Archive of Our Own ^beta

Izuku stares at the dripping coffee pot. Condensation percolates along the black plastic, hiding where the hot water soaks into the coffee grounds. He watches the beaded moisture gain the courage that comes with gravity, slipping along the smooth surface, joining with others to create a fairly big beast. The drop perches on the edge of the appliance for one, dizzying second, and Izuku watches like a hawk, breath bated in anticipation. A moment later, it splatters against the fake granite counter top.

Izuku shivers, feeling like he’d been dipped in a cold plunge. He drags a finger towards the spot, wetting his finger, spreading it around. He hates the way it sticks to his clammy skin, the cold liquid touching him back, clinging to him. It feels so damn off in a way he can’t pinpoint. His throat is dry, tongue like sandpaper. 

Izuku. 

He rises up, thick and smothering, in the back of his mind. A throbbing pain radiates from that spot, moving like waves, submerging Izuku until all he can focus on is that constant, voracious need.

Come to me. 

It hurts, like aching hunger always does, but it does not originate from a pit in his stomach. It flowers from his chest, starting tight like a vortex and spreading from the epicenter, a sudden and overwhelming urge to find him. Find him. Izuku must find him. 

“Deku!” a sudden voice chirps, and Izuku flinches like an airhorn was blasted point blank in his ear. The presence sinks away, taking away Izuku’s breath as it goes. All that’s left is the hole in his mind where it was , growing larger and larger each time this pattern repeats. Soon enough, Izuku believes it will gouge Izuku straight through until nothing of him is left. 

His eyesight sharpens and he realizes he’s lost time again. How long has it been? He places a hand to the glass of the pot. It is cool to the touch. His lips twist into a sharp frown, and he turns around. Typical, nowadays. 

Whatever. He wasn’t planning to drink it anyway. 

Uravity stands at the doorway, halfway inside, hip checking the archway. She’s in her hero suit, and Izuku figures she’s about to leave for the night. She’s taken a temporary contract at Izuku’s agency for the time being. To help with the workflow. 

Izuku’s been drowning in it, lately. 

She tilts her head towards him, a look of mild worry flittering over her features. Izuku grinds his teeth beneath his tight lips, which have formed a smile, immediately placating.  

“You okay? No one has seen you for a while. We thought you’d gone on another patrol,” she says, stepping inside. Every click of her heeled boots against the tiled floor is like a sonic boom to Izuku’s ears, and he leans against the shitty kitchen counter top, his hands behind his back, gripping so damn tight he can feel the material in his hands bend.  

The break room is a cheap mess, built with the last of their investor’s money. Most of the budget had gone, unfortunately, to a bunch of legal crap. Permits, mostly. Who knew the real way to do hero work was filing a bunch of very expensive paperwork.

Kacchan had hated—

“I’m fine, Uraraka. Just taking a break,” Izuku replies lowly, bringing a hand up to his forehead, wiping away the slick sweat that formed beneath his green bangs. They’re drenched, curling up from the wetness. He’s been sweating a lot lately, body overheating as if he were ill. But he’s not. He’s perfectly fine. In amazing shape, really. Never felt stronger. 

Uravity stops in front of Izuku, hands on her hips. Her bangs have grown frizzy throughout the dayshift, harried. Izuku can smell the sweet perfume she wears, and the masked sweat underneath. His nose has been overly sensitive lately, which has left him nauseous most days. 

It doesn’t stop him from seeking out a particular smell, something that remains stuck in the back of throat, reminding him of half forgotten memories that slip from his grasp the harder he clings to them. 

Uraraka peers into his eyes. With her boots, she’s his height, and the closeness of her face to his irks him beyond belief. Something creaks, and he’s unsure if it’s his teeth under the pressure of his jaw, or if it is the floor getting ready to open up and swallow him whole. 

He hopes it’s the second one. He doesn’t want to deal with the consequences of his teeth shattering in front of Uraraka’s face, blood splattering on her cheeks, causing her to flinch before her expression turns to one of shock and horror. 

Izuku imagines smiling at her then, mouth full of red and broken enamel pieces. Would she be comforted by the stretch of his lips then, the way his eyes crinkle in agony? 

“Deku, have you been sleeping?” she asks, and Izuku flinches backwards, letting out a dry cough to mask it. His hand comes up so he doesn’t accidentally spit in her face and it’s caked with plaster from the counter he was just gripping. Great. 

“Have had some late nights, actually. There’s been the uptick in cases, as I’m sure you know,” Izuku explains behind his fist, and Uraraka nods, but her inquisitive brown eyes do not leave his. He feels pinned down by her concern and general…empathy. It’s been weird, going from high school friends to strangers running in the same circles back to…whatever this is. 

He’s forgotten what friendship feels like. Agitation swirls deeply inside him as Uraraka does not back down. He does not want to have this conversation right now.

He ignores the thoughts that cycle through his mind. Intrusive little monsters, but Izuku’s fought real devils before. These are nothing in comparison.  

“Right,” Uraraka agrees slowly, but thankfully, backs down. Maybe she can read how uncomfortable he is. She slides away, turning towards the communal fridge. She continues to speak as she roots around it, “The people have been growing rowdier now that one of the city's most prolific pros has taken off.” 

She says it like a gossip would, like there’s some kind of inside joke that Izuku should be a part of, and when Izuku turns to her, she’s staring at him over the open door of the fridge. Waiting for his response. Judging his reactions. 

He swallows. Speaks with a mouth full of razor blades. 

“It’s our duty to pick up the slack.” 

Uraraka closes the fridge, holding a half eaten bento box in her hands. 

“Have you heard from him?” The question sizzles in the air like the anticipation that comes right before a bomb goes off. Izuku realizes he’s the bomb in this scenario. 

Come to me. 

Izuku pushes himself off the kitchen counter and skitters around to the doorway. His headache returns with a vengeance, and he wants to leave before he says something he will regret. 

Uraraka watches him silently. 

His mouth opens and he spits out, “He is doing fine.” 

Izuku lies. He doesn’t know if he is doing fine. He doesn’t even know if he’s still alive. He doesn’t know anything. 

Izuku doesn’t like patrolling alone. Not that he is incapable of stopping a purse thief or a burglar on his own. He’s very proficient in his work, actually. He takes pride in it. 

But something nags at him. In moments when his body moves on autopilot, he turns his head to speak to someone who is not there. Trusts that he will receive back up from a partner that does not exist. 

And those days he does work with someone like Uraraka or Todoroki, the itch remains. He does not trust them like he does the phantom limb who sticks to his back. A devil along his shoulders he cannot get at.

He helps an old woman across the street. She’s familiar, as most daytime citizens are. Most have routines they do not part with for months or years at a time. He thinks of them as his regulars, and most like him enough to chat with him when they’re not hustling through the city. 

She tells him his suit is a bit too cold for her hands, the metal jarring against her already arthritic bones. He apologizes, but she just smiles sadly. She pauses him before he departs, looking to his side before she speaks. 

“I miss that sweet boy. Stuck to you like flytrap, that one did. You know…once, he held my hands in his and popped mini fireworks. Felt like kitten bites, but they warmed my hands up nice and good. Probably one of the nicest things someone has ever done for me.” 

Izuku’s stomach clenches tightly. He wrenches away where she holds onto him, and she lets out a startled noise. He heaves a breath, regaining his bearings. 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you,” the woman continues, moving her hands so they hold onto each other, clutched at her chest. Feeble and tiny as she is, Izuku has the sudden thought of grabbing her by the nape and snapping her neck.

The thought comes and goes before Izuku can dwell on it. He swallows his spit down. 

“It’s okay,” he mutters, smiling weakly. “You have a good day, ma’am.” 

It’s an awkward departure, and Izuku feels as if everyone in the streets is watching him. Knowing the gruesome things he thinks. Knowing the urges that pop up within his boiling blood. 

He’s just tired. He needs to sleep. His mind is overworked and overwhelmed, and a good night’s rest will reset him. He used to send Izuku to sleep, forced him out of the agency doors and back to their apartment, which now rots without his presence. 

Izuku freezes as the thought rises, soft and barely noticeable in his own panicking scramble. Something thumps repeatedly in his head, growing faster and faster as Izuku searches mindlessly for the smallest thread of what he was thinking of just now. 

Somebody bumps into him, and the memory slinks back away, dissipating into nothing but smoke. He looks to see a business man grumble as he passed by him, and Izuku notices he’s been blocking the sidewalk. He takes a step, and his suit’s AI alerts him that his heart rate is dangerously fast. It brings along a head rush, and the sudden realization that yes , that strange, frantic pounding in his head is his heart beat, actually. 

He ends up disappearing into an alleyway as his vision tunnels, black spots floating in front of him as his extremities grow staticky. He very well might faint, as the AI in his ear shoots off critical words like cardiac arrest may occur. 

Then he sees Shigaraki. 

He’s standing in the middle of the alleyway, in similar clothing that First used to wear, down to the red shoes. 

Everything falls away, just like most things do when he encounters a vestige. A ghost. 

“You aren’t right,” he says to Izuku, and the hero blanches. For one split second, he believes Shigaraki is talking about morality, or the difference between heroes and villains, but then Shigaraki sneers at him and within one blink and the next he is in front of Izuku. His hand shoves into Izuku’s chest, through his suit, his skin and bones and muscle, holding his heart stagnant.

It’s uncomfortable, and he can feel where Shigaraki’s fingers dig into the muscle, puncturing the bloody meat. Izuku goes to grab Shigaraki’s arm, but his hands only pass through his vestige body. He stares with wide eyes, feeling blood begin to crawl up his throat, coating his mouth. 

“Something lives inside you now. Something seething and mad. It will eat you alive.” 

“What?” Izuku gasps out, and blood flecks across Shigaraki’s cheeks, dribbles down Izuku’s lips. 

“I understand monstrosities well. I can see it now, in you. Your friend did nothing but damn you and damn himself. I will dig it out of you, and return you to where you belong.” 

Izuku lets out a rattling breath, harsh and wet as his chest cavity balloons with blood and viscera. 

He gasps awake with a jolt, his suit buzzing and the AI explaining in his ear how it discharged an electrical impulse to get his heart running correctly again. He’s lying on his back, staring up into the sky, seeing the blue sliver that is cropped by the buildings on either side of him. 

He gets up, his chest aching and even moving to sit up sends his mind swimming. He thumps his back against the wall of one of the buildings, breathing heavily, returning gracious oxygen into his lungs.

“Sending an emergency notification to the closest dispatch center—“ 

“Nope, cut that off,” Izuku pipes up, voice rough. 

“A check up is necessary after restarting the heart—“ 

“No.” 

…

“Notice cancelled.”

“Thank you.” 

It’d been a mistake, giving Izuku free reign over his suit like this. A mistake Izuku capitalizes on whenever he can. 

He remains there, thinking of the…dream (?) he had. He rubs his hand over his chest, where his heart continues to thump. The pain is already decreasing, as is the panic that had brought on the attack. 

He’s seen Shigaraki, dreamt of him, but never like that. He never interacted with him. It’s only been memories, or his lonely silhouette in the corner of his vision, watching him, judging his actions fruitlessly. 

Something crawls up Izuku’s throat, and he lets out a choking cough. It only grows thicker inside of him, blocking his airway. He turns over, coughing and shaking as he tries to dislodge whatever is coating the back of his mouth. 

He spits out black, viscous sludge. He looks at it, wide eyed and terrified, feeling disgusted at the thought of it in his mouth, his body. He recoils away, gagging at the phantom feel of it sliding, slimy and slick, down his tongue and out of his mouth. 

It seeps , spreading like it is alive, and Izuku jumps back when it seems to lurch towards him. He’s never seen this before, and tries to rationalize it. 

A quirk. He was hit by a quirk. A villain may have tried to attack him. Without Danger Sense, slipping by him with ill intent, quiet and unassuming, can actually work. 

Izuku looks back at the black sludge. He’s worried there’s more inside of him, gunking up his arteries, messing up his insides. He wants to peel back his skin and find the source of the oddity and pull it all out. Wash himself clean. Maybe it’ll make him better, clear his mind. Let him sleep. 

He ends up scooping up the stuff. It takes him an unconscionable amount of time to actually go near it again, gagging and reliving the disgusting memory of it in his throat. He’s thankful for the bottle of antiseptic, one of the many random things he holds in his support pouches. He spills out the cleansing liquid and uses the cap to shovel the gunk inside. He wants to get it tested as fast as possible, see if it will help him find the quirk user. 

He stumbles out of the alleyway, looking back to see that nothing is amiss. He carries on with his patrol. He’s nothing if not a pro.                          

Izuku stares blankly at the computer screen in front of him. His eyes are irritated, dry in a way he believes Aizawa’s feel all the time. He scrolls morosely through the long list of reports he has to file, saves he’s partook in, villains he’s taken down. 

He’s trying to remember exactly what incident number 458 happened, which apparently occurred nearly a month ago, and resulted in Izuku’s hospitalization for one night. The memories escape him, and he’s so damn tired it’s as if he can’t comprehend the notes made on the fight. His eyes glaze over the section every time he tries to read it. 

His mind wanders as his head droops into his palm, creating a pressure in his wrist. He’s too tired to feel the pain of it, mind growing staticky as something falls over him. A light, bright and sizzling. Someone touches his shoulder. Barely there. A wisp of a feeling. But it brings along a strong plume of burnt sugar, so potent Izuku can nearly taste it on his tongue. He inhales, deep and filling. 

I need you. 

From the back of his mind, it rises. The compulsive and debilitating sensation of another’s will. It beats against Izuku’s own consciousness, slipping beneath his defenses in his mind, begging and pleading for something Izuku cannot give. But he wants to. He wants to fulfill whatever wishes this voice, this presence, yearns for. 

He thinks, “what do you need from me?” and he feels the brush of lips against his cheek, right where his scar sits. 

“Deku!” Izuku’s arm slips off the desk. He nearly smacks his head onto it as well. All at once, the vague experience slips from his grasp, and he is too rattled by the sudden interruption to fight it. 

