticking up in random angles, looking more wild than usual.

Kacchan’s like a spiky explosion. Izuku always wonders if his hair is as prickly and sharp as a cactus. He’s learned about those in their preschool classes. His teacher said they grow like that to protect themselves from bugs and animals who would want the water inside that the cactus needs to live.

With Kacchan, Izuku thinks he’s loud and rowdy and prickly for the same reasons. But Izuku is close enough that he can slip between and get to Kacchan’s insides, even if Kacchan doesn’t realize he’s there. 

But…Izuku’s still too scared to touch Kacchan’s hair. Even though he desperately wants to. He wants to see if it’s pokey like a cactus or deceptively soft like a rose’s petal. He wants to card his fingers into the strands, pull it this way and that, see if it will twirl easily around his finger or not. He wants to touch Kacchan in so many ways, and he can get away with knocking their knees together while they're fighting, or grabbing his wrist to pull Kacchan to see a cool bug, but touching his hair…he still hasn’t found a good way to do that yet. 

“I wanna go again, Kacchan. I’ll beat you next time,” Izuku promises, rising up from his curled form. Katsuki rolls his eyes at his words, disbelieving.

“I’ve lost count how many times I beat you. I’m undefeated! I–what are you looking at? Hey!” 

Izuku is, in fact, watching as a small, brown leaf falls languidly through the air. It’s pulled this way and that way by the miniscule air currents, but ultimately lands securely in the thistle of Kacchan’s hair, snug. Izuku’s mouth dries, hands clenching at his sides as a sudden opportunity springs forward. 

Izuku, not one to let such things go, marches forward until the tips of their shoes touch. Izuku actually wanted to get closer, but the two inches of his too-big shoes ruin that. 

“What the hell are you doing, Izu–Deku?” Kacchan asks, eyes widening, words slipping as his breath rushes over Izuku’s face, harsh and surprised. His face is flushed red from the exertion, and Izuku likes the shade so much on Kacchan, likes the way his stomach lurches. 

“There’s a leaf in your hair, Kacchan. Can I get it out for you?” Izuku asks with bated breath, his own heart racing in his chest. His fingers scuttle across his shorts in anticipation, watching Kacchan’s face for all those microexpressions his friend loves so much to portray. It’s the small tells, the small grooves in between all those pointy defense mechanisms. They’re the way Izuku is able to sneak past. 

Kacchan’s expression goes from surprised, flustered, nervous, angry, flustered again, before settling on a glum look, his eyes looking away, He tilts his head towards Izuku however, craning his neck just so. Izuku likes this too, loves the exhilaration that floods through his veins, the sudden power nearly has his feet lifting off the ground.

Something about it, of Kacchan averting his eyes, of trusting Izuku for one small moment, overwhelms Izuku’s mind in the most unexpected ways.

He only takes three seconds too long to react, and then he’s reaching over, clutching Kacchan’s arm with one hand while the other, shaking, raises to Kacchan’s head. He hesitates for one millisecond, wondering if Kacchan’s hair will prick Izuku so bad he’ll begin to bleed. He can’t imagine what it would look like, his blood painting Kacchan’s hair. It’s so light it would color the strands easily, and if he bleeds badly, it’d travel all the way to his scalp and then down his face.

Izuku’s blood on Kacchan. Marking him. 

Izuku finds the leaf, deciding that he won’t risk it. He doesn’t want to annoy Kacchan by bleeding all over him. But well, his pinky finger accidentally brushes one of the spikes while he expertly fishes out the leaf and–the spike bends to Izuku’s finger, sinking. 

His hair isn’t spiky at all. It’s soft. 

Before he knows it, Izuku’s settling his hand into the waiting crown, watching with rapt eyes as his hands disappear into the thick grove of blonde. His breath falters, and now he’s holding it in, pressing down onto Kacchan’s arm because he’s scared he’ll wake up and this’ll all be a dream if he let’s go.

His fingers scratch Kacchan’s scalp, and Kacchan lets out a weird noise. Izuku likes that too. 

“What are you doing?” Kacchan asks, but Izuku’s hand scraps over, moving until his fingers scruff the front strands, the cold, wet feeling of Kacchan’s sweat making Izuku’s shiver. He likes the way the hair sticks to Izuku’s palm, like it doesn’t want him to go. Pleading for him to keep his hand inside.

“Kacchan’s hair is so soft,” Izuku replies, nearly entranced, and then Kacchan’s hand whips up, smacking his arm away. It’s so abrupt, Izuku’s fingers dig in and he pulls accidentally. Kacchan shouts in pain and his head is pulled where Izuku’s hand has been pushed too. 

Izuku lets go like he’s been burned. Kacchan pops his head back up, staring at Izuku like he’s crazy. Izuku holds his hand to his chest, lip wobbling. He’s ruined everything. He just wanted to help Kacchan, and he had to listen to the stupid, incessant monster in his head. The monster that makes everything he does with Kacchan weird. 

“I’m sorry,” Izuku whimpers, trying not to cry. Kacchan hates when he cries. He just shoves his face to the ground and tells him the dirt will suck up all his tears to grow plants and that way he won’t be totally useless. 

“My hair’s not soft,” Kacchan mutters, annoyed, crossing his arms to his chest. Izuku looks at his hair, which has a path laid in it where Izuku had parted it with his hand. 

“Right, sorry,” Izuku apologizes again. Kacchan clicks his tongues, turning and walking away.

“C’mon, Deku. I need to make sure you get home. That’s what a hero like All Might does. Even if you’re annoying and a brat,” Kacchan explains and Izuku scuttles to follow after him, watching his back, the place where Katsuki’s hair dips into his neck sweat. His fingers itch, and the monster in his head screams for him to tug and pull and tear it out . It’d be an easy way to get a piece of Kacchan, to hold it with him all the time.

His first piece of Kacchan memorabilia. He is the hero in Izuku’s life, after all. 

He shakes away the thoughts, breathing hard and thinking instead of how harshly Kacchan’s fists would feel in his gut if he knew what he was thinking.

Age 12

Kacchan’s fists used to taste like skin and blood and sweat. Now they taste like soot and ash. And blood. 