He stops from braining himself on the desk, just barely, feeling cool drool slip down his chin. He looks up to see Uraraka staring at him with thinly veiled horror, chipper smile still on her face while her eyes scream at him. Next to her, Edgeshot. 

Izuku gets up out of his chair, feeling vertigo hit him at the sight of the pro. Something zips down his chest, hot and searing and painful. Even so, he cracks a smile, hoping it looks more natural than it feels. Edgeshot doesn’t return it, and Izuku feels sweat begin to bead at his forehead, underneath his arms. 

“What a surprise, Edgeshot. What brings you here?” 

“I found him looking around the other office. I explained to him why we’re short staffed at the moment, but—“ 

“Where is he?” 

Silence rings in the office. A trickle of cold sweat drips down Izuku’s spine. He bites down, hard, at his gum, tearing up the meat but at least he schools his features. He’s never felt such dread fill him up so quickly. 

“Uhm—Uraraka—“ 

“Yep, got it. Good to see you again, Edgeshot,” Uraraka says quickly, walking away from the other heroes. That is not what Izuku was going to say. He looks over towards her wildly. She looks back at him at the door, her gaze shrewd and not nearly as sympathetic as she usually is.  

The resounding door shutting may as well have been like an explosion going off. 

“Edgeshot—“ 

“Izuku.” 

His mouth clacks shut at the distress in Edgeshot’s voice. At the urgency. His fingers scrabble at his desk for purchase, biting into the wood underneath, gripping hard. 

“I just want to know if he is okay,” Edgeshot pleads, shoulders dropped. It’s then that Izuku notices the dark shadows underneath his eyes, the bitten skin of his lips, the cracked blood at his fingers. 

Izuku relates. 

“I don’t—“ 

“Tsunagu and I have been a wreck. He hasn’t been answering calls, or texts. He didn’t show up for the outing we had planned this past weekend. Taking a break from heroics is one thing, but, Izuku—he’s vanished .” 

Something tight coils inside of him, at his heart, twisting and twisting. Pressure builds up, pulling more into that center. It takes Izuku’s breath away, and he clears his throat, rubbing where it hurts. He looks down. Everything looks normal, but it’s like someone’s turning a screw over and over in his chest. 

“Uhm—listen. I’m not…uhm—“ Izuku tries to rack his brain, combing through his pothole memories for an inkling of who the pro is asking for. Nothing comes to the surface. Another turn to his chest and the wood is splintering in his hands. 

“Izuku, please.” 

The sweat pours down his back, and his mouth doesn’t work. He can barely move his tongue, dead weight. A turn of the screw, and his vision whites out at the pain that spreads like lightning through his nervous system. On par with the crackling of decay that ate up his arms on the battlefield. 

“What do you know?” 

Nerd…

Calmness and the feeling of a steady hand falls over him, and the weight that’s been tightly turning into his heart disappears. The relief is so great he blacks out, for one, quick moment. 

He blinks, his lips in the middle of moving. 

“—really sorry for the fright, Edgeshot.” 

They’re outside , in front of his agency, with Izuku’s hand clasped on Edgeshot’s shoulder, warm and reassuring. The hero looks leagues better, and he’s staring at Izuku with a look of calm understanding. 

He’s lost time again. 

It’s the first time it’s happened in front of someone like this. Or is it? Now he’s unsure of anything. 

He’s had an entire conversation with Edgeshot and doesn’t remember a bit of it. He keeps the grin on his face, slowly unlatching his hand from Edgeshot. He scrunches his fingers by his side in quiet, repeating motions. 

“I understand, Izuku. These things can’t be helped. I’ve had to go through my fair share of secrecy during my time as a hero as well. We really should have known he was okay since you were remaining so calm. Nothing could ever get past you when it came to him, remember?” 

Nope. Nothing. 

“I do.” Izuku’s lips quirk up. Edgeshot doesn’t linger much after that, saying his goodbye quickly and promising he’ll try not to burden Izuku with too many more updates. Izuku just nods, panic mounting. Updates? Updates on what? On who? 

He sighs, tension leaking out of him, when the other hero turns the corner and disappears down another street. He walks back into the agency, turning in the revolving doors. He feels a pinch in his chest at the reminder. Fuck. 

Uraraka sits in her own office, sparse except for the stacks of paper on her desk. Izuku knocks on her door and she looks up, eyebrows furrowing at him. She stares at him with…distrust. 

“Well…did you explain it?” 

Izuku feels that adrenaline seep into him again at another unanswerable question. Everyone’s so damn cryptic lately. Or maybe Izuku’s just losing his mind. 

He says, “Yep.” 

Uraraka looks back to her laptop, but Izuku can see the tick in her jaw. Angry. Alright. He doesn’t have it in himself to care. He shuts her door like she shut his and walks back to his own office, ready to keel over. He doesn’t. He does what he does best, burying all the odd bullshit that’s been happening to him and moves on. Shit will go back to normal. Bound to. 

Maybe it’s just not his month.

It’s his birthday. Right.

“Okay!” Ashido flicks her wrist out to Izuku, who feels three seconds away from shouting at the entire crowd at the bar. He’s hot, overstimulated, and the buzz he’s got from the alcohol is doing nothing but making him feel worse. Maybe he should have eaten first. 

Izuku pushes his camera in front of his face, thankful it hides his expression, which he is sure is not the kind you want to see at a bar. He takes the photo of his friends, all grinning and in a tizzy, enjoying the rare Sunday they all have off. Just so happens it aligns with the start of Izuku’s 28th year around the sun. 

He doesn’t say anything, just hopes they’re ready. It’s too loud for them to hear him anyways. 

In the darkness, the flash of the camera is blinding. He drops it into his hands as Ashido collides into his shoulder, and the rest of his friends crowd around him to see the small display. 

“OOHH!! Midoriya!! You always get my good side! I need to hire you to do a photoshoot!” Ashido squeals in his ear, only slightly slurred, and Izuku flinches. 

“Actually, Ashido—“ 

“Great!” she cheers, hugging him with one arm, “and HAPPY BIRTHDAY!! You’re the best, man!” She disappears back into the crowd, pulling along a cheesing Kaminari who pulls along Jirou and by proxy Momo. They all funnel into the throng of people like a very drunk snake. 

Izuku sighs. The feeling of lack has mounted to unmeasurable proportions lately. Everyone flows around him, nice but ultimately fleeting, leaving him soon after. And he’s fine with it, really. Most of his friends are great in small doses. But something aches inside him, something he can’t place, and all he wants is to find what will quiet the urge inside him. He’s worried what will happen if it doesn’t. 

He feels the cold side of Todoroki bumping into him, a lot more tactfully than Ashido had. He turns, looking at his friend. He’s nursing a bottle in his hand, probably ice cold even in the heat of the venue. 

“Hey, want me to take a picture of you?” Todoroki asks, nodding to the camera he has slung at his neck. Izuku blanches, looking down at the piece of equipment in his hand. He took it with him on a whim. He hasn’t touched it much this past month. It’s like his passion for the hobby had been sapped out of him, and he’d grown uninterested in most of the day to day moments he used to lovingly snap to remember them by. 

“I don’t know.” Izuku grips it in his hand. Todoroki drinks the rest of his beer, settling the bottle down on the bar. He looks at Izuku with a calm expression. 

“It’ll be good, to remember tonight by. Plus, I’m sure—“ The music suddenly screeches, louder than it’s been all night, and Izuku fights to pick up what Todoroki said “—appreciate the picture. It’d be a nice thing to show when he comes back.” 

Izuku’s mouth dries. He’s three drinks in and finds the courage to spit out—

“Who the fuck are you talking about?” 

Todoroki looks at him, tilting his head to the side, “Sorry, the music! What was that?” 

Izuku’s confidence breaks. He sighs, shaking his head, before moving the strap from around his neck and shoving the camera in Todoroki’s waiting hands. 

“Alright, alright.” Todoroki’s a quiet man, but damn persistent. He won’t back down, and Izuku’s tired and drunk and doesn’t think picking a fight over this is worth it. So he leans against the bar, elbows against the sticky surface, hands hanging over, waiting for the snapshot. 

Todoroki obliges quickly, and the flash disorients Izuku a lot more than he figured it would, leaving behind the afterimage even as he blinks. It makes him a bit nauseous. 

“Here!” Todoroki says, holding the camera out to Izuku. He looks down, vision swimming. “You look good!” 

Izuku doesn’t even register himself. He grabs the camera out of Todoroki’s hands, blinking, but it remains. He looks up, twisting to stare at where he’d posed. Nobody but a gaggle of girls giggling and shooting him glances. He looks down, stomach rolling. 

Shigaraki stands over his shoulder, staring directly into the camera, eyes red and searing into Izuku’s. He’s frowning and he grips a hand over Izuku’s throat, similar to the day at the mall, only this time, all five fingers sit there, as if making a promise to Izuku. 

On the other side, however, another presence curls around him. Only it’s more of a silhouette. There’s no distinguishing features, just orange smoke filled in the shape of a man. It encircles him entirely, flowing through his hair and twining around his waist. He shivers at the sudden sensation of those wisps crawling over him, the press of fingers to his throat. 

Come to me. 

“What’s wrong?” 

Izuku looks up at him with wide eyes, roving over his facial features, trying to find anything that will clue Izuku in. Todoroki’s own eyes stare at him with genuine concern, putting a hand on his shoulder, right where Shigaraki leers over him in the photo. Izuku flinches harshly, pushing the camera into Todoroki’s face. 

“You don’t see that!?” he asks, this time certainly louder than the music. Todoroki scrutinizes the photo and Izuku’s heart drops in his stomach when he ultimately shakes his head, slow, confused. 

Izuku feels his hands shake. He tries to still them. He looks back down at the photo. They remain there, Shigaraki and some unknown entity. Another person Izuku had disappointed, had failed? Someone he can’t even remember? 

He shoves past Todoroki, rushing out the bar. Panicked, blind with it, he runs into many people, who scoff and curse him, all drunk and annoyed at the guy interrupting their fun. He ignores them all, pushing out the doors of the bar and into the hot air of the night. It sticks to his sweat, and it feels so much like those orange strands in the picture, clutching at him. 

He puts the strap back around his neck, wondering if Shigaraki can feel it, wherever he is, and darts down the street. Moving keeps him from thinking, and thinking keeps him from upchucking all the alcohol in his stomach. 

He makes it home somehow , shutting the apartment door and shoving his shoes in the corner, uncaring of tidiness. He walks through the space, ignoring everything as he turns on the light to the kitchen. It sits unused. He’s barely had an appetite lately. 

He clutches the camera in his hands, thumb fiddling with the on button. He doesn’t want to fucking see it again. Shigaraki, haunting him through photos now. A proper ghost of his past. And he doesn’t even want to think of the other being, something he’s barely able to wrap his head around. 

He bites his lip until it splits and the copper taste of blood floods his mouth. He turns the camera on, pressing the button to bring up the most recent photo taken. 

Relief crashes into him. Just him. Alone, looking pained and awkward, but it’s just him. 

Temporary insanity is better than permanent. 

“You’re not insane.” Izuku snaps his head up from the photo. Shigaraki stands across from him. Izuku’s camera falls from his hands, and the bite of the strap digs into the back of his neck. 

“You’re just experiencing harsh disharmony. Your atoms are splitting and coming back together at all times, a microcosm that echoes out to create what you are dealing with now. It’s only a matter of time until you lose all that humanity you’ve stored inside yourself. And then actually go crazy.” 

Izuku’s eyes tunnel, dark spots forming in his vision as he pants, anxiety and terror knocking against the doors of his psyche, running amok in his nervous system. He’s standing on pins and needles, feeling the sensation travel up his legs. 

“Why’s this happening?” 

Shigaraki shrugs his shoulders, hands in the pockets of the jeans he wears. Izuku has a sudden thought of what kind of clothes he’d wear haunting someone. A suit may be too formal for the occasion. Maybe his red sneakers would make an appearance.  

“You’ll figure it out, maybe. Or you won’t. Doesn’t stop the end result.” 

“What end result?” 

Shigaraki grins, full of teeth, and he walks closer to Izuku, who watches him with wary eyes. He knows how bad this is, conversing with a ghost. It’s one thing to see him, but a wholly other to interact with the old villain. And he’s already dealt with him once before, when he nearly tried to kill him. 

“Midoriya Izuku as the world knows it ceases to exist. Your soul is already fractured and bleeding inside you. Won’t take long before it rots you from the inside out. Then you’ll just be a vacant body. Maybe you’ll exist the same as before. Or maybe you’ll kill all those you used to love.” 

“That’s—that can’t be true.” He doesn’t know who he’s saying that too, this ghost or himself. 

“It is. I’m here to help you. Kill you before you’re already gone.” 

Izuku's hand snaps up, a force that is not his own making him squeeze at Shigaraki’s throat, a dizzying reversal. Shigaraki grasps at his wrist with both hands, but doesn’t struggle. 

“You’re not touching him.” 

Yeah, that’s not Izuku. 

Liquid fire floods Izuku’s veins, hot with a fury he knows is not his own. He screams as it overheats him instantly, and it’s only whatever is controlling him that keeps him from buckling over. Like scourging blight, it seeps out of his skin in hot rivulets, purifying from the inside. The exact opposite of that disgusting sludge. This…is the power of a god. 

“The coward’s come to play. Too late, hero. You won’t be able to right this wrong.” Shigaraki tugs Izuku’s hand away from his throat, but heat pierces out of Izuku, ripping up his hand, shooting right into Shigaraki’s surprised face. 

Shigaraki’s skin bubbles and and his vissage disappears in a cloud of black smoke while Izuku sobs and coughs, the pain ricocheting up his forearms as the force of the fucking explosion sends him rocketing into his fridge. 

He slumps over, looking down. The smoke clears until he can see just how scorched and destroyed his hand is. The pain is gone, and Izuku figures it’s because the damage is so deep it’s destroyed his nerves. He can’t move any of his mangled fingers, and when he digs his other hand into the gruesome wound, nothing but the vague feeling of pressure thuds, dull. 