Izuku’s teeth are coated with the gray taste of Kacchan’s explosions and his bloody gums, where he’d bitten into the meat. Izuku tries to block, but Kacchan just shouts and thrashes, pulling him closer by the collar of his uniform. He slams Izuku’s back into the gray stone of the alleyway. 

“Wha– what, Kacchan?” Izuku asks, spitting out the blood. He licks his slippery teeth, looking back at Kacchan’s angry face, his sparking eyes. He’s got murder swimming in their depths. They’re shaded by his blonde bangs, which splay against Izuku’s forehead when Kacchan thumps his forehead painfully into his. 

Izuku groans, but Kacchan grabs him by the jaw, digging his fingers in painfully, upsetting his already bruised lips and bloody gums. He holds him there, wrapping his entire body around Izuku’s, pressing into him like he wants Izuku to disappear into a pillar of dust. 

“I fucking saw you, dipshit,” Kacchan spits out, literally, the wet droplets landing across Izuku’s mouth. Izuku fights the urge to lick his lips. 

“Kacchan…I’m not sure–”

“You were touching my gym bag, freak. What were you doing?” Kacchan asks, his hand coming up, settling around Izuku’s throat, hot and simmering. Izuku thinks, for one split second, he’ll let his hands combust and brand Izuku forever.

Izuku’s throat constricts unconsciously as the words register in his mind. Fear grips his body, a coldness sweeping through his bones and extremities.

“Tell me what you did, Deku,” Kacchan whispers, dangerously low. 

“N-nothing bad , Kacchan. You–you dropped your hairbrush in the lockers. I was just p-putting it back– ack–” Izuku’s voice squeaks as Kacchan tightens his hands around his throat, cutting off his airway slightly. Izuku breathes shallowly, trying to blink away the blackness dotting his eyesight. He doesn’t get this close to Kacchan anymore. He needs to appreciate him while he can.

“Don’t touch my shit. Don’t try and help me. Got it, shitty Deku?” Kacchan mutters, knocking his forehead down against Izuku’s, one harsh crack that splits a headache clear down the side of Izuku’s face, all the way to where he grinds his molars. 

“Got it, Kacchan.” He can barely breathe, barely think, with Kacchan so close, his sweat pouring out of him, his body so damn close, the way they’re sharing air.  

Kacchan pushes him to the ground without much fanfare, turning and stalking away. Going home. Leaving him there. 

Izuku coughs and pants, holding his hand to his throat, rubbing the tenderness away. Kacchan got him good. He gets up on shaky limbs, moving his other hand down, readjusting his uniform pants, his swollen cock pressing against the zipper. Fuck. 

He shoves his hand inside the pocket of his pants, removing the clear baggie. He holds it to the setting sun. Kacchan’s sparse hair, short but plentiful, rests inside. He opens it with shaking hands, pressing his nose within the small hole he creates, inhaling deeply. The bag smells like Kacchan, sweet and salty with his sweat. There’s also his shampoo smell, a brand that Izuku has yet to figure out. 

He’s not a creep . He’s not looking through Kacchan’s things. This is just…he’s cleaning up Kacchan’s hair brush. That’s all. 

Izuku paws at the scant pieces of hair inside the bag, petting them. It’s the only part of Kacchan he gets now. When he isn’t hurting him, Kacchan is ignoring him. There’s no more nice days. But this…he can keep something from him this way. A reminder of how things were. 

Hair doesn’t dissolve, doesn’t crack and dissipate and devolve. It remains strong for years. Izuku will covet these small, thin strands because Kacchan’s wonderful body created them. 

He replaces the zip, making sure the hair won’t go anywhere, and places the bag back into his pocket delicately. He smooths his hand over it, making sure to keep a hold on it as he walks home alone, the sun at his back as it sets over another day. 

Age 15

Izuku pretends to be disgusted when All Might forces the twine of golden hair in his hands. In a way, he is. The hair he usually eats is shorter and slides down his tongue and esophagus easily. It doesn’t twist around and get stuck in his teeth like All Might’s does. Nor is it so sour. 

He wonders if Kacchan can feel him clawing at the borders of his power whenever he eats a strand of his hair. Izuku wishes all quirks worked like One For All. He’d eat Kacchan’s hair and gain his quirk and then they could be heroes together, and Kacchan wouldn’t look at him with disgust and hatred for his normalcy. 

But this works just as well. He will become a hero now and Kacchan will let him chase after him again. 

Age 16: 

Izuku stares out at the field in front of him. There’s only a couple more days until he will face Shigaraki again, until everything that he’s piled on top of his shoulders crumbles away to nothing or crushes him. 

Danger Sense does not alert him, but Izuku has his own Kacchan Sense, which may as well be a quirk on it’s own. Blackwhip erupts from his body, shielding him and taking the brunt of a sudden explosion that erupts the twilight sky, scattering the stars with the engulfing light. Smoke plumes, shrouding the night. Izuku turns just as Kacchan jumps from his vantage point, landing on the ground easily. 

“Nice reflexes–” Kacchan compliments, twisting his head to one side as he assesses the attack, “–but you could have done more than just defend. You should have attacked me while you had the chance.” 

Izuku’s not entirely sure how to tell him that Blackwhip doesn’t really listen to him when it comes to Kacchan. Or maybe it listens too well. 

But Izuku just nods, doing his best to smile, before looking back to where the stars have returned, the smoke having faded away to bring back the plum colored skies. 

Izuku listens as Kacchan’s heavy boots crush dirt as he walks over to him. His shoulder bumps against Izuku’s. Standing side by side. When was the last time Izuku dreamed of such fantasies? And yet now it’s the least ridiculous thing to happen in this world. 

“Don’t like you all…quiet and brooding. That’s more IcyHot’s thing,” Kacchan mutters next to him, eyes narrowed as he watches him. Izuku looks at him in the corner of his eye, the frown on his face, the calculating look in his eye. 

“Really? And what’s my thing?” Izuku asks, smiling wryly, settling down onto the ground. He splays his hands out beside him and soon enough Kacchan follows suit, bending his knees and thunking onto the ground beside him. 

“Unwavering determination in the face of the impossible. Smiling at the hand that fate gave you and doing it your own way instead. Seeing the good inside of everyone,” Kacchan replies. Izuku’s eyes prick with tears, and he blinks them away. He tries, anyways.