He twists his hand into the blood and viscera, digging out chunks of meat. He searches for whatever caused this. An explosion, of all things. He finds nothing but his own bubbling blood and the sound of squelches.

A latent quirk? No. Izuku knows there are no real possibilities for that. None of the quirks within One For All remained inside him, and even if they did, none had this kind of firepower, literally and figuratively. And well…Izuku looks where the pieces of meat end and his arm begins. His body is definitely not suited for whatever this was. 

He’s in shock, probably. 

“Happy birthday, Izuku.” 

He laughs, a bit hysterical. Did he say that himself? Or is it whatever is tearing him apart? Whatever destroyed his arm? He’s unsure. And really, isn’t that the kicker? He used to be so damn sure , about it all. His fucking life, his work, where he was in the world. And yet, he’d fallen so damn far, has become an incomprehensible mess and doesn’t even know how to fix it. 

What is there to fix? 

His destroyed hand stares back at him. Right. 

He looks away, banging his head against his fridge door. He stares up at the ceiling until he passes out from the blood loss. 

When he wakes up hours later to a fully intact arm, working better than before it’d been blown to pieces, he doesn’t think about it. He tries to not think of anything at all.

“Where’d you say you get this?” Hatsume’s eyes focus on the substance Izuku coughed up a week ago. She holds the bottle to the fluorescent light of the room, as if that will help her gleam all the information she needs. Izuku feels jumpy, watching her hold it. He finds the stuff disturbing, but he can’t fight down the sudden protectiveness that curdles in his stomach now that it is away from him. 

He beats down the urge to snatch it back from her. He’s here for answers . And this is the only thing he’s got going for him, right now. His healed arm sends a tremor up to his shoulder, reminding him of many other unanswerable questions he’s got going right now. 

But this…this is something tactile, real. 

“I didn’t. Found it in the aftermath of a villain takedown. Looked…weird.” 

“Looks like oil. Are you sure it’s not oil?” 

 “It’s not oil.” 

“Jeez, alright.” Hatsume side-eyes him for a moment before unscrewing the cap of the container. She sniffs it, then shrugs. She slides open the glass of a machine that looks a lot like an overcomplicated microwave, letting the stuff fall out onto a tray located inside. 

“This baby right here breaks down chemical components and spits out all the little things that make it up. Best first step to figure out what it is.” She slides the glass back closed. 

Izuku stares at the machine as Hatsume hits a button. It immediately begins to hum ominously. Izuku watches as it begins to rotate in the box. Hatsume walks over to a screen, looking it over as many symbols and numbers pop up. 

Izuku feels his curiosity mount as more and more symbols pop up, the humming growing into a loud buzzing and then a grating sound that has Hatsume gasping. She slams her hand down on the kill switch and the machine instantly quits. 

“What? What’s wrong?” Izuku asks nervously, stepping up next to her. Hatsume looks between him and the results, chewing on her bottom lip. Izuku swallows his spit at the blatant confusion in her eyes. She’s not the kind of person you’d want to see with that kind of look.

“You got this from…a villain?” 

Izuku feels the skin on the back of his neck prickle hearing the clear doubt in her voice. 

“It was in the area. I don’t know if it was directly involved with the villain or…if it was a byproduct of some other quirk.” The lie feels tacky on his tongue, and he knows it’s weak at best. All it would take is the slightest bit of prying from Hatsume for it to fall apart. 

“I find that hard to believe. However, I find it harder to believe that an asteroid hit Roppongi without anyone reporting it, or seeing it for that matter.” 

Now, Izuku’s entirely lost in the conversation. 

“Hatsume, explain.” 

“Whatever this crap is, it’s not from Earth. Nearly short circuited my baby. You’ve got organic carbon, nitrogen, oxygen, phosphorus, hydrogen, which is all fine but then there’s…“ she trails off, pointing out all the elements listed before noting the last row, which is simply named ??? “—something that’s never been documented before.” 

Izuku clutches his stomach and something roils inside him at the words, slithering underneath. More of that… stuff . It sits inside him, undiscovered as well. 

“And that’s not the only weird thing.” 

Shit. 

“This stuff…it’s got no mass to it, which is impossible if it’s got organic compounds in it, at least for part of it.” 

Izuku feels it swimming inside him, can feel the call from the machine, urging him to return it to the rest of its horde.

He’s got something impossible inside of him, but he’s not fucking crazy. Hatsume sees it too. 

“It can’t be impossible. There’s gotta be a reason for its existence. Magic type is a whole subset of quirks. What if someone—“ 

“Could make stuff like this? There’s no precedent for it. There’s a give and take to all quirks, even magic ones. This…breaks the very basic laws of physics.” 

Izuku feels the blood pounding in his head, overwhelming his hearing as Hatsume turns to him. “Midoriya, are you alright?” 

Izuku swallows, but he fucking knows he can’t spill. This was a damned fool’s errand in the first place. He cannot tell anyone what is happening to him. He needs to figure this out on his own. It surges within him, agreeing. 

He can’t let anyone near him. Not now. Not ever. 

He holds Hatsume as she falls into his arms, unconscious. Her fingers have left scratches in his arms, blood trailing down his forearms. Izuku figures they will heal in moments. 

Izuku steals the gunk back from the machine. He doesn’t give himself a moment to think, letting instinct take hold of him. He lets it slide back down his throat, rejoining the rest of the mess. It tastes like nothing, feels like mercury sliding past his tongue. 

He cleans up Hatsume’s fingers, wiping away his crusted blood underneath her fingers. The hardest part is figuring out how to delete that information on the machine, but he makes sure it’s wiped before he runs. 

He leaves Hatsume in her office, slumped over in her chair, drooling over her work station. Hopefully, she’ll think all of it was a really weird, really frightening dream. Izuku’s been doing that a lot lately. 

It’s pretty easy to manipulate yourself when you don’t want to confront the truth. 

Izuku grasps his cock in his hand, plum purple and angry.  He hasn’t gotten off in weeks, probably the longest he’s ever gone, and now he’s near delirious as he pumps his slick hand over his cock. He pants, his hips jerking as he chases his own pleasure. He slams his hand onto the brick of the alleyway, holding himself up as a wave of pleasure crests and lulls. He pulls himself along the wave, waiting for the one that will take him completely over. 

He fantasizes, thinking of faceless bodies. Fat tits, fatter ass, a taut waist, abs. He moans as the specter of his vision turns over in bed, showing the prettiest cock in the universe, begging for Izuku to have a taste. Blonde hair at the base, wiry and ready to be inhaled. 

He salivates, feeling it dribble out the corner of his mouth, down his chin, slipping underneath his hero suit. Whoever was the pervert that designed easy access to his cock deserves a raise. 

Izuku furrows his eyebrows, pressing his fist into his cock head, rotating his wrist as more precum oozes out his slit. He huffs, stroking down, thinking of pale, scarred flesh spreading for him, a puckered rim wet and shining just for his use. Watching it stretch as his cock penetrates, slow and heady, feeling the hot walls crush his cock, sucking him the rest of the way in. 

It’s so damn vivid in his head, clear like a memory he wishes he really had. He’d always been imaginative, but this is another level. Something disrupts the wind in the alleyway. He feels an invisible force press against the hand wrapped around his dick. 

Come for me. 

Izuku’s lungs grow tight in his chest as he chases that wanting, pleading, begging. He searches for more, for a taste of what this creature is as his fist works faster and faster, aided by the mysterious entity that he’s begun to expect at all times. Out of all the bullshit that’s been going on, he enjoys this presence the most. At the very least, it does not try to kill him. 

“Yah—I can’t believe Deku did that.” 

Izuku freezes, the image dissipating into foggy nothingness along with the force. He almost groans. At that moment, he would have accepted all this just to cum. Would have sunk to the ground and sucked ghost cock. 

Now he holds his dick in his hand, hidden in the decrepit annals of an alleyway, stuck behind a dumpster, while a group of civilians stand on the edge, speaking to one another in excited voices. 

“Did you see the way he nearly ripped that villain in half? Super scary.”

“Deku has a lot more control than that. He wouldn’t have just killed a random villain who’d been caught shoplifting.” 

Izuku kind of feels bad for that particular civilian, who sounds like a Deku fanboy through and through, because he sure as shit was two steps away from snapping that villain’s back in half. He doesn’t really know what came over him, and maybe that’s the kicker. Nothing did come over him. It was the absence of all things that made Izuku the way he is. Kindness, care, understanding. 

When he looked into the villain’s eyes, he felt none of it. Just…apathetic curiosity. What would happen if he went too far? Who would stop him? No other hero had his skill, his experience, his intelligence. They didn’t have the ferocity or will to jump in until it was too late. And…perhaps they’d be too shocked, watching the honorable Deku, ripping a man down his middle until his spine popped out and fell to the floor. 

Shigaraki had said something about his soul withering away, rotting to pieces. At that moment, Izuku had felt it for the first time. 

It’d been that golden orange presence that stopped him. Surrounded him in sudden worry and panic. He thinks it touched his own soul, healed it from its spillage, if only for the moment.

He looked up to see a camera pointed straight at him, a news anchor by its side, speaking into the microphone. He was probably on the news. He dropped the villain and sent him to the police. He did not wait for interviews.

He sighs, letting go of his cock, watching it bob in the air, held up by his blood. He licks up the precum, sour and sticky on his tongue. He twists his mouth at the taste before stuffing his cock in his suit. 

Maybe it’s that same apathy that brought him to masturbating three blocks away after nearly killing a man. Or maybe it’s chasing the tail of the being that haunts him, because then he’ll at least feel something again.

Izuku loosens his tie, panting. He’s sweating rivulets down his back, his thighs, underneath his arms. The power grid crapped out on itself. Had to be the night of a hero banquet. 

Every six months, on the dot. Reveal the new rankings, congratulate those who ticked up, shuffle awkwardly around those who dropped. One last hurrah to those who have retired, a moment of silence for those who’ve died. 

Izuku has never hated the entire farce more than he does tonight. 

“I hope they just reschedule. I want to be in my bed right now,” Uraraka groans next to him, rubbing at her neck. They’re sitting at a round table, one of the many, and some of their fellow 1-A alumni have been seated with them. 

“They’re not going to. You know how hard it is to get the top 200 or so pros in one room, for one night?” 

“There’s probably people who need our help right now,” Uraraka mutters. Izuku privately agrees. It’s only through sheer luck that some mass casualty has not occured while top pros are all under one roof. 

“That’s what the interns are for,” Izuku says back, picking at his cuticles. They’re overgrown, his nails bitten down to the bed. He used find them–

“Pawning off the safety of our citizens to a bunch of interns always makes me a bit anxious. I remember the night that was our job. But…these new kids, they don’t have the experience we did…” Uraraka trails off, interrupting his thought. He clenches his jaw, trying not to lash out. It had been there, on the tip of his metaphorical tongue. What was it…what was he thinking? 

Useless. 

“The war had been too fresh in people’s minds then. There had been almost no crime those years.” 

“But it seems as if, every year, that number only rises. People are forgetting…” Uraraka looks at him out of the corner of her, before she clears her throat. 

“What?” Izuku asks, sharper than he probably intended. She sighs, pushing herself up from the table. 

She turns to him in her chair, “I’ve just kind of been worried–” 

“Oi, Midoriya!” Izuku snaps his head over. Across the table, Kirishima sits next to Sero and Mineta. He’s grinning at him, nice and easy, the kind of trustworthy expression that Izuku usually mimics easily. Lately, that’s been a bit harder. 

“Yes, Kirishima?” 

“I was just wondering if you’ve got the scoop on–” a sudden ringing in Izuku’s ears, harsh and deliberate “–whereabouts. He’s been MIA for so long, and we all miss him, even his prickly side.” He laughs, a deep baritone kind that shakes the table. 

Izuku summons all the power inside him, all the patience, to remain still, even when his hands buzz, dark thoughts clouding his mind. Damn, this heat. 

Izuku smiles back. It doesn’t sit right on his face at all. 

“Good. Good. Everything is going well.” 

Kirishima laughs again, and Izuku feels his gut drop in his stomach. 

“C’mon, Midoriya, we’re all pros who can keep their mouths shut. Tell us what he’s off doing! We’re dying to know!” 

Izuku places his head on his hands. He lifts his pointer finger up, over his lips. 

The others laugh again, and Izuku relaxes when Kirishima just scoffs good-naturedly. 

“You guys and your secrets! I’m sure you two’d be able to hide a murder if push came to shove!” 

Izuku pushes himself up, heart in his throat. His body moved on his own. He stares down at Kirishima, glaring, as black tar tickles up the back of his throat. 

“What? Why would you say that? I’m–we’re all heroes. We would never…nobody would ever…I’m–” 

The polite laughter dies off suddenly. Everyone looks up at him in shock. Kirishima looks a bit sick at  his  outburst. 

“Look, Midoriya, I didn’t mean anything–” 

Izuku pushes his sweat-ridden bangs back from his face, letting out a warbling and uncomfortable laugh. It sounds off, even to his own, tone-deaf ears. 

“It’s fine. It’s fine , Kirishima. I’m just– ehem– I’m a bit hot. So, I’m gonna get some fresh air.” 

Izuku stumbles away from the group. Uraraka tries to follow him, but he just pushes a hand out, stopping her. He needs to get  out   of here. 

Why would–why would Kirishima say that? He would never…he would never murder anyone. Except for when he killed Shigaraki– no , he did not kill Shigaraki. He battled him. All For One had been the one to destroy Shigaraki–Tenko–that little boy–oh god. 

No! He was not going to do this. He’s been through therapy. Forced into it by–

Exactly. So. He would never kill anyone. He’d never hide that he's killed someone. 

The lights suddenly switch back up, loud, but no louder than Izuku’s spiraling thoughts. He looks over to see the large projector is back on, cycling through photos of various heroes. 

One pops up. A hero in black and orange, back to the camera. He is facing the sun, arms up, curling his biceps, clunky black bracers getting half way in the way. His face is in profile, but it’s covered by a black mask. He grins. 