“...and being the biggest crybaby on the planet. Izuku, you…” Kacchan trails off, playing with his gloved hands, head canted downwards. Izuku tilts his head, watching the way he wars with his lip, something fighting its way out. It’s uncharacteristically Kacchan, and so it’s a bit off to see. Kacchan is not one to bite his tongue, even when what he has to say will offend the other party.

“At least when you were talking, I could read beneath the lies. I could call bullshit. But now…now you won’t even say you’re fine.” 

Izuku fights the urge to tell Kacchan that he is fine. Of course he is. He’s been blessed with a power that has allotted him so many friends, another chance at a relationship with Kacchan, and the ability to save people with a smile. His hand shifts up, an unconscious move to pull the cape he wears tighter around his throat. But that’s when he realizes he doesn’t have it on. He’s in his training uniform. 

Maybe it’s the fact that the stifling comforting weight of the cape is gone, instead hung up to dry on his balcony. The shoddy walls he’s built up around his heart crack and crumble under the lightest pressure from Kacchan. Of course it would be him. Izuku still hasn’t found the will to build something more permanent. In the 17 years Izuku has been living, he’s never even thought of forming any defense mechanism against Kacchan. 

He’d always wanted to be an opening, comforting presence. He understands Kacchan so much, but he’d never realized just how much Kacchan knows him too. 

“I’m…scared,” Izuku says slowly, swallowing his spit as his heart beats fast and rapid in his ears. He’s fucking terrified. The future has never looked so damn dim, so incomprehensible. Whenever Izuku dealt with fights in the past, they’ve never been like this. The slow march to the frontlines, dread looming over, death licking like flames at their backs. He’s fucking scarred. Whenever it comes to Kacchan, something goes horribly wrong. 

He closes his eyes as his mind conjures up the vision of Kacchan disappearing into the Kurogiri’s Warp, of Kacchan pushing him away and getting impaled. The sick and ferocious monster inside him that nearly ruined it all at Jaku rampages inside him once more. He’s sick at the thought of fighting with Kacchan again, and he blames the villains for that. A sick part of him hates them for doing this to him. 

He knows now how Kacchan is dangerous for him. How much his single minded focus and obsession towards the other boy could ruin it all. Kacchan is so amazing, he saw that all the way back when they were children. But now, he affords Izuku the companionship he’d always craved, and the spindly and suffocating love inside him pulses and breathes, growing wild and free. 

“I am too,” Kacchan admits quietly, shifting his fingers over until they rest delicately over Izuku’s. He shivers at the warm touch, aching for more. Skin to skin, soul to soul. 

Izuku smiles tepidly, “Kacchan, scared? There’s something I thought I never thought I’d hear.” 

“Fuck you,” Kacchan replies, sniffing, but he doesn’t back away, only sinks his fingers in between the spaces of Izuku’s. 

Izuku shifts his head to the right, watching Kacchan. He truly is the most beautiful person in the world. His eyes shift to his hair, which is as explosive as ever, and his gut clenches. He’d been so weird in their youth, doing what he had done for the smallest piece of Kacchan by his side. To remain with him.

“We’ll be with pro heroes, Kacchan. We’ll…have each other, too,” Izuku responds, squeezing their hands together. Kacchan looks back at him, but gloominess clings in his shadowed red eyes. His jaw clenches and Izuku realizes that it’s that same look that he gave him at Ground Beta. He’s unsure of himself. Unsure of his power. Unsure if he will be able to win. 

Izuku bites his lip before he gets up, trying to shake the sudden nerves that grow from his stomach, vining over his chest and up his throat, threatening to choke him. 

Kacchan watches him with a curious look. Izuku extends his hand, and Kacchan joins them together, letting Izuku help him up. The momentum brings them closer than Izuku would have thought, the tips of their shoes bumping together.

“I have an idea. It’s a bit…bizarre,” Izuku says and Kacchan cinches his eyebrows together, curious if not confused. He grins sharply anyway, pressing their hands tighter together. 

“You want to sacrifice someone to a god of war, is that it?” 

Izuku releases a snort of laughter, shaking his head at the image of a Kacchan in gold plated armor, barefoot and dancing around a fire, howling and growling and chanting to some dead god of old. Izuku, in that scenario, would happily be the sacrifice, forgoing his life so that Kacchan may live another day. 

“ No , not that. Where did Kacchan even think of that?” Izuku asks in wonderment, and Kacchan just shrugs. 

“C’mon, spit it out, nerd,” Kacchan replies and Izuku lets out a breath, taking a peek at Kacchan’s golden halo of hair for a quick moment. He hasn’t let his…proclivities overwhelm him at UA as they had in middle school. Sitting behind Kacchan had been hard but there was a level of security there that curbed his more overbearing thoughts. 

“We can…we can take a lock of each other’s hair. Keep it with each other during the battle, like in necklaces, or something. That way…no matter what, you’ll have a piece of me and I’ll…I’ll have a piece of you,” Izuku explains slowly, clearing his throat when the silence fills the air around them again. They stand in the dark, the last dregs of sunlight gone, looking into each other’s eyes in the darkness, holding hands, and Izuku thinks that might be the gayest thing he’s ever said. 

“...hair? You want to put our hair in lockets?” 

“It doesn’t have to be lockets! It can be anything. Actually…it’s okay. It’s a stupid idea, really–” 

“I didn’t say that,” Kacchan interrupts him, pulling Izuku along with him by the hand. He stomps over to the dorms. 

“Wha–cchan–” Izuku yelps, following behind him, stomach twisted to knots. 

“Okay, ready?” 

“We really don’t have to–”

“Are you chickening out, Izuku?” Kacchan asks lowly, looking at him with the bathroom mirror they stand in front of. He’s got a pair of scissors, the big ones used for arts and crafts rather than hair cutting, in his hands. On the porcelain sink sits two, matching lockets, made by Yaoyorozu who looked at them like they were crazy when they asked her in the common room. Kacchan’s is a dark green, and Izuku’s is a deep, sunset orange.

“I’m not . I just–” 

“Then quit wasting time. I wanna do your hair first. Been wanting to cut off some of this anyways. You’ve nearly got a fucking mullet now,” Kacchan says, snipping the scissors snootily in front of Izuku’s face, smiling sardonically when Izuku flinches and pouts. He grabs a tuft of his green hair with one hand, pulling at the locks. They certainly are the longest they’ve ever been, the ends nearly meeting his shoulders. 

“I think I rock it,” Izuku argues weakly, just to pick a fight.

“I think you need to shut the fuck up and turn around,” Kacchan replies, and then he’s placing his hand to Izuku’s head and all of Izuku shuts down, hyperfocused on where Kacchan’s fingers dig into his scalp.

He turns silently, gulping, feeling Kacchan’s body heat as he steps closer. Izuku stares at the ground with wide eyes, fists clenched into his thighs, frozen solid. Kacchan’s fingers slide down his hair, delving into the thick pieces. Izuku shivers, shifting on his feet. 

“Stay still, or I’m going to give you a bald patch,” Kacchan murmurs, voice low and so close to his ear. Izuku fights the urge to make a sound, instead swallowing the river of salvia in his mouth. 

“Okay,” Izuku mumbles quietly. Kacchan’s fingers move again, dragging down until he finds the lock of hair he decides on. He holds it and Izuku feels the slight tension there, the pull as he raises it away from the rest of the fold. 

A quiet snip and the tension releases, and Izuku lets out a shaky breath. He turns to see Kacchan holding a small clump of his hair, small, loose bits peppering down onto the tile of his bathroom. It’s a lighter shade of green, including a lot of his natural highlights. 

“Hand me the locket,” Kacchan says and Izuku jumps to help, grabbing the brown leather cord, handing it over to Kacchan, who drops the scissors on the sink in favor of grabbing the dull green pendant.

He unlocks the little clasp and the locket swings open, deeper on the inside than it looks. Kacchan piles the hair inside and closes it back up, air tight so not even a wisp of hair would fall out. 

“Slip it on for me,” Kacchan commands and Izuku nods, of course , and then Kacchan is turning away this time, and he’s just slightly taller, and Izuku feels something coil inside of him at the sight of his neck, at his trust in Izuku. 

Izuku slips it around Kacchan’s neck, brushing his fingers across his skin as he grabs the other side and joins the two pieces at the base of Kacchan’s spine. It’s hard, with his fingers already so clunky and disjointed from past breaks, but he works the clasp closed, only fumbling for a couple seconds too long. 

He places his palms on Kacchan’s back, splayed, and this time, it’s Kacchan’s turn to shiver, and Izuku enjoys the quiet earthquake that travels across his body and into his hands. 

“You’re next,” Izuku says, grabbing the scissors in his shaking hand. He looks at the spiky hair, his gut flipping. He’s so fucking close. Finally, finally. After so long he can–

Sinking his fingers into Kacchan’s hair, at the base, Izuku can’t stop the sigh that falls from his mouth. He roves his hand, playing within the strands. It’s like no time has passed at all. Kacchan’s hair is just as soft, just as bendable, just as lovely. He pulls the thick hair in between his fingers, and Kacchan releases a hiss from his lips.

“Sorry, Kacchan,” Izuku lies, letting his hands sink back in, watching with bated breath. Kacchan, Kacchan, Kacchan. He’ll have to pick a good thatch of hair, nothing too noticeable if it is gone, but still a sizable chunk. Izuku’s hair is easier to lob off, his curls hiding away any minor incongruities. But Kacchan’s hair is perfect as it is, and Izuku doesn’t want to ruin it by taking a piece that will mess with the spikes or the general formation. 

“Get on with it,” Kacchan mutters, and Izuku nods, even though the other boy can’t see that. 

He ends up grabbing a lock towards his neck, holding it in between his fingers. He twists it together, enjoying how it nearly shimmers in the light of the bathroom. He takes the scissors underneath the strand, and cuts. 

The hair separates and he’s holding the strands in his hand. He wants to cry. Kacchan…willingly giving him a piece of him. He can’t believe he’s so lucky. 

“You got it?” 

“Y-yeah, Kacchan,” Izuku says, cradling the hair in his hand, dropping the scissors haphazardly to reach for the remaining locket. He encloses the hair within its new home lovingly, letting it close. He holds the cool metal in his hand before looking up. Kacchan stares back at him, something unreadable in his expression. 

“What’s with that look? Don’t tell me you actually fucked my hair up,” Kacchan groans and Izuku smiles, shaking his head. 

“No, Kacchan, of course not. Will you…will you help me?” Izuku asks, gesturing to the locket. Kacchan takes it and Izuku turns back around. Kacchan gets around him again, letting the locket fall over his head before he pulls it to clasp it closed. Kacchan’s fingers are thin, nimble and perfect, so it takes no time at all for the locket to fall over his chest, secure.

“Thank you,” Izuku whispers, holding the orange pendant in his hand. He turns back, his heart in his throat but a buzzing electricity zipping through him all the while. He pulls Kacchan in close, delving his hands into his hair as their chests touch, the lockets kissing between them. Kacchan makes a surprised noise but doesn’t fight him. 

Kacchan’s hands hover over his waist for a quick moment before fingers grip his uniform, his body relaxing as Izuku fingers his hair, roves and massages his scalp. They remain like that for a long time, simmering in each other’s hold, hoping they’ll be able to break the silent tension that waits, waits until the war is over. 

Kacchan’s hair is bloodied up, a vision come true from Izuku’s past. Except it is not Izuku’s blood, but Kacchan’s own that mars the straw blonde strands. The frantic mechanical pumping of his heart jerks his body against the ground, the liquid darkness spreading further, all around him. His hair shakes as his chest thumps thumps thumps against the ground, as if Kacchan’s soul is trapped inside his body and cannot flee to the afterlife. 

He sees the locket, hanging limply on the ground, holding Izuku’s hair. He could have–at any point– he could have used it. Izuku would have willingly given One For All to save Kacchan. 

Izuku falls apart and degrades into something worse, something vile and beastly. 

Age 18: 

Izuku stares at the nape of Kacchan’s neck. He’s scrunched over, back bowing in a rare case of improper posture. They’re working on their finals for the last time and you can smell the collective stress of 20 newly aged adults. 

After this, there’s the practical exam, and then they’ll be done with schooling. All that will be left is graduation and then Kacchan and everyone else will become heroes. Sidekicks, for most, but still. Real, fully fledged heroes. 