At the bottom, the photo credits go to one Midoriya Izuku. 

He shoves out into the street. 

He finds out later he’d fallen to number 15. He can’t really rally up any care about this.

Izuku cuts off the tip of his finger accidentally. The knife he’d been washing in the sink slices it clear and concise, something that’s perfect to reaffix if he notifies emergency services immediately.  

He fetches the severed part of the sink, before it falls into the drain. He stares as his artery squirts out in a clear arc over the sink. 

He grins, watching with rapt attention, waiting. Who is he to spit in the face of an opportunity? He drops the knife, stepping to the side, dropping the piece onto the kitchen counter. He does not look away, doesn’t staunch any of his blood flow, just lets himself breathe and wait. 

It doesn’t take long. His pinky reforms completely, bone to muscle to skin, recreating from nothing, as the previous, severed piece, withers away to nothingness. 

Well. That’s interesting.

There’s a piece of paper that gives Izuku a headache. He stares at it, in the corner of the room, folded over himself like he can disappear in a mere blip of space. 

It sits on the coffee table. Izuku had fallen off the couch, nearly asleep as he was, and when his hand brushed it, he erupted into hives. 

He looks at his hand now. It’s fine, slightly pinkish, but otherwise okay. He’s almost certain it’d been just a weird, latent dream. But, a metaphorical iron rod pierces straight through his skull anytime he dares set his eyes on the paper. 

So, he sits, and waits. Gathers up the courage to step closer. He looks back at the note. His vision blurs with tears as the pain inside his head splinters and spreads further down his cranium. He hides his face into his arms, groaning. 

He would never have noticed the stupid letter if he didn’t try to sleep. He hasn’t been able to for weeks. What’s the point in trying now? All it’s got him is this pain. 

He gets up, some time after. He walks, looking away from the note, making sure he does not look at it. He’s seen children do this with neighborhood cats, to give them a false sense of relief before they snatch ‘em up. He’s doing it with a piece of paper. 

He makes it to the corner of the coffee table, stubbing his toe into the leg. He stands there, assessing the pain. It is only a mild throbbing in his mind now, as if he’d had a migraine all day. 

He grabs the paper. It burns , straight down his arms. He screams, turning. His vision goes hazy, foggy. He cannot read what is on the paper, can only see black, blocky letters. 

He doesn’t know what to do. It feels like it’s radiating, straight into him, turning his molecules noxious. He trips and rushes through the apartment, finds the drawer in his room. He shoves it in the middle row, and shuts it closed. The pain stops immediately. He can see again. 

“What the FUCK was that?” Izuku asks no one, rubbing at his overly irritated eyes. His skin’s a patchwork, as if he’d had a chemical burn. But, it’s already healing itself. 

He slumps against his drawer. He can feel it, the note, letter, whatever it was. It thumps like it has its own heartbeat. Izuku listens to it. It is, somehow, comforting, even after all that it did to him. 

He forgives it, does not open the drawer, and lets the heartbeat lull him into stasis.

Izuku walks along the trail, steps small and slow as All Might huffs next to him, walking sticks gripped in his hands. It’s the tail end of summer, which means it’s simply the hottest days now. 

“You’re not doing well, Midoriya, my boy,” All Might murmurs, the first thing either of them have said since they began hiking the trail. His voice slightly shakes, breathing heavy. Izuku feels a distant pang of worry, but he’s mostly taken aback by the comment, since he’s been trying his best to act normal. As normal as Izuku can be.  

“I’ve just been going through some things. Nothing—“ missing memories, Shigaraki trying to kill him, haunted by some kind of entity, regrowing limbs, discovering new substances…” –serious.” 

Izuku can feel All Might’s stare on him, searing even in its kindness. Perhaps, searing because of the kindness. Izuku laughs, a little, trying to dispel the attention on him. Kind of hard to do with All Might, but he’s gotten better at it over the years. “Don’t look at me, you’ll trip. I’m fine.” 

“You used to say the same thing in your first year. I didn’t believe it back then either.” 

Okay , maybe he hasn’t gotten better at it. 

“It’s just—been hard lately. Life—work—I don’t know. Maybe it’s just the stress,” Izuku explains. It’s hard to speak about problems you can’t place in a neat box. Or about problems that will send you to the closest psychiatric hospital. 

All Might bumps into him, his bony shoulder digging into the meat of Izuku’s. 

“I’m sure it’s hard, without young B̸̦̺̽͆͂̅͑ą̸͚̒̽̾̈́͠k̴͔̠͆̀ǘ̷̪̜̺̺̓̋͝ģ̴̧̮̬̮͐̾̋͋́ö̴̡́̈̈́̚u̸̻̞̥̟̿̐̍̓͜ at your side.” 

Izuku feels it, needling up his back, attaching itself to the grooves of his spine, spreading throughout his nervous system. He fights back the illness, the sudden urge to switch topics, the feeling of impending doom if he continues in this conversation. 

This is All Might. This is his hero. His tongue turns to lead. His body freezes up. They both stop in the middle of the path. All Might turns to look at him, and it’s there, that gleam of understanding. It brings Izuku a newfound strength. He fights the will that stamps down on his own. He’s stronger than this. 

“It—has.” Stilted, unnatural, but he spit it out . He is here. He is aware. And he’s going to figure out what the fuck is happening. 

“It’s quiet without him, isn’t it? The day to day becomes mundane without the spark you’ve had in your life for years now. But…it’s only temporary, isn’t it? He’ll be back soon.” 

Izuku’s mind chomps down on all the precious information, all the clues. He tries to fill in the blanks where he can, but every conclusion just leads to the same answer Hatsume’s machine gave him: ???  

“It still hurts,” he spits out, and he feels his eyes prickle uncomfortably. 

True. If nothing else, existence lately has been painful. A hairline fracture that’s been splitting further and further apart, digging deeper into the very pit of who he is. Creating a chasm where he once stood, knocking him into the depths of the unknown. 

“I’m sure it does, my boy. But take this time to learn more about yourself, grow in your own way, and when you reconnect, the bond will only be stronger.” 

“Right,” Izuku agrees meekly. All Might hugs him, long arms wrapping tightly around him, one hand cradling his head like he did years ago, on Takoba beach. Izuku sinks into it, finding it’s the first time he’s felt a comforting touch in what feels like years. 

(He feels it, hugging him from behind, sandwiching him in. It does not say anything, but it resonates with All Might’s words, his welcoming presence. He doesn’t acknowledge it. It does not mind.)

Izuku doesn’t tell All Might what he really thinks: he doesn’t like the person he is becoming.  

He holds Izuku in his arms, tight and unmoving. They both stare into each other’s eyes, and Izuku is entranced at the fireworks popping where the red irises should be. He’s beautiful, otherworldly. He looks at Izuku like he’s something that matters, flowers of fire spiraling from his pupils. 

“Izuku…” he says, voice husky-sweet, and Izuku’s attention is snatched down to his pink, pillowy soft lips. Izuku wants to kiss him so damn badly. He wants to get infinitely closer. Izuku leans in, but his arms, which once held Izuku in an embrace, now keep him still. Izuku can’t move, and can only stare at him. 

His lips quirk up, and his eyes shine brightly, popping in tiny explosions that cascade sparks down onto Izuku’s face, biting his cheeks with adoration. 

“I love you.” The words melt Izuku, and he goes syrupy in his arms. His voice is just as captivating as his face, as his sharp teeth, which sink into his bottom lip as he grins. He’s a masterpiece made real. 

“I love you too, Kacchan,” Izuku replies. The fireworks in his eyes grow rowdier, popping more frequently, glowing brighter. A green and orange kaleidoscope of color, melding and reshaping together. Izuku’s held captive by the beautiful show. 

The explosions sizzle onto Izuku, burning out into his skin. Izuku remains in his hold as the pain ratchets up just the tiniest bit. He’s dealt with worse. So much worse. What’s a little pain with the bliss of love? It only makes it that much sweeter. 

“You do?” Kacchan asks, low and teasing. He hooks his ankle around Izuku’s, pushing the man onto his back. Sparks fly as Izuku’s head thumps to the pillow. He blinks away the bright light, which grows evermore alluring and hypnotic. Kacchan leans close and the separate fireworks converge together, eating up the space on Kacchan’s face until only his smile remains visible. 

Izuku hisses as Kacchan’s face hovers over him. Something drips down onto his forehead, hot like melted wax. Izuku doesn’t fight the painful fire that rains down on him. He continues to watch Kacchan, reveling in his attention, his touch, all of him. 

“Till my dying breath, Kacchan,” Izuku assures softly, truthfully. Kacchan’s hand cups Izuku’s cheek, holding him gently. Another drop, fatter, falls into his open mouth. Izuku chokes on it as it slides down his tongue to his throat, blistering his mouth. It tastes like Kacchan’s sweat, but the consistency is too thick for it to be that particular fluid. 

Kacchan’s melting flesh. 

Kacchan’s fingers dig into Izuku’s skin, and he moans in pain as they seemingly slide through, as if Izuku’s skin is mere putty to shape how he fits. He yields under the ministrations; he’d let Kacchan shape him into whatever he wants.

Izuku realizes the explosive heat envelops him too, how great they’ve become. His face smolders in the constant heat, but he doesn’t fight it. Kacchan holds him through it. Their skin slides off bone together, Kacchan’s dripping down along with the beautiful explosions, slipping more into his mouth while other ragged bits mix with Izuku’s own. Meat and blood sizzling. 

“Find me, Izuku,” Kacchan says, lips smearing off and dribbling down his chin onto Izuku’s face. Kacchan leans down, brushing his teeth against Izuku’s. He screams as their skin, their muscles, melt and coalesce. 

They become something new, something stronger, something just the two of them. An amalgamation that is unrecognizable, but they are together. Izuku doesn’t want it any other way. 

“Find me.” 

Izuku jerks, getting up from his spot on the couch. He can’t—that was—Kacchan?

Kacchan. 

The name bursts forth broken memories. Things that are seared at the edges. The back of a nape, the high and mighty sound of a boy’s voice, the sickening sound of flesh pummeling flesh. The slow knitting back of two people who were never meant to be separated in the first place. Kacchan. Kacchan. Kacchan. 

Now that he knows to look for him, Izuku can see that he is missing everywhere. He stares in horror at all the shit he’s completely ignored. The extra set of slippers. The shelf of books dedicated to all things explosive. The drumsticks set haphazardly on the tv stand. The pictures. God, how’d he completely glance over the pictures? How did he walk through his apartment without seeing all these photos of Kacchan, feel his red (he has red eyes ) staring at him. 

It’s him and Kacchan. Kacchan was always there. Of course, it’s feels like he’s been fucking ripped in half. Of course, it feels like he’s been slowly dying. His Kacchan is gone. And he’d barely acknowledged this. 

“How ,” Izuku whispers to himself, broken beyond belief, grabbing hold of his hair, twisting at it, trying to ground himself. His eyes focus on a picture of Kacchan, alone, staring back at him with a bright grin on his face. In the background, the big, captivating shot of a mountain peak on the cusp of a sunrise. 

Izuku drops his head in between his knees and throws up. The acidic taste of stomach bile floods Izuku’s mouth. He gags and more comes up, the muscles spasming inside him, forcing more and more up his esophagus and out his lips. 

He’d forgotten his better half, and he doesn’t even know how, or why. All those moments where he’d ended conversations before the truth revealed itself, moments of near clarity where his mind clouded over on itself. He’s never— 

Come to me. 

The voice rises again, desperate, clawing, grasping for Izuku in a nebulous cloud of want and need. Izuku gasps, getting up, pacing. He knows now who is calling to him. That gruff and pleading voice, a soft whine to it that Izuku used to adore. Still adores, but something inside him twists, turning gnarled and grotesque. 

Kacchan needs him. The itch begins, from the tips of his extremities, moving inwards, a burning disturbing force that has Izuku clawing at his own skin. Kacchan needs him. He doesn’t know where Kacchan is . He disappeared and left him alone— why did he leave Izuku alone? He feels like he’s going to implode in on himself, listless and festering with old memories. What had been his last memory of Kacchan? When had his mind become so damn scrambled he can’t even find it? 

Izuku. 

A chill sweeps down his body. Something settles on his hips, ghostly fingertips pressing in. A body cages him around, chest against his back, thighs to thighs, feet slotting in between his, and Izuku knows who it is. But he doesn’t turn. Because he knows it’s not real. He’s still sane enough to know what a hallucination is. 

He closes his eyes, leaning into the touch his mind has conjured for him. It doesn’t matter if it’s not real. It feels like it. He’s crazy enough to not give a damn about the difference. 

“Kacchan,” he says, enjoying the mind-numbing caress of Kacchan’s fingers against him. The warmth is not there, but the pressure is. He’s missed this so much, and gone mad trying to figure out what it was he missed. 

I need you.

Something tight and coiled surges around inside Izuku, and he tenses as the command blankets his mind. It makes all the sense in the world. He wants to find Kacchan, has been faltering and fracturing, losing himself because Kacchan is not by his side. 

He remembers those scant few minutes Kacchan had been down for the count. Something else entirely took over him, his mind on autopilot as his entire world funneled into one, very real and very scary thought: kill it. Not him , not Shigaraki, but the thing that ripped a hole in his Kacchan. 

Izuku feels something cold and wet touch his neck, and he shivers at the indent of lips and the bite of teeth as they gnaw at his jugular. 

I’m– 

waiting. 

Izuku tilts his head to the side, moaning as the bite’s pressure increases and Kacchan’s hand slithers down to his crotch, ignoring the bile and stomach acid on Izuku’s shirt. He raises his own hand up, feeling Kacchan’s hair, grabbing and sifting his fingers through the locks as his hips jerk into Kacchan’s open palm. 

“I’m here, Kacchan. Please,” Izuku whines softly, begging. There’s no heartbeat in the body holding him, but he feels a plume of breath leave the apparition as he sneaks his hand underneath Izuku’s shorts, dragging sharp nails through his curly hair at the base of his cock. 

Don’t let it drag you down. 

Izuku moans, panting as the hand drags down his dick, dry and cool against the blood hot warmth of his skin. He turns his face into Kacchan, breathing hard into his neck, eyes still shut. No sweat forms in Kacchan’s palms, but that’s okay. Izuku’s precum is copious and thick, swelling at his tip and Kacchan takes it to wetten up the rest of his shaft, creating a shlick sound in the silence of the apartment. 

Izuku fucks into the hand as he inhales, missing the smell of Kacchan’s body, his quirk’s unique taste, the heady scent of man . 

Don’t let it drag you down.

Izuku puffs, tensing up, roiling in half crazed pleasure as Kacchan squeezes and tugs at his cock like he always used to, near bruising with how tight he makes his fist, a bit too mean, a bit too far and Izuku falls for it every time. 

Find me Izuku. 

Izuku gasps, his eyes popping open as his hips stutter uselessly into Kacchan’s waiting palm, feeling him squeeze his dick, milking him dry. Cum soaks into his shorts, dripping down his legs, splattering on the floor. He relaxes, bones like jelly, that knot in his stomach for once uncoiled and flat. He’s spent. 

He looks at Kacchan and his heart freezes in his chest. He can’t process what he is looking at. That’s not—it’s not Kacchan. 

It unlatches its fangs from his throat, smiling at Izuku as something slithers underneath its skin, thick and undulating before it descends back into the meat and muscle. All mangy, potholed flesh, half decaying and half removed entirely, showing stringy black gunk where blood and bone would be. Its eyes shine in the darkness like twin lighthouse beams, and Izuku feels pinned by it, blinded, mind unraveling as the shock twists into disgust. 

Its hair is dark, and when Izuku tugs his hand away belatedly, it wraps around it like vines, keeping Izuku trapped. It’s still got a hand on his dick, squeezing it. Izuku lets out a terrified groan and it responds with the same noise, distorted. 

“We’ll find him,” it says, and Izuku shakes, yelping and trying to fight. It’s no use. The viscous material the thing is made of sinks into Izuku’s pores, funneling inside him. Izuku’s feet slide against the smooth flooring. It pastes itself to him, chest to chest. Izuku fights as it merges them together. 

“It’s us together now. One and the same. You were never going to come back alone, Izuku.” It says, he says, Izuku’s mouth opening and forcing out the words even as he tries to bite his tongue. He moves his hands up, scratching at his flesh, red welts, percolating with blood as he gouges at the flesh form. He heaves at the disappearing figure, plunging his hands into the muck itself, trying to dispel before it all combines with him. 

Nothing works. He’s left at the mercy of whatever this is. He cries out as the black tar sinks all the way below, leaving him alone, in a puddle of his own cum and tears.

It’s in his damn DNA. 

The results of Hatsume’s scan all point to Izuku’s twisted genetic information, corrupted by whatever this quirk is. All it takes is a quick internet search to find what all those lovely elements form. 

He’s changed, fundamentally, all the way down to his cells. Deeper than his cells even, right in the nucleus. 

He…doesn’t react well to the realization. Morbid curiosity has him dissecting his own body up. Numb to the pain, there is no endpoint for him. He only passes out when he loses enough blood to kill a man, and wakes to a body intact. 

All that remains is the agony of breathing without knowing where Kacchan has gone. Why did he leave Izuku? Why, why, why, why? Izuku thought he understood Kacchan,  understood his thoughts and his actions and his very being. But this…Izuku could never conceive of this betrayal. Leaving him. 

He spirals further when he brings it up in conversations. No one knows where he is. Uraraka looks at him like he’s grown another head when he tries to broach the subject. 

“What are you talking about, Deku? You’re the one who knows the most about his station now.” 

“Right, but—just…has he spoken to you? Lately?” 

Uraraka rubs her hand along her bicep, furrowing her eyebrows. 

“You know he hasn’t. He should only have contact with you. The Commission said it could get him in trouble if he tried to reach any of us. Or, well, that’s what you told us.” 

Izuku holds his coffee to his mouth, pretending to sip as it loiters at his lips, sloshing piping hot liquid against his skin that he knows won’t melt. His flesh only melts in his dreams now. 

But it gives him a second to think. 

“Right. He just hasn’t contacted me the past couple of days.” 

Uraraka looks a bit aghast. 

“Should we be concerned? Do you think he’s okay?” 

Izuku smiles. Uraraka had asked him a similar question weeks ago, only that time his mind had been potholed and his perception of his life incomplete. Now, with a clearer head, he’s just as lost. 

He lies again. 

“Yes, I think so.” 

He patrols while the memories return to him. They organically swim up, bobbing along in the recess of his mind now that he knows how to look for them. 

He passes by a restaurant, and a memory of him and Kacchan dining inside resurfaces, Kacchan’s face aglow in the soft lights. 

He turns down a street and is bombarded with memories of their co-patrols, the amount of civilians saved, the various villains they’ve taken down together. 

It’s slow going, but he eagerly takes it all in. He ends up all around Roppongi, walking miles upon miles, past every crack and crevice, for another forgotten moment in time. Another moment of temporary bliss. 

He falls in love with Kacchan backwards, all over again.

In their apartment, it’s a bit harder. Maybe since there are just so many things they’ve done together, it takes a more specific site or action that brings a memory to the forefront of his mind. 

It’s also where the first memories that can lead him to Kacchan surface. 

He looks underneath his bed for a picture that had dropped from his shaking hands when—

Kacchan stands over him, heaving hard, looking down at Izuku with crazed eyes, mouth hanging as Izuku simpers and murmurs constant apologizes. He begs for forgiveness, held prostrate, looking up at him, tears slipping down his cheeks. 

“I’m sorry Kacchan. I promise I won’t make you upset ever again.  Please don’t get mad at me. I don’t—I just want to make you happy. I’m sorry—I’m so sorry Kacchan. Whatever you want. Whatever you need. Take it from me. Please Kacchan. I can—ack—stop it! Stop Kacchan, don’t feel like that! What do you need? What do you want? How do I stop making you feel like this? I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” 

“Izuku—“ 

Kacchan lowers himself to his knees, crying himself, hands shaking. He reaches out, holding Izuku’s face in his hands. Izuku sighs in relief. 

“You were late from work. It happens. I’m not—I’m not upset with you, not really. A little annoyance doesn’t stop my love for you.” 

Izuku sobs, fat tears as he feels Kacchan’s sorrow. He’s never wanted to make him feel like that. He feels like he might die if it happens again.

“O—okay, Kacchan.” 

Izuku sits heavily on the floor, breathing hard. The overwhelming sense of self disappointment and anxiety would have knocked him on his ass if he wasn’t already down on the floor. He places his head in between his knees, fighting back the panic attack that is threatening to overtake him. He focuses on the feel of his clothes, the sound of the clock, the taste of blood in his mouth. He’s bitten straight through his lip. 

Okay. Huh. 

More memories like those percolate through, mixed in with soft kisses in bed, showers taken together, the normalcy of being a stable couple in their mid-20s. 

The earliest of the off putting memories begin about two months ago, Izuku believes. 

Izuku wakes up, taking a deep, rasping breath. He immediately locks in on the sight of Kacchan, who is kneeled over him, hands clutched together as if he were praying. He’s crying, cheeks wet and shiny. He looks at Izuku, shocked and silent. 

Everything hurts . Like he’d been knocked clear through three buildings in a row, but not before the last one manages to topple all on top of him. He hacks out a wet and disturbing cough, as if he’s choking inside his own body. Someone’s hands, cold and clammy, turns him away from Kacchan’s view, on his side. He vomits. 

“That’s alright, Deku. Let it out. The rot has been purged by the light.” He’s never heard the voice in his life, but it’s melodic in a way, and Izuku listens to him whisper comforts as his throat shreds itself from the sickness.  

Izuku feels like he dumps out his body weight and more. He’s pushed back on his back when he finishes, the unknown viscera expelled from him. He catches sight of the stranger in their apartment. Tan skin, ice white hair flowing in wavy tresses. He stares at Izuku with milky eyes, filmed over. He smiles and a sudden, hollow feeling pangs inside Izuku’s chest. 

Izuku looks away from him, unnerved. 

“C’mon, Izuku. Please—say something,” Kacchan’s face moves into the light, staring at him with worry and fear clear on his face. Izuku smiles, relief breaking through him in waves. Kacchan. Oh Kacchan. He grabs his sweaty hand, clutching him tight. 

“I’ve missed you so much.” And then, Izuku breaks into sobs. 

It’s the first lead he’s got since he first broke through the mental barricade. He has to find the man that was in the memory.               

Izuku breaks a couple rules. Maybe a law or two. It’s definitely not the most moral thing he’s done. 

The quirk database is something that’s strictly to be used in emergencies, since it’s a violation of millions of quirk users lives. Izuku figures this is something that falls under that category. 

He combs through the database all day, adding and removing various filters. White hair, white eyes, male, between 20 and 30 years old. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. The person is either quirkless, or he’s managed to move through life posing as quirkless. Which means his quirk is probably something very unique. 

He moves on the criminal database. Even more morally grey, especially because only official police business would have him anywhere near this, but saving the world grants you leniency in some things. 

And still—nothing. No matching faces. So, no criminal record, and an untraceable quirk.

How the fuck did Kacchan find this person? What had he been doing, at their apartment that night? Izuku rubs at his chest. Fucking heartburn. When’s the last time he’s eaten anyway? 

“Ugh,” Izuku says unhelpfully. He fights the urge to slam his head against the desk. He’d probably be numb to it, like he is to most things now. It all boils down to finding Kacchan. 

A stack of papers, hundreds, drop on top of his desk. He startles at the loud noise, looking up to see Uraraka. She’s fidgeting, and her eyes sear into Izuku’s.

“Hey…?” Izuku trails off, and Uraraka scoffs. 

“I’m done.” 

“Done?” 

“Yes. I decided to help you while Bakugou was gone on his mission, or wherever the hell he is, since apparently you don’t know either, but you’ve basically foisted everything onto my hands while you sit in your damn office, staring off into space or going on patrols where you’ve become overly aggressive to villains, and irritable with civilians. What is up with you? I understand, it’s hard without him here, but you can’t just check out too! I’ve—“ Uraraka cuts herself off with a choke. Izuku doesn’t say anything. 

She lets out a sigh. 

“I’m done. I’m going back to my agency. Call me when you get your head out of your ass. Or Bakugou comes back and you start acting like yourself again. I’ve never seen you so—what happened to the Deku that never gives up?” 

She leaves him in his office, alone. 

It’s just him, now. 

Well, at least he doesn’t have to pretend to care about anything else, now.                         

I zuku keeps his eyes closed, face relaxed as Kacchan leans down over him, kissing him on the forehead. He slips out of the room soon after, shutting the door silently behind him. 

Izuku gets up, wide eyed, staring at where Kacchan had just been. Kacchan had been quiet all night, and whenever Izuku brought it up, he’d only kissed and assured him everything was fine. He’d just been tired from his day at work. 

But Izuku knows Kacchan. Can feel him wriggling inside him, upset but resolute. It’d only left Izuku in a tizzy the entire time. He’d asked multiple times what he could do to make Kacchan feel better. The other man had simply said to go to bed with him. 

He gets up on unsteady feet, trying desperately not to fall apart. He moves to the closet, opening it and pushing away all his civilian clothing. He ignores his hero case. He goes for his old hero garb, black kevlar and breathable fabrics. He loves his hero suit, adores the gift Kacchan and the others created for him, but some nights, it’s more of a hindrance than a help. Especially when he doesn’t want to attract attention.

He escapes into the night, following after Kacchan. 

Izuku runs across the tops of the buildings, old gear strapped solidly around him. He makes sure to keep to the shadows even in the night. The city is lit up, the nightlife roaring even at the late hour. Summer brings throngs of people out in the streets. But Kacchan moves through all of them, face mask on and a ball cap covering his hair. 

They get on two trains. Izuku boards a separate car, maintaining sight of Kacchan at all times. He slumps against a railing, digging his nails into the fabric of his jeans. Izuku can taste Kacchan’s bile in his own mouth. 

He ends up in a residential neighborhood. Kacchan knocks on the door of a small and shabby, but overall nice looking duplex home. Izuku creeps above, silently grappling on top of the rafters of the home next to the one Kacchan nervously stands in front of. 

The door opens, illuminating light pouring out. Kacchan’s face turns into a snarl. 

“We’ve got to talk.” He pushes whoever is on the doorstep inside, shutting the door behind him. 

Izuku’s eyes snap open. He rises from the bed, looking at it with wide eyes. Okay, so, that’s not the kind of memory he was expecting to see when he’d decided to rest on top of the sheets. 

But his mouth forms in a grim smile. He knows where to go next.

Except, it leads to a bust. 

Izuku stares at the demolished building. It’s taped off, construction signs posted up everywhere, warning about danger and loose debris. He chews on his bottom lip, bringing his fingers up to push it out, ruminating on his lost lead. 

It seems like he’s always a step behind. And nothing he finds, or remembers, brings him any closer to Kacchan. He’s burning up in his clothing. Being discreet in the summer only makes you stand out more, but his scarred arms and face are too damn recognizable. Even if he’s been making himself an asshole in public lately, people would still try and talk to him. 

He ends up in a corner store, nodding to the bored looking teenager who barely glances up from the manga in his hands. He walks to the back, pacing back and forth in front of the laundry detergent aisle. He fishes his phone out his pocket, starts searching for information. 

“It’ll be pointless,” Shigaraki says, next to him, leaning into his space, staring at his phone. Izuku jumps, knocking into the shelves of the aisle, and he barely catches a 4 liter bottle of detergent from splattering all over the floor. He rushes from Shigaraki, out the store, past the cashier who waves lazily at him. 

“Will you just calm down, boy?” 

“The last two times you’ve shown up, you’ve tried to kill me! So—“ 

“I can’t kill you now. You accepted that thing into your body. Great work, by the way.” Izuku tries not to flush in embarrassment, remembering that thing sinking into him after he’d– 

“I’m here to convince you.” 

“Convince me of what?” 

“Suicide, mainly.” 