Izuku’s completed his test already. He’d been studying for university entrance exams, and most of the information for those are more in depth and difficult than UA’s tests ever were. 

Kacchan’s arm, the one he nearly lost in the war, rests it’s elbow on the desk. His hand swings backward languidly, brushing at the sparse, spiky hair there. Izuku watches him with a dry mouth, tongue heavy. Kacchan’s fingers tug at his short strands, probably unconsciously. 

There’s a sudden crack in the otherwise silent room. Clear plastic pieces sail through the air in front of him, and he looks down in shock to see his pen leaking ink, all over his hand and the sleeve of his uniform. 

He swipes his test away from the desk, which is slowly turning black because of the wet ink. 

“Dude–” someone whispers and Izuku snaps his eyes back up to see everyone staring at him. He instantly swivels his head to see Kacchan has turned around, hand gripping the seat for better leverage, eyebrows raised in surprise.

“I–uhm–” Izuku clears his throat, feeling his face flame up at all the attention.

“Midoriya, I didn’t expect third years to have accidents at their desks anymore,” Aizawa drawls from the front of the class. Izuku gets up, his chair scraping against the floor. He drops the pen into his pants pocket, using his already ruined uniform to clean up the ink as best he can. Most soaks into the clothing, but it leaves smears and streaks like a dirty window. 

He grabs his papers in his other hand, tripping over his own feet as he walks down the aisle, dropping his test on Aizawa’s desk.

“Sorry, sensei. My pen exploded,” Izuku whispers, hoping the gossips in the front row don’t hear him. Aizawa stares at him with an amused glint in his eye, leaning back on his chair. 

“Evidently,” Aizawa responds, dropping his gaze to where Izuku’s sleeve looks like the world’s shittiest rorschach test. 

“It didn’t get on my test,” Izuku blurts out, and Aizawa turns his focus to his slightly crumpled exam. 

“Quick reflexes,” Aizawa muses, looking back up at Izuku, who wants to sink into the floor. Sweat drips from his forehead.

“I’m gonna head to the bathroom,” Izuku explains, and Aizawa nods silently, eyes trailing back to Izuku’s wet and dripping hand. 

He leaves quickly, sliding open the door and shutting it back. He lets out a relieved heave, his shoulders dropping as he raises a hand up, swiping at his sweaty forehead. It’s only when his eyes focus on the ink stained sleeve that he realizes he used his dirty palm.

“Ugh,” Izuku mutters to himself, turning down the hall and speed walking to the closest bathroom. 

It’s vacant, thankfully. Izuku grips the white porcelain, looking at himself in the mirror. He’s got a streak on his forehead from his own idiocy, but there’s two splots on his cheek, right over his scar, eerily familiar to his old, ruined freckles.

He takes off his uniform jacket, figuring it’s a lost cause. Thankfully the white shirt is spared, but his arm is splotchy where the ink stained through the jacket. He washes his hands diligently, cursing his own foolishness. 

God, but he can’t stop thinking of Kacchan. Over the past year, the ache only grew, ever since they’d settled back into classes, into routine. 

Having Kacchan at arm’s length had been one thing. He’d cried and begged in his mind to be let back in, to return to the fold and in Kacchan’s orbit. 

But this…being friends with Kacchan. Training with him, helping him, studying and sparring together…it’s nearly too much. So much Kacchan, right at the tip of his fingers, but it’s still not enough. He wants more. Always more. 

He takes a dripping hand, finding the thick cord of the locket. He fishes it from where it rests against his chest, beneath his shirt and crooked tie. He cradles it in his hand. He’d been so good , hasn’t opened it since that day in Kacchan’s dorm bathroom.

But he’s also been good in other ways. Refrained. Held his hands to his side when all he wanted was to delve into all of Kacchan. 

He fingers the locket, finding the clasp that will swing the locket open, where a treasure trove lies in wait, ready for Izuku. He wonders if the year has changed the texture, the taste, of Kacchan’s–

“ Hey nerd. What the fuck was that?” 

Izuku yelps, dropping the locket back against his chest. He looks towards the door where Kacchan is standing, right hip popped out with his hands settled at his sides. He’s got one of his eyebrows piqued, a small smirk on his face.

“Oh-uhm–nothing Kacchan. Must’ve uhh–must’ve been a dud pen. I should probably email the manufacturer, let them know their pens are uhm…exploding, randomly,” Izuku mutters, scratching the back of his head with his wet hand. He scrunches in on himself, feeling caught by Kacchan’s piercing gaze. 

He nearly ate Kacchan’s hair. He could have gotten caught! 

“That the only thing that exploded?” Kacchan asks, lowly, and Izuku’s mind stalls, brain shutting down when Kacchan’s gaze flickers down.

Izuku follows his lead and his cheeks flush, bright and intense as a wave of mortification and embarrassment rolls across his body, smothering his aching need for one, blissful moment.

It doesn’t matter. There’s something else that’s certainly aching in it’s place, hard and thick on the side of his leg. How’d he miss that? How’d he talk to Aizawa and not realize? Holy fuck– his Sensei was eye level with his hard co–

“Oi! I can feel the gravitational pull from your spiraling thoughts. Your jacket covered it. But now it’s…well–” he suddenly chokes on his words and Izuku looks up, his attention pinpointing to where Kacchan’s cheeks have grown warm themselves, a sparse dusting of pink, blooming from his cheeks to the tips of his ears.

Something Kacchanthirsty drips over his mind, pouring warm wax over all his previous embarrassment and anxieties. He’s got Kacchan, here, alone, talking about his cock and blushing like a virgin.

Shit . Was Kacchan a virgin? 

Something has been slowly boiling between the two, so slow and meticulous, Izuku had never really noticed it. He’d always known he’d been strange, cut up inside whenever it came to Kacchan. Shit, he’s never heard about people eating other people’s hair on the semi-regular. His type of love is never played on the big screen, unless it’s accompanied by harsh violin strings in the soundtrack. 

But with Kacchan’s tense shoulders and the way he grips his uniform pants so tightly Izuku can see the sweat slowly darken the fabric, Izuku might not be the only one simmering in this constant state of heady infatuation. 

“It’s… what?” Izuku asks slowly, stepping closer to Kacchan. The other boy doesn’t move, seemingly frozen in place. He won’t look away from the tent in his pants. Izuku slides his scarred hand up Kacchan’s scarred forearm. Kacchan startles, looking up, and…fuck, his eyes are blown. Black pupils yawning wide, overcoming the beautiful color of his eyes. That’s not to say these eyes aren’t just as beautiful, haunting and seductive all at once. 

“What?” Kacchan asks, swallowing tightly, and Izuku wonders how wet and hot his mouth is. He’s already got a higher body temperature than average. He would be scorching wrapped around his cock. Mouth, ass, Izuku wants it all. 

Izuku’s hand travels higher up Kacchan’s arm as he steps indecently close. All perceived notions of personal space dissipate into the air as his clothed cock brushes Kacchan’s navel. Or, to be more precise, the cool hardness of his belt. Izuku groans at the sensation and Kacchan releases a shuddering breath.

“My dick. What were you going to say about my dick, Kacchan,” Izuku asks, his skin breaking out into goosebumps where Kacchan’s breath fans over it, warm and moist.

“It’s–it’s just obvious now ,” Kacchan mutters and Izuku breaks out into a smile, feeling something inside him fluff up with pride. He’s got Kacchan’s attention. And isn’t that all he wanted, at the end of the day? 

No, he thinks, his deplorable and unhinged thoughts and actions at the forefront of his mind, it’s always been about devouring him. 

But there’s a glint in Kacchan’s dark eyes, something that screams hunger . Izuku had Kacchan’s hair to keep him full, but Kacchan must be starving. He’s gotta feed him, his poor boy. 

“Yeah? Wanna see it?” Izuku asks, and Kacchan’s eyes glance back down for one quick moment before shooting back up. He doesn’t yell at Izuku. He doesn’t argue. He doesn’t storm away and leave Izuku alone in the bathroom. 

He nods. Quite urgently too, and Izuku’s eyes are lost to the sight of Kacchan’s spiky hair dancing in response, flowing in the air and holy fuck he needs his hands in there now. 

Izuku grips him tighter where he holds Kacchan, pulling him backwards. He slams open a stall, their bodies bouncing against each other as Izuku manhandles Kacchan into the tight area. Somewhere in between, Kacchan had kissed him, ferocious and wild, biting his bottom lip and lazily tonguing his sharp canines. Izuku’s obsessed with it, loud in his wordless praise. His cock jumps uselessly in his boxers, begging for more, for warmth, for friction.

Kacchan’s hands have found their way to his pants, undoing his belt with surprisingly steady hands. Izuku’s got his own hands in Kacchan’s hair, ecstatic at the feel of it once again. It’s been too fucking long. He’s fucking got Kacchan now. Got his hair, got his lips, got his eyes, got him all.

Kacchan pushes him to the seat of the toilet, and Izuku isn’t expecting it, so he falls hard. He lets out a surprised oof, mewling in frustration when Kacchan’s body unsticks from his own entirely for a second too long. He fucking wants him. Kacchan is his . 

And then Kacchan is dropping to his knees and Izuku realizes it’s his bare fucking ass on the toilet seat and somehow Kacchan has dropped his pants to the ground and his cock is pearling precum down the side of it, free and waiting. 

How the fuck is Kacchan so smooth with all of this?

“You’ve fucked someone before?” Izuku blurts out before he can stop himself, and his tone is too fucking obvious, angry and breathless and low. Kacchan looks up from where he’d nestled his body in between Izuku’s legs, warm and sweaty hands on his fuzzy and thick thighs. He has to look past Izuku’s leaking cock, leaning towards one side of his legs, gazing up at him, and he smirks.

“So what if I have? What are you gonna do?”

Gutted. Betrayed. Izuku feels his heart drop out of his chest, withering up as it goes. His brain wants to escape his fucking head, just so that he can rub at his memory center and forget that fucking admission.

Kacchan…with someone else. It’s incomprehensible. Kacchan, looking like this , flushed a hazy red, eyes black with lust, loose and limber and grinning. No one…no one should ever get to see that. Kacchan has always fucking been Izuku’s, even if he didn’t know it for most of their lives. 

“Fuck, Izuku, don’t shut down on me. I was kidding,” Kacchan says, rubbing his hand up and down Izuku’s thigh comfortingly. It’s only then that Izuku realizes he’s been about half a second from chipping a few teeth with how hard his jaw was clenched down. 

He forcibly relaxes, letting out a whistling breath out of his mouth. 

“Kacchan’s mine ,” Izuku says, grabbing Kacchan’s hair because he fucking can, because Kacchan is his. He pulls harshly, enjoying the way Kacchan’s head bends backwards, before relaxing his hold and rubbing soothingly into Kacchan’s scalp. 

“You’re such a freak sometimes, Izuku,” Kacchan mumbles, but he moves his hands up Izuku’s thighs before grasping at his cock, rubbing at the thick vein that wraps around it. Izuku lets out a whimpering moan, curling forward, tugging and twining. He watches as his hands comb through his hair, at the way it becomes slightly damp with how hot the both of them are getting. 

Kacchan leans closer, settling his chin on the small area between his dick and his thigh, looking up at Izuku. Fucking siren. He grins sloppily, mouth shining from their kissing. He raises his hand up, fingers dancing and scuttling around his cock, playing with the head, the foreskin there. He smears the precum that steadily forms there, before dropping back down, nails tracing delicately, to the point of torture.

“ Fuck– ” Izuku rasps out, shivering at the way Kacchan holds his cock like it’s a priceless piece of jewelry. 

And then Kacchan is gripping him tight, stroking him hard and fast. He grins harshly right before Izuku shuts his eyes, but he snaps them back right open when Kacchan’s warm breath fans over his cock and he says, 

“You know I can explode your dick off pretty easily here. Kind of like your…defective pen. Pop.”

Izuku groans at the threat, hands tightening in Kacchan’s hair, pulling him closer to his dick. His cock jumps in Kacchan’s hand and the boy laughs, high and startled.

“I’m a freak, Kacchan. I thought we established this already,” Izuku replies through gritted teeth. 