Izuku stops in the middle of the street, looking at Shigaraki’s pale, pale face. He’s grinning, lazy. 

“Stop haunting me. I’ve got a bunch of other shit I’m already dealing with.” 

“Finding your precious Kacchan, right? Newsflash, he left you for a fucking reason. You’re his mess. I’m just the one that has to clean it up.” 

Izuku swallows, heart pounding in his chest. He walks off, straight through Shigaraki, the ghost dissipating into ether around him. 

He returns, trailing behind him like the vestiges used to. 

“You don’t know what you’re fucking talking about. Kacchan didn’t leave me. He’s in trouble, or something. I just have to find him.” 

“You don’t know shit, do you? Explodey-God scrambled your fucking brain, Izuku. Left you afterwards to pick it up on your own. Do you even remember what you did for him? The creature you released into the world to make your keeper happy?” 

Izuku opens his mouth, ready to argue back, when he remembers he’s out in public, talking to no one but the air. His teeth clank together as he glares back at the ghost, who continues to remain smug. 

“I liked you better when you were trying for unsettling.” 

That’s the last thing he says, walking home in one sided silence. Shigaraki does not shut up, unfortunately. 

“I tried multiple kinds of the grim reaper. Heralding your death… or the angry and vengeful spirit. Now that you’ve accepted the eldritch horror into your heart, it will be useless to kill you outright. It’d just protect you. The guard dog gets a guard dog. But, I've still got my words.” 

Izuku clenches his teeth, even when all he wants to do is snap at Shigaraki, if only to explain more. It seems that the ghost has what he needs, but he’s picked the worst time to pipe up. Or maybe it’s on purpose. 

“I think the best way is to just show you, isn’t it Izuku? Your brain’s hiding the rest of that night. You think it just ended with you remaining on the sidelines while your precious Kacchan enters an unknown home? You’ve never had a good sense of self control, especially when it comes to him. I think I know that the best.” 

“Shut up .” 

“I think I’ll show you exactly what your mind is keeping for you. I’m all about the truth, after all. Here, Izuku. See what kind of monster you really are—“ Izuku dodges, too late. Shigaraki grabs him by all five fingers, pushing against his forehead, but instead of decaying, he’s flung into a new memory. No, not a new memory. The continuation of that night. 

Izuku slinks his way across the opposite building, finding the next open window that suits his needs. He grabs at his utility belt, finding a pair of binoculars. He brings them up to his eyes, zooming in until he can see Kacchan stalking into the kitchen, the stranger from before coming in behind him. Kacchan is shouting, that much is for sure. 

Izuku can feel it, his despair, his anger, his utter hopelessness. He turns, facing the man with the long, pale hair. He brings his hands up to his chest, clutching at himself while he speaks directly to the man. In response, he brings his hands up in a placating motion, speaking a lot more calmer than Kacchan was. 

Hate blossoms in Izuku’s heart. The feeling of worthlessness. Uselessness. He hasn’t been able to make Kacchan happy. No matter what he does. No matter how he tries to please him, with his words, his hands, his dick, Kacchan remains melancholic. It has to do something with this man. It must. 

Izuku’s teeth grind down to dust in his mouth as he watches Kacchan let out a distressful, pitiful round of explosions from his hands. He strides across the room, burning up the distance between the two. Kacchan’s face crumples from his viscous anger into distress, pure and simple. 

Izuku must move. 

He gets up, jumping off the roof of the home. His knees bend at the best moment, his shock absorbent leg bracers taking most of the impact. He sprints over to the home. He doesn’t give himself a moment to think. He kicks the door in. 

Kacchan looks up at him with wide, startled eyes. And then the scene melts away, turning into black ooze. 

Too soon, Izuku. 

Izuku gasps as he falls back into reality. Shigaraki stares at him with a wrinkled nose, disgust plain on his face. Izuku wipes away the sweat that pours down his face, turning and walking away. There are people staring at him, since he must have looked like a fool just standing in the middle of the street, zoned out. He makes it to the subway, standing under the awning, away from direct sunlight, at least. 

“That abomination cannot protect you from the truth.”

Izuku ignores him, staring resolutely at the empty space in front of him, hoping the train will come sooner rather than later.  

“Did you see those ruins? You destroyed them both.” 

Wooziness, nausea and the deplorable sensation of peering too close to something he shouldn’t. He knows he shouldn’t speak to Shigaraki. He knows , but it digs underneath his ribs, threatening to crush his lungs. His mind conjures up images without his permission, things too horrific to say aloud. 

“Destroyed?” 

Shigaraki sets his hands around Izuku’s shoulders, wispy, barely there, but the pressure threatens to break Izuku in half. 

“There’s a reason he’s not here.” 

Izuku’s vision tunnels. He feels his mind crumble under the implication, and his legs buckle underneath him. He lands hard on his knees as Shigaraki disappears into the wind as the train pulls up. He cannot scream, he cannot even cry. Everything remains choked inside him as memories beat down on him, suffocating him. 

He—he killed Kacchan? 

“S-sir?” A tepid touch on his shoulder. He looks up to see a woman, business suit attire, sunglasses pushed up to her head, staring down at him with worry. Pity. “Are you okay?” 

Izuku opens his mouth, but then it’s clamped shut without his say. He’s wrangled up, his body moving against his will. He screams, or tries to, but nothing comes out. He feels it, that fucking black bile that lives inside him, that’s apart of him now. It sinks into his bones and muscles, puppeteering him just like when he used Blackwhip on his body. Only this time, he’s just along for the ride. 

His body is not his own anymore. It hasn’t been for a long time now. 

Izuku’s released from whatever holds him as soon as he enters the apartment. He’s flung back into control, turned loose. He trips and falls onto his knees. He remains there, curling in on himself as the weight of everything crushes him. 

He remains on the floor, turning on his side, staring at nothing. He feels vacant. Everything that’s been happening, all of it funneling to this moment. Shigaraki should have killed him. If he had known, Izuku would not have stopped him. 

Izuku understands now. Kacchan has been haunting him like Shigaraki has. Of course. He’d murdered them both. Only Kacchan, he’d continued to try and save him. Possessed him to save himself the embarrassment with Edgeshot, lent him his quirk to protect him from Shigaraki…called to him. Why? Why would he want to see him? 

Izuku drowns in a sea of despair. He doesn’t know how long he stays on the floor, comatose, unresponsive. He stops breathing, and doesn’t even notice. His heart chills to nothing. Even still, he doesn’t die. 

Someone walks into frame of his filmed over eyes. He doesn’t blink. They step back, before lying down on the ground next to him. It is Kacchan. He presses his cheek into the tile, his lips quirking up. He raises a hand up, his fingers brushing away the bangs that fall across Izuku’s forehead. 

“You can’t join me in death, can you Izuku?” Kacchan asks. Izuku cannot move his desiccated limbs. He cannot lift his tongue. “Maybe you’re in hell, already.” 

Kacchan closes his eyes, humming. 

“Dying by your hand…I should’ve known it was going to be you.” 

Izuku watches him. He melts into the floor, turning into a series of organic shapes, abstract and beautiful. He does not look at Izuku again and leaves him there to rot. 

Oh, you are dramatic, aren’t you?

It is the voice from before. It does not speak Japanese, does not speak any discernible language Izuku has ever heard, but he still understands. Its presence rises up in his mind, and he knows this is what controlled him before. 

The weight of it fills him up, causing him to gasp, rushing in new oxygen, which pushes his lungs to move. His heart thunders in his ears, pushing the stale blood through his body again. 

That pesky spirit of yours is ruining all the fun. Don’t listen to his words. He wants to destroy me through you. Here. The full version. I figure you deserve to see it now. 

Izuku’s vision dims until he falls back into the memory. 

“Izuku! What the hell are you doing here?” 

Izuku says, “I’m here for you.” 

He steps forwards, and a puddle of black luminescence forms underneath him. It squelches beneath his boots, but Izuku continues until he stands in front of the man that’s been agitating Kacchan so much. 

He smiles at Izuku. “It’s good to see you again. You’re coming along nicely.” 

“Don’t talk about him like that!” Kacchan spits out, and Izuku feels more disgust disturb his Kacchan. This man is the root cause of all their problems. He just has to—

The tar drips down from his fingers, black ooze as he grabs the man by the throat. It skitters across onto him, painting across the man’s clavicle, his shoulders, up his throat. 

“What are you doing?” 

Izuku turns to Kacchan, looking into his frightened red eyes. He’s always so scared now. Izuku hopes this will make him feel better. This thorn in their side just needs to be removed, destroyed, reformed. 

The world around them dissolves into fractals upon fractals. Everything turns and disrupts, becoming corrupted by images that are not of Kacchan’s world. Dark energy and matter spill from Izuku, but it does not go for Kacchan. It goes straight for the man. 

“Wha–wait! WAIT! AHHHHH–” 

He is undone. The world erupts inside the reaction. His face bloats and explodes, his body shredding into eviscerated chunks that become something new, joining the fractals that have already formed, creating new chains, new offshoots. Matter displaced and made anew. Nothing is created or destroyed, only changed. It even works with memories, with time. 

No one will remember him, because he’s never existed. 

The universe bends around Izuku’s will, just like Izuku’s bends around Kacchan’s. 

Izuku stares up at Kacchan, bleary eyed, trying to come back to his senses. Kacchan holds his face in his hands, brushing the skin next to his eyes, back and forth. He’s sobbing, face ashen, his eyes irritated from the smoke and the tears. His blonde hair is full of soot. 

“Izuku, baby, you’re back with me?” Kacchan asks, and Izuku nods dumbly. He moves his hands up until he’s holding Kacchan as well, feeling his warm skin, the bumps of old scars. He smiles. 

“Kacchan, did I do good?” 

Kacchan breaks down into louder sobs, chest shuddering as painful gasps rattle up and out of him. But even so, he does not stop his ministrations, doesn’t quit his small comforts. Izuku rubs his thumb against his bicep, moving his hands up to clutch at his head. 

“You still…you’re still sad. Why? I just want to make you happy, Kacchan. Tell me what to do to make you happy,” Izuku begs, pushing closer to him. He searches for the next to do. 

“Izuku…I’m sorry I’ve done this to you,” Kacchan says and Izuku’s eyebrows furrow. He pushes their foreheads together. 

“You’ve done nothing to me. I just want to be here for you. You’re…you’re all that matters.” 

Kacchan shakes his head, letting out a whistling moan of distress. He kisses Izuku on the lips, and he is shaking, shattering. Izuku feels it. He is holding Kacchan in his hands, but it’s like he is slipping from his grasp. He kisses back, but Kacchan rips his body from him, leaving Izuku clutching air. 

“If you want me to be happy, you have to forget about me, Izuku.” 

“What? No.” 

Izuku stands up, feeling the old brick and mortar of the home crumble underneath his feet. It causes him to stumble. Kacchan backs away from him. He hugs himself, turning one arm to rest around his middle while his other raises up, palm out to Izuku in a stay back motion. 

“Izuku. I want you to forget about me. Forget about all that has happened since you’ve come back. I want you to live a life for yourself. Don’t think about me, even when others bring me up. I’m nothing to you, anymore.” 

Izuku fights it, but the command is strong, and persistent. His mind succumbs to it, slow and dripping like a poison. 

“Why are you doing this?” Izuku says, plying for more time, even as his resolve crumbles inside him, as walls build up around his own mind. Trapping him. He feels betrayal, but underneath that, his love for Kacchan continues to shine, fueling him. 

“I’ve been selfish with you, Izuku. I want to set you free. Please let me do this. I’ll go to Hawks and the Commission. I’ll clean this up. You’ll never see me again. And you won’t have this weighing on you. I love you, no matter what, Izuku. 

“Go home. The second you step through those doors, you’re to ignore everything and anything that has to do with me.” 

Izuku’s body moves against his will, following Kacchan’s. He can’t stop himself. He loves Kacchan, so he does what he is told.

Izuku blinks. He gets up slowly. There is a fine layer of dust on his body. It falls off his person. He must have been down for days. 

The presence is gone. It’s just him now. He can feel Kacchan inside him, even still, even alive. He’s out there somewhere. Nothing makes sense, but Izuku figures that’s fine. He dusts himself off. His mouth tastes like death, sour. His hair is greasy, unwashed. He decides to clean himself up.  

He’s got a certain flightless bird to see. 

Izuku hates visiting the Hero Commission. Izuku may be haunted by various spirits and...an abomination, but the Hero Commission feels like a host of terrible maladies all under one roof. Government oversight seeping out of the pores of the walls, destroying lives and ruining futures. Terrible things have been said within this building, actions ordered by suits no average citizen in Japan will ever know existed, and those things linger, clouding up the air, remaining heavy and unforgivable. 

He walks through the halls, shepherded by an intern, who looks back at him nervously. Izuku smiles at her. Her eyes widen and she turns back around, back rigid, pulse beating so loud Izuku can hear it. 

Well, sure. 

He’s got his hero suit on, clanking along the granite floor. 

They make it to the top, where the president’s office is. Izuku reads Hawks’ name on the thin plate next to the door. 

“Here you go, Deku-san. He is expecting you,” the intern murmurs quickly, bowing and heading away as if there’s a fire licking at her feet. Izuku feels a hollow pang in his chest at her quick departure. He must frighten people nowadays. 

He knocks on the door, but doesn’t bother waiting, opening it to see Hawks sitting at his desk, penciling in something on a piece of paper. 

“C’mon in, Deku. We’ve got much to talk about.” 

Izuku shuts the door behind him, feeling his body tense as Hawks does not look up at him, merely shuffling the paper on his desk aside, before going to twiddle with his pen. Outside of the sky rise office, the city is just barely waking. The sunrise creates swirls of orange and pink colors in the sky. 

“I just want to know where Kacchan is.” 

“And what makes you think I know that?” 

“Because he said he’d reach you about—“ 

“The fact that you two got into a lover’s spat and destroyed an entire home. You’re lucky it was abandoned, by the way.” 

Right, abandoned. 

“Yep. I need to know where he is.” 