“Right,” Kacchan murmurs, before he leans over and licks a wet patch up from the base of Izuku’s dick to the tip, which spurts like a malfunctioning fountain.

“ Ahh–” Izuku moans, looking at Kacchan, who flickers his eyes up at Izuku before tonguing his tip, letting the fresh precum bleed into his mouth. 

“This is vile,” Kacchan mutters, face twisting in disgust as he tastes his precum. Then he wraps his lips around his cockhead and suckles, tongue lapping repeatedly. It’s lazy and uncoordinated, and Izuku’s crazy at the sensation, the way Kacchan looks with his cock in his mouth, lips wrapped around his thickness, pink turning to white where they stretch. 

It’s indecent, the wet sound that slips into the stale air between them as Kacchan’s mouth sucks and slurps at his slit, saliva and precum falling down his chin and dripping onto Izuku’s thighs. Izuku can only hold tight to his head, his beautiful, wonderful hair grounding him as best it can.

He fucking loves all of Kacchan, but there’s something special about his hair. He’s been obsessed with it since he can remember, has done truly despicable things to get to it, to taste it and have it. 

It was how Izuku could have Kacchan before, and now he holds it in his grasp as Kacchan slowly winds his way down his cock, opening his mouth wider and wider to fill himself up with Izuku’s cock.

He grasps and pulls at Kacchan’s hair, praise falling from his lips like a holy prayer as Kacchan’s mouth meets where his hand is and then swallows up that patch of skin as well, ultimately arriving at his base, his nose brushing his thick, dark green pubes.

“You did it,” Izuku says, enraptured by the sight, at the way Kacchan’s eyes leak tears, falling onto his cheeks which are ruddy from exertion, his scar slightly stretched where his mouth is opened like a gaping maw.

Kacchan looks up at him, and Izuku nearly blows his load right then and there. Kacchan’s throat constricts and it feels like fucking heaven, but then Kacchan pulls back quick and easy, until he’s back to only lapping at his foreskin.

“ Fu–u–ck” Izuku whimpers. Kacchan’s lips twist around his head, swirling his tongue before swallowing him down again, quicker, mouth and jaw growing accustomed to his huge size. 

Kacchan’s hands keep his thighs down, forcing him to remain still as he fucks his mouth on Izuku’s cock, grunting and moaning, sending vibrations to his cock and into his spine, up to his brain which has turned to mush and oh–Kacchan. 

His body trembles, tension winding up inside him as the spitty sounds of Kacchan’s mouth on his cock ring in the small space, schlick, schlick schlick, loud and dirty, obscene and hot. 

Then there’s the sound of the door to the bathroom opening and Izuku grips Kacchan hard . He stills on his cock, mouth halfway on it. He pops his eyes open from where he’d closed them, falling out of whatever groove he’d found himself in.

They stare at each other, both shocked, aroused and terrified. Whoever is in the bathroom walks over to the corner with the urinals, humming to himself. 

Piss hits porcelain and Kacchan flinches harshly. It causes Izuku’s cock to brush against the soft palate of his mouth, and the both of them try to stifle groans as best they can. Izuku’s sweating hard, and Kacchan’s no better, face dripping with a miasma of bodily fluids. Sweat, tears, spit, snot, precum. 

Izuku fingers his way through Kacchan’s hair, letting the soft feeling relax his tense state. Kacchan’s eyes glaze over as the ministrations continue, and Izuku feels powerful at the way he’s able to soothe Kacchan easily. His throat bobs as he swallows and breathes shallowly, trying not to make noise as their unwanted guest finishes up. Izuku’s just glad the doors to the stalls extend to the floors. 

Izuku grins as the urinal flushes, loud with rushing water. He sinks Kacchan’s face closer, raising one hand up, curling his finger in front of his mouth. Be quiet, Kacchan , Izuku signs as Kacchan’s throat constricts and palpitates and flutters, sucking his cock further down. Shoes against the tile of the bathroom. Kacchan gripping Izuku’s thighs so damn tight, skin hot and threatening to set sparks off. But he won’t. Because Kacchan is less of a bastard than Izuku, and doesn’t want to get caught. 

So Izuku holds him tight by the hair, his beautiful, flaxen hair, wraps his digits into the strands, enjoying how they tickle his palms as he closes his hand into a fist. Kacchan holds his thighs down, but Izuku holds Kacchan’s hair in his hand, and that’s all he needs.

The faucet turns on. Izuku fucks himself off Kacchan’s mouth, the wet, debauched sounds definitely louder than the water. Izuku doesn’t care. Kacchan stares at him blearily, red eyes turned to black pits turned to a watery mess as he’s used by Izuku. His nose leaks clear fluid, which ends up resting on his top lip, or slipping onto Izuku’s cock and down to his dark pubes. He presses Kacchan down, holding him there as he feels Kacchan’s scrambling fingers digging into his skin, ignoring the pain when he breaks skin. 

More steps, and Izuku wonders if he’s got earbuds in. There’s no way he doesn’t hear how Kacchan’s throat makes noises, moans and groans, and guttural cries as Izuku chokes him on his cock, the wet schluck when Izuku pulls Kacchan off his length, letting his thick and heavy cock rest on his tongue, watching as Kacchan doesn’t even close his mouth. He pants on his dick, wide open. 

“You’re an amazing cock sucker, Kacchan. Made for it,” Izuku praises softly when the door to the shuts again, leaving them alone again. Kacchan’s eyebrows furrow, and he squirms, but he doesn’t move away, doesn’t get off his cock. Just waits.

“Did that make you feel weird? Sent a sinking feeling in your stomach when you realized you liked being called my cock sucker. Heh, slutty Kacchan,” Izuku laughs lightly, endorphins flooding in his brain when Kacchan lets out a whine, hands scrunching, body shaking just so. His hips hump his shin, and Izuku feels where his cock strains through his pants, hard as a rock. 

“Oh, Kacchan’s a freak too,” Izuku coos, moving his hand to his cock, gripping it by the base and lifting it. It smacks back on Kacchan’s tongue and the other boy whines again, huffing as his lips wobble. He looks close to sobbing at the degrading words, but he doesn’t stop Izuku. He takes it.

Fuck. 