“Seems like he doesn’t want you to know that.” 

Unfortunately, it’s really a bad time to fuck with Izuku. 

He feels his body shift and change, crack and untether from whatever mortal bonds it’s held in. Hawks, looking up at him with a smug expression, immediately pales. He gets up, his chair rolling away as he backs up. Izuku follows him. 

He feels something distend and snap back on his face, displacing the rest of his flesh in an unnatural way. His lips thin away, and he must show only gum and teeth. 

“Kacchan.”

“Right—fuck—wow, Midoriya. Bakugou was not joking about the whole—“ he cuts himself off, voice shaking as he brandishes his hand at Izuku’s mass. He clears his throat as he averts his eyes from Izuku. He sidesteps out of Izuku’s immediate vision, but he just turns, his eyes attuned in a way they’ve never been before. He watches as Hawks fumbles with the latch of a file cabinet. He looks through, before finding a card. 

“Here, this’ll uhm—have everything you’re looking for.” He does not hand it over to Izuku. He places it on his desk, before backing away. 

Izuku snatches it up with a clawed, paw-like hand. He turns away, walking out of the room without a word. He’s got nothing left to say to Hawks. When he slams the door shut behind him, he’s back to normal. 

He walks into the empty elevator. The doors shut, and Izuku looks at the mirror of himself. Long, green hair, messy but clean, for once. He’s got a deathly pallor to him, ashen even underneath his natural tan. His eyes…his eyes. They don’t hide what the rest of him tries to. There’s a film over them, nearly invisible, but it’s enough that one would believe they were seeing things. But they’d know, deep inside, that they were not.

Shigaraki shimmers into view next to him. They’re the same height now. Izuku turns to look at him, but the other remains staring straight ahead. 

“I know it’s useless now, isn’t it, Deku? You’re not going to go anywhere now that you know.”

“You lied .” 

“I did not. You did destroy Bakugou. He won’t be the same, after all this. Neither will you. You’re supposed to stay dead. And you’re definitely not supposed to return with a carry on. It’s—“ Shigaraki sighs, rubbing his eyes with the palm of his hands. He shakes his head, looking at Izuku. 

“One last try, for all the marbles. I’ve got nothing but my words now, Deku…” Shigaraki trails off, and Izuku feels as if the elevator slows, entering another world, the vestige realm, maybe, but it might just all be in his head. 

“Be the hero you promised me you’d be. Return to where you ought to be, and let life continue. Give Bakugou the chance to learn to let you go. Stop the madness that burns inside you. It won’t disappear when you find him. It will only get worse for you. I can promise you that. That thing inside you will bide it’s time, but it will ultimately ruin everything. Please.” 

Izuku nods, smiling softly at Shigaraki. He looks back to the elevator door, at the man he is now. The rotted corpse that returned. 

“You’re lucky you’re already dead, Shigaraki.” 

The elevator dings, light and airy. Izuku walks out into the lobby of the building. Shigaraki does not follow him. Izuku’s choice is clear. Always will be.

Izuku looks up at the apartment building. It’s shabby, the kind of place only those who want to be left alone and ignored wind up. Peeling paint on the wooden doors, yellow stained walls. All the windows have thick, moth-eaten curtains hiding the interiors. It’s ugly, to put it plainly. 

Izuku can’t imagine this is where Kacchan has been hiding out. For a month now. He probably deep cleaned his entire abode three times over before removing his shoes at the entrance, or sitting on the bed. Izuku can see him buying himself a new mattress, and happily throwing the old one in the dumpster while the landlord watched in abject terror. 

He stands outside the apartment building, waiting, stalking. He just needs fucking confirmation before he breaks down a door and enters a residence without permission. He’s still a hero, after all. 

He doesn’t hear him at all in his head. He’s silent, slunk underneath, hibernating. Maybe, Izuku thinks as he breaks and reshapes his fingers, passing the time, maybe it’s because he’s so close. 

He has come for Kacchan, just like he’s been begging, all these days and nights. 

However, a bubble of apprehension builds up inside him as the sun crests high over the sky, steadily falling behind the shabby apartment building. Still nothing. Did Hawks lie ? Izuku licks his lips as his hands stutter at the idea. Hawks would be a black stain on the ground if this turned out to be nothing. 

He nearly gives up, retreats back to his own apartment to find some other trail when a moped skirts along the sidewalk before stopping and leaning the bike against the chain-link fence that halfheartedly guards the place. Izuku watches as the biker removes a plastic bag from the back of the seat, hurrying up the stairs and walking around until he gets to apartment door 25 . He drops the bag onto the floor, snapping a pic before returning the way he came.

Izuku stares, unblinking, at the door. It creaks open, quick, and Izuku sees brown bangs underneath a black hoodie. Izuku lets out a breath of despair, but then the hand flashes down to grab the bag and he sees, clear as day, scars crisscrossing up before they disappear into the hoodie sleeve. 

Izuku sprints forward, the thing within him overtaking his movements. He jumps, sailing over the space between him and Kacchan. 

He makes it before Kacchan can even close the door. All he sees are fake, brown eyes widening so far, the red underneath begins to peek through. Then, he’s slamming the door open, barreling into Kacchan. They roll along the rough floor, both grunting as the wind is knocked out of their lungs. He feels Kacchan shake and tear at his grasp, trying to get him off, but Izuku persists, slamming his arms to the floor, trapping him. 

Kacchan groans as Izuku presses down on him, slobbering and spitting and crazed. His eyes rove across his face, noting the cosmetic changes. Light brown hair, blonde at the roots where the dye is already coming out. Brown contacts, shitty store bought kind. Makeup where his cheek scar should be. 

But, Izuku inhales, a deep lungful, dropping his head to Kacchan’s pulse point, where sweat leaks down his throat and across his neck. No one can hide Kacchan’s scent from Izuku. He’s gone crazy at the thought of it, and now, with it right in front of him, he fucking salivates, licking a stripe of flesh all the way up until he gets to the cakey foundation that ruins the sweet and sour taste of skin and nitroglycerin sweat. 

He reels back, panting, tongue wagging, looking down at Kacchan. The eyes are wrong, the hair is wrong, the scar is gone, but it’s fucking Kacchan. And he looks petrified. 

“Wha—wha—what are yo—“ 

“ You called. I came. I’m sorry it took so long.” Izuku says, bright and sugary, his face splitting into a grin as everything inside him snaps into relief, every sleepless night, every terrifying thought, every shred of humanity lost. It’s all fucking worth it. Because Kacchan is real, tactile. He’s not just a figment of his imagination now. His heart beats, his pacemaker set inside him like the abomination that has made a home in Izuku’s own body. They’re one and the same, made better by outside forces. 

“Izuku. You—shouldn’t be here.” 

Izuku whines, unperturbed. He shoves both of Kacchan’s wrists over his head, combining them both in one of his hands, pressing them tightly into the scratchy carpet while his free hand rubs away at the makeup. That’s one thing fixed. He moves his finger closer to Kacchan’s eye and the other man snaps at him, literally, his teeth clacking like a cornered dog as he growls. 

“Get the fuck off me, Izuku.” 

Izuku blanches, and then he’s up, hurrying backwards as a sudden compulsion overrides his own needs. His feet trip over themselves in his haste, and he lets out a yelp as he goes crashing to the floor. 

He looks up where he’d fallen on his ass to see Kacchan in a similar position, sitting up now, digging his hands into the carpet. Soft pops burn the fake wool. 

“Kacchan—“ 

“How the fuck did you find me, Izuku? How the fuck did you manage to surpass the fucking blocks in your head? You weren’t—goddamnit,” Kacchan curses, rubbing a smoking hand through his hair, shaking his head as his lip wobbles. “You were supposed to forget about me. Can’t you follow one simple command?” 

Izuku pushes himself up off the floor, until he’s towering over Kacchan, who looks up at him with a bitter and tired smile. 

“Kacchan, you were begging me to find you. So I listened. That’s what you needed from me.” 

“That wasn’t me,” Kacchan scoffs, but Izuku can see where his cheek indents, chewing the meat to bloody agitation.  

“I think it was. I could feel you fucking aching for me, even in your self imposed isolation. Why? Why leave me like this, Kacchan? I’m not— me —without you, by my side.” He takes a step further; Kacchan responds by shooting his leg up, pressing his feet into his stomach. Izuku looks at the flexed calf, the arched heel and the toes that sink into the fabric of his hoodie. He shivers. Kacchan’s touch sends his heart racing. 

“You’re not Izuku anymore. Not entirely. I was warned against it, but I did it anyway. I thought it’d be like what Edgeshot did for me, but you were different. You were too far gone, Izuku. You couldn’t come back the same.”

“Come back from what, Kacchan? Say it!” 

“From the fucking dead, you idiot, what else! I went crazy at the sight of your fucking corpse and found someone who could resurrect you!”

“Kacchan…” Izuku trails off. He grabs Kacchan’s foot, holding his ankle. Kacchan’s expression turns murderous as Izuku pulls him, his hands skittering on the floor as his ass drags against the carpet. Izuku grabs him, lifting him up and crushing them together as Kacchan spits fire, pushing him back. 

“Oh, Kacchan! I can’t believe you would do that for me! I couldn’t deal with death without you there either. You’re amazing, bringing us back together!!” 

“Asshole! Of course you’d be fine with this. That’s not the point , Izuku. The point is—you’re not you anymore!” Kacchan pushes away from him, but the other hero has nothing on Izuku now. He holds him, feeling how perfect he lines up with his body, the jutting ridges of his hip bones, the strength and thickness of his thighs, the fat chest against his, the palms pushing his face back from where he wants to bite and nip at. Every body part sends his mind whirling into the ether, high off Kacchan. 

“I feel like myself. I feel amazing , now. The only time I didn’t was when I was alone.” 

Kacchan inhales, sharp and whistling, almost like he’s trying to scream without alerting everyone in their nearby vicinity. 

“You don’t understand, Izuku. I had to…I had to split my spirit and imbue you with it, so your own soul could find its way back. And…you couldn’t return without that thing latching onto you as well. You’re…all these pieces, influenced by my soul, that monster. What about you ? I’ve done the most selfish thing in the world. I just want to set you free.” 

“Set me free? Kacchan—I want you to lock me up.”

“That’s— ugh —that’s the exact fucking point, dumbass! How do I know that’s you or if that’s my fucking will inside you, controlling you without you even knowing!” Kacchan’s shoulders drop, and his resistance falters as tears form in the corners of his eyes. “I can’t take advantage of you.” 

All Izuku can think is: Kacchan wants to lock me up? and please take advantage of me, Kacchan! 

What he says is: “Please take advantage of me, Kacchan.” 

Kacchan laughs, short and exasperated, before he punches Izuku in the face with an exploding fist. 

Izuku drops him more out of surprise, and Kacchan rolls away from him, standing up as  the black smoke lingers around them, as heady and potent as the sudden lust that nearly downs Izuku. Fuck, Kacchan is so damn hot. 

“Well, you’ll always be an idiot, Izuku. That will never change, no matter what.” 

Izuku wafts away the smoke so he can see Kacchan better and he freezes when he sees the set look in his eyes, his stiff form, his soft frown of resignation. 

Izuku knows what he is going to do, can feel how much the piece of Kacchan inside him howls in agony and sorrow. 

“Don’t do this. We can make this work! I can talk you through everything I feel. I’ll learn to make distinctions where you end and I begin. Please, it’s so much worse without you, Kacchan. It’s hell on earth. It’s ash on my tongue. It makes me want to kill and maim when I’m without you. You don’t understand. ” 

“I’m sorry, Izuku.” 

Let me out. Let me out Izuku. I’ll stop him. 

The entity, stringy blackness of anything and nothing all at once, pops and bubbles underneath his skin. It’s been listening this entire time. 

He’s our Kacchan now, isn’t he? 

“I’ll just find you again. I’ll break out of whatever fucking bind you put me in. I’ll run to the ends of this earth and find wherever you try to hide from me. It won’t work Kacchan. You’re a part of me, and that means you’ll never be rid of me either.” 

Kacchan’s eyes blow wide at the promises. Izuku means them all. Then, his lips quirk up, small and tired.

“You won’t find me again, after this, Izuku.” 

This too, is a promise. An abhorrent implication that Izuku can’t, for one second, imagine. It’s simply an impossibility.  

He’d be yours. With my help. 

“Okay,” Izuku says, obviously. Of course. For Kacchan, he’d do anything. 

Kacchan stares at him, mouth parting at his easy agreement. His shoulders dip, as if unsure entirely what Izuku is playing at. It makes Izuku’s blood sing, that Kacchan understands him so well that his settling would perturb him. 

Then he feels the thing inside him, overriding his measly control on his body, and Kacchan’s eyes widen as Izuku grows and grows , shooting up a couple feet as his bones crack and shift, nails ripping into talons and clothes ripping. 

“What the fuck?” 

“Be a good boy, Kacchan.” Izuku’s voice, gnarled and echoing and Izuku wonders what has changed in his vocal chords to release such a haunting sound from his now split lips and sharp teeth. 

Kacchan’s own lips form a feral grin, bending low and animalistic as his hands pop experimentally. 

“I’ve been waiting for something like this! You monster fucker! Get out of Izuku!” 

Kacchan careens himself into Izuku’s horrific amalgamation of a body. He hits him with an explosion. Or tries. Izuku blinks and he thinks for a moment he lost consciousness, but no, this body teleported, and suddenly he’s behind Kacchan who twists in the air with a yell, but the monster grabs him by the neck, pressing thick digits into the exact part where Kacchan is left a gasping, but functionally safe, mess. 

“I like you, firecracker.” 

Kacchan grapples at the arms that hold him clear in the air, panting for breath as he loses oxygen second by second. 

“ Fucking—bastard—“ 

“Take it up with your pet project,” it says, splitting Izuku’s mouth into a terrifying grin as Kacchan grows limp in his arms, passed out. 

It retreats back into Izuku’s skin, reforming the body it made it’s own as it goes. 

An olive branch, Izuku. We have much to talk about. 