“Alright, Kacchan. You’ve been so good. Just a little bit longer. You can do it, right?” Izuku asks, sliding his cock against Kacchan’s tongue, enjoying the bumps of his taste buds against the vein of his cock. Kacchan replies with a hum, and Izuku shivers at the feeling. 

Kacchan sucks and swallows him down dutifully, eyes clenching closed as he’s battered by Izuku’s cock. He huffs and moans, can’t stop the relentless attack. For someone so in tune with offensive strategies, he can only take it now. No attacks, no defenses. Kacchan rides the wave as Izuku fucks his mouth. 

Izuku tries to soothe him as best he can, but soon enough, the pleasure overrides his mind, and he chases it, his own eyes watching Kacchan’s spit soaked face, his mouth stretched wide, jaw rattling as moves his head up and down. He grunts, breaths labored as his brain shuts down, and moves, instinctively. He pulls his cock out of Kacchan’s mouth, feeling his balls tighten up to an excruciating detail. Kacchan lets out a confused noise, looking up, before flinching. 

The tension bleeds out his cock. Well, gushes. All over Kacchan’s face, spurting up and getting in his hair, his wonderful, wonderful hair that sits atop of Kacchan’s head and that he ate because he loves Kacchan so much and wants every piece of him and now he’s marked Kacchan, marked that hair of his, marked him as his and no one will be able to see Kacchan like this, except for Izuku. 

Translucent fluid coats Kacchan’s hair, sinking in, trailing down his forehead and meeting the cum that slips down his cheeks and chin. Izuku moves his hands in the strands as his dick dries up, feeling the cum on his hands and massaging it deeper down the follicles. He’s not meaning to spread the cum further in. He just wants to soothe Kacchan’s head, which must be hurting after Izuku’s rough treatment.

Kacchan’s hand comes up, finally letting go of his thighs to wipe at his dribbling chin, but the damage is done already, his uniform and the rest of him stained with Izuku’s cum. He turns his hand inwards, grabbing at his cock and shakily backing away from where it shadows over his face, coughing slightly, spit and cum mixed together drizzling from his lips like a leaking faucet. He looks so pretty like that, made a mess by Izuku’s doing. Izuku thinks, cumslut , and Kacchan groans when he feels Izuku’s cock jump in his grip. 

Izuku’s dick remains half hard, but it flops down when Kacchan lets go of it, laying against Izuku’s thigh, waiting. Kacchan follows suit, letting out a ragged, rattling breath as he mashes his cumstained cheek to his thigh, looking up past through his eyelashes, eyes still glossed over. 

“Good?” he asks, voice scuffed and rough, something raw and real in the one word question. He’s still shivering, just slightly, teeth rattling against each other, keyed up in a way Izuku has never seen before. He doesn’t comment on the way he’s painted in Izuku’s cum, from the tips of his hair down to where it slips beneath his uniform shirt. 

Izuku roves his hands through Kacchan’s hair, trying his best to comfort him. Reality crashes down a bit too quickly, and he wonders how the hell either of them are going to get out of here without someone seeing. But, that’s Izuku’s worry. He’s going to make sure Kacchan only has to think about his own pleasure and recovering. 

“You were perfect, Kacchan,” Izuku replies, genuinely astonished. But, this is Kacchan, after all. He’s amazing at everything. 

Kacchan’s lips twist into a wobbly smile, closing his eyes and leaning into Izuku, inhaling. Izuku’s seen him like this after super intense workouts and sparring sessions, when they both put their all into it, ending with screaming muscles and labored breaths. Kacchan always ends up quiet like this, meditative. Pliable and less caustic. 

Izuku unwinds the toilet paper as quietly as he can, tearing it off and folding the pieces together. He tries his best to clean Kacchan’s face off, and he fucking hates that he’s using toilet paper when he all he wants is to wash Kacchan off and bathe him, shower him with love (and maybe more of his cum) and just…be, with Kacchan.

But, all he’s got now is a dazed Kacchan and one-ply toilet paper. He’ll make do.

“Sorry, Kacchan,” Izuku mumbles weakly when Kacchan grumbles at the rough texture of the paper against his face. It quickly turns pulpy and disgusting. He tries his best with his hair, but the cum has dried to flaky bits. He’ll definitely have to wash Kacchan’s hair delicately. Izuku plops the used up paper into the toilet he’s sitting on and then returns his hands to Kacchan’s hair, because of course he does.

Izuku pets him, watching as Kacchan’s shoulders relax, as he melts into his touch, breathing heavily. 

“Wanna go?” Izuku asks.

“Where?” Kacchan mutters, opening his eyes and raising his head so he settles his chin on Izuku’s thigh. “School ain’t over.” 

“You really think you can go back to class?” Izuku argues lightly, smiling when Kacchan scowls at him, eyebrows scrunched together and a bit of that fire returning in his eyes. 

Kacchan opens his mouth, and Izuku can tell he’s going to take what Izuku said as a challenge so he says, “Even with the cum in your hair?” 

Kacchan’s mouth clacks shut and then he winces. He pouts, annoyed, muttering, “ And who’s fault is that?” Then he shoves off of Izuku, standing up on shaky legs. Izuku immediately misses his warmth, and his heart constricts when the steady supply of dopamine that comes with clutching Kacchan’s hair is suddenly cut off. But, he gets a great look of the large wet patch where Kacchan had humped himself to cumming. Hot. You win some, you lose some. 

“C’mon, then. Let’s be delinquents,” Kacchan says, reaching his hand out, looking away, flushing a deep, deep red. Amazing. Izuku smiles and grabs his hand, pulling himself up. The momentum causes Kacchan to flatten himself against the stall door, since the space is so small. He hisses a curse, but Izuku grabs him by the chin, making sure to remain delicate since no doubt Kacchan’s jaw is aching. 

He kisses him. Kacchan tastes so bitter with Izuku’s cum on his breath. He groans and falls further into Kacchan, licking into his mouth. Kacchan tries to reciprocate but his mouth fails him, too overworked to do much except open his mouth and let Izuku explore and taste him entirely. 

“My house, kay?” Izuku suggests breathlessly, leaning backwards, enjoying the way their combined spit connects them between the space. 

“Fine,” Kacchan agrees, clutching his hand tight, as if he’s afraid to let go. He’s got nothing to worry about. Izuku’s not going anywhere.