It sinks away with that parting message, leaving Izuku a gasping, horrified mess. Kacchan lays in his arms, unconscious, breathing regularly, thick padded bruises already forming around his throat. Izuku despises the sight of it. His own selfishness caused Kacchan to get hurt. And it hadn’t even been him that had caused those pretty, blossoming blooms. 

He picks Kacchan up, letting his legs dangle over one arm while he pillows his face in his chest. He walks away from the place Kacchan had been holed up in all month. He takes him back to their home.                                  

It returns to him when Izuku is lovingly washing the dye out of Kacchan’s hair. He’s got them in the bath together, Kacchan’s back pressed to his chest, legs tangled together while Izuku massages the brown out of Kacchan’s hair. Izuku didn’t even bother with their clothing. He’ll have fun peeling Kacchan out of his drenched shirt and jeans later. 

It’s a slow going process, and they’ll both need a shower after, but it works. He can see the color seep out and the natural blonde begins to shine through again. 

He watches Kacchan’s nose crinkle in his sleep, his forehead furrowing as Izuku agitates his hair in the water. He brings a small cup, letting the water wash down some more color, making sure none of it drips down his face. He adores his Kacchan so much, living in perfect harmony together again. Every point where they touch is divinity itself, paradise made real. 

You don’t know real paradise. 

Izuku startles. He’d fallen into a trance, enjoying Kacchan in his entirety, watching him, bathing him, feeling him. He looks up, finding the mirror on the other side of the bathroom. Kacchan looks the same, profile nearly hidden by the porcelain edge of the tub. Izuku…looks like the corrupted version of himself. The one he’d seen while he’d been fantasizing of Kacchan. It grins at him, white teeth in stark relief against the void where his skin and features should be. 

“You don’t know Kacchan.” 

I know his quirk. I spun it into the universe what feels like a moment ago for me, but has been decades now. 

“What?” Izuku hisses, jerking, but Kacchan groans in his hold, and he settles again. He glares at his twisted reflection. “What is that supposed to mean?” 

Where do you think your super powered society comes from, mortal. 

“Evolution!” 

Nonsense. I’ve crafted each and every quirk that’s ever existed. It’s my signature that lives within every user. 

Izuku feels shock ripple through him, denial quick to follow. 

“I don’t believe you.” 

Believe what you wish. I know what is and what will be. What you two have set forth in motion. 

Dread disrupts the denial. A heavy stone sinks into his gut, along with a pressure that weighs heavy on his chest. The water around him grows cold as his core freezes over. He doesn’t respond. His mirror self turns its face and so Izuku’s goes as well, forcing him to crane his neck until he’s staring up at the ceiling. 

Something black and oozing drips down, hitting Izuku’s forehead, plopping into the water. It completely misses Kacchan. Izuku cannot move his head, can only watch as an image forms across the blank ceiling, creating a pitch black scene, only inhabited by the frailest of lights, paler than stars in the night sky, but a break in the inky landscape regardless. 

You were nothing but a severed soul, removed from the mortal plain and returned to the nothingness you originated from. Canon fodder for me, when I grow hungry. But —

It pauses, and Izuku has a vague thought of an otherworldly cosmic being having a flair for the dramatics, when the image it projects suddenly flashes with a flair, red hot and sparking, brighter than the sun. Izuku can almost feel the heat on his cheek. 

One, weak little pulse point in the sky begins to move closer to the flair, beckoned by the light. And there, behind it, another being, so large it overtakes all the little lights that hang on.

Your Kacchan punched a hole through our realms with his own soul, with the help of the man you eviscerated. He pushed through halfway, still tethered to the living world. Only you responded to it, and I knew, this was my moment. Your sick soul would need a transport, and I am nothing if not a gracious being. 

Izuku watches in sick fascination as his weak, barely there soul merges with beauty incarnate, Kacchan’s dazzling lifeforce. And for one, blissful moment, they were together at their most primal, stripped back, fused as one, a perfect union. 

And then, the darkness swallowed them both up. 

The scene disappears, dissipating into nothingness. Izuku clutches Kacchan close, feeling both his body and that fragmented piece of him inside him. They’re—it’s all Izuku has ever wanted. 

Your body would have disintegrated to cosmic dust without me here. I changed you until you could carry two souls without the worry of destroying your very atoms. 

“But it’s only half of his soul…” 

Souls are finicky beasts. Can split like mitotic cells, but remain synced. Resonating together for an eternity. That’s why you can feel your firecracker’s wants and needs. 

So…it’s not half a soul, but a copy. A copy of Kacchan’s soul, resting next to his. Izuku cannot stop the tears that drip out of his eyes, shuddering as the full weight of the revelation hits him, just what Kacchan has gifted him. 

He kisses Kacchan on top of his forehead, holding him gently, shivering and sobbing. He’s made of all that he loves.

“I don’t understand why you would—would do all this. Why you would help Kacchan, or me. Why you care.” 

I don’t, not really. It’s your body I want. You’re the perfect vessel. You trained to hold one of the strongest quirks, as well as defeated the human who held the other. Held quirks that should have torn a quirkless body like yours to pieces. I need that kind of resilience. 

“ Huh?” 

Live out your human life with your firecracker. I won’t interfere any longer, if you make a deal that this body is mine when you die. No more resurrections. I’ll keep you ticking until he goes, and then you can join him. Merge your souls together once and for all. 

“ They aren’t now?”

No. Your souls touch, but cannot meld in this plane and so he will never truly understand the link like you do. But it also means he is wrong in his worries. You will not assimilate into his wants unless you also want to. 

Izuku’s mind flashes to all those moments, from before. The fear in Kacchan’s eyes, the sick feeling of uselessness Izuku felt whenever he upset Kacchan. The disgust. The depravity of Izuku’s actions to keep Kacchan happy, to remain in his good graces. He knows, it could become the same if he doesn’t work on himself. 

He’s so close to Kacchan now. He doesn’t want to lose him again, no matter what. There’s no other option. 

“Okay, deal. Whatever you want, I don’t care. I just want to be with Kacchan, forever.” It’s not even a question to consider. He will choose Kacchan, every time. Kacchan brought him back to life just to be with him again. Even without Izuku’s soul in his body, he knows that Kacchan would understand his actions. 

Good. And as a show of good faith, my quirkless champion…

He feels it, the crack in his heart, the return of something he thought he’d lost forever. The entity disappears after, submerging underneath Izuku’s psyche. Izuku hopes it remains dormant for a long, long time.

Izuku feels it when Kacchan wakes up. He looks up like an excited puppy, the tension building inside him as Kacchan rustles the sheets of the bed, twisting as he stretches out. He freezes as worry, fear, apprehension flash through his mind and then he’s scrambling up, blinking away the dryness in his eyes. Izuku had removed Kacchan’s contacts before he’d undressed and put him in Izuku’s dry clothes. 

“Izuku!” 

“Kacchan!” 

“What the hell happened? What the fuck was all that?”

“Erm…I’ve adopted the term ‘eldritch ooze’ for it. It’s what lives inside me, but uhm…I don’t think it’ll be making many more appearances.” 

Kacchan removes his covers, looking at Izuku with anger in his eyes, red color blazing in the most hypnotic fashion. Izuku smiles goofily at him. 

“You can’t just fucking kidnap me with your cosmic horror body buddy! Not cool, dude!” 

Izuku can only shrug lazily, because underneath all that anger, Izuku feels humor and fondness. It only causes more agitation to spear through Kacchan’s soul, and he scoffs, fists clenching as he stalks up to Izuku. 

“I love you, Kacchan.” Easy and true. 

Kacchan stops his forward march, looking entirely aghast. Adoration and agony war inside him. 

“You can’t say stuff like that, Izuku. Not—not anymore. I don’t know if—“ 

“Command me, Kacchan.” 

“Hah?” 

Izuku moves forward, bridging the gap between them. He grabs Kacchan by the shoulders, pulling them even closer together. His chest sings at the resonance, the feeling of the two pieces of Kacchan’s souls reaching out to one another, pulling Izuku’s along. 

“Command me. Tell me what to do. The worst thing you can imagine.” 

“Forget me.” 

He feels it, like before. Twisting up in the depths of his mind, a beckoning urge to submit. To listen. But, Izuku fights it. It’s hard, but now that he knows what to look for, it is not impossible. Kacchan watches him with furrowed eyebrows, red eyes shining with unspoken emotion. But Izuku feels it. Sorrow, loss. He believes Izuku will leave him again. 

“I’ll never forget you again, Kacchan.” 

Kacchan releases a shuddering breath, disbelief as clear on his face as it is in his soul. He tears up, stepping forward in stuttered, unsure movements. His arm falters in the air, before he clenches it and lays it softly against Izuku’s cheek. His eyes flit across Izuku’s face, looking for something Izuku knows he won’t find. No autonomous agreement. Just love and devotion. 

“How?” 

“I just needed a bit of time to understand it. It’s like working a new muscle, but now it’s just inside my head. Resistance training to your wonderful commands.” 

“So it’s—you can—“ Kacchan chokes on his words, shaking as he cries harder. He pulls Izuku closer, chest shuddering as he exhales. Kacchan breathes him in. Izuku smiles, his lips wobbling as he brings his hands up to support Kacchan’s, digging his digits into his triceps. 

“Yep. If need be. But…Kacchan…I need you to understand that there’s nothing that you can tell me that I won’t do. Because I love you. I always have and I always will.” 

“Even after everything? Even after leaving you?” Kacchan looks into his eyes, biting his lip, looking terrified , so alike to those days in the beginning, when he thought he’d broken Izuku completely. 

Izuku pulls him into a hug, tight as he encircles his arms completely around Kacchan. He drops his head into Izuku’s neck, sobbing openly. Izuku worries at his bottom lip, wondering what he could say to make Kacchan’s guilt easier. He wishes Kacchan could feel how much Izuku just wants them to forget about this, and move forward. 

“All Might told me something, but I had been half crazed and hallucinating at the time so it was hard to digest. He said that our separation would only bring us closer in the end. That we’ll snap back together, having learned new things about ourselves and each other. I—I don’t think I would have learned how to resist you, to give you the comfort you need to return to us.”

“I’m— I’m so sorry .” 

“There’s nothing to apologize for. All I’ve ever wanted is for you to be comfortable with me Kacchan, and if this is how it needed to happen, then I’m glad it did.” 

Kacchan sniffles in his hold, then brings his head up to stare at Izuku with bleary eyes, sniffing as a near invisible line of snot slips down his soft cupid’s bow. His ruddy cheeks are as puffy as his teary eyes. He looks about ready to explode.

“I fucking love you, you self-sacrificial dipshit.” He kisses Izuku, knocking their foreheads together in his haste to bring their lips together. Izuku sobs openly at the taste of Kacchan, something he’s nearly forgotten. He moves his hands down to Kacchan’s waist, feeling the dip of his hips, groaning at how fucking perfect he is. 

Izuku simmers at a constant heat, feeling so much from both himself and Kacchan. Love, lust, desire. The constant need to get closer, and it’s almost as if he can feel the two souls inside him smashing into each other, trying to rip at each other enough to mold together. It makes his skin buzz, his veins sing. All he knows and feels is Kacchan. 

Kacchan huffs out a laugh as he feels Izuku’s hands shake where he holds him. 

“You’re shaking like a leaf.” 

“I’ve been going without my Kacchan fix for too long.” 

“You’re ridiculous.” 

“I know you feel the same way. You were begging for me. Do you understand how torturous it was to ignore something that my body knew I needed? Fuck—“ Izuku inhales, biting at Kacchan’s chin, before trailing sloppily down his throat, kissing and sucking the skin. “Having to exist with mindless bullshit when all I wanted was this.”

Kacchan mewls, pushing their hips together, rutting together. Izuku groans at the feeling of Kacchan’s clothed cock. He should have just kept him naked, but he didn’t want to freak Kacchan any further out. So they just grind against each other, snapping hips as their hands caress each other, as Izuku kisses Kacchan heavily, slipping his tongue into Kacchan’s mouth, forcing that hot mouth open, exploring one of his favorite Kacchan caverns. 

“You haunted me, even though I’m the dead man walking. Unfair, Kacchan,” Izuku says, full of Kacchan’s spit in his mouth. Kacchan gasps, harsh and heavy, and it’s only then that Izuku realizes he’s only been breathing because it’s instinctually, but his lungs don’t really need the oxygen. Woah. 

“You plagued my thoughts at all times, Izuku. All I did was watch hero news obsessively for any update on you and—“ Kacchan cuts himself off as Izuku slides down his body, landing on his knees. He stares up at Kacchan, nuzzling his crotch. 

“And…?” 

Embarrassment. Shame. Hot lust. 

Izuku shivers at the contradictory emotions ramping up inside Kacchan. He’s beat red, turning his face into the back of his palm, heaving as Izuku sticks his tongue and laves at his shorts. He can feel that cock calling to him, and he wants it in his mouth, bad. He wants to taste him, everywhere. 

“It doesn’t matter,” Kacchan lies, and Izuku grins, pushing Kacchan back onto the bed. He rises with the shift in angle, running his fingers against the waistband of his shorts. 

“Tell me what you want me to do, Kacchan. Tell me. I wanna listen. Lemme, please,” Izuku begs, sucking Kacchan’s dick through the fabric, tasting the barest hint of precum and moaning , eyes rolling to the back of his head. Kacchan’s pleasure is Izuku’s pleasure, after all.

“I—uhm—are you sure?” 

Izuku doesn’t answer since he’s tonguing at Kacchan’s cock, but he nods, looking up at Kacchan with what he hopes is pleading eyes. He knows his big green eyes do it for Kacchan, especially when they shine with wetness. 

Kacchan releases a steadying breath, moving his hand to Izuku’s green hair, soaked through with sweat. He clutches the back of his head, right at his nape. 

They hold each other’s gaze, a million lives lived flashing between the space in that moment. All the trust they built then broke then rebuilt. Fighting a war together, healing together, dying for one another. They’ve never known life without one another, and the quick spell of it had been hell for the both of them. They belong together. 

“You wanna be my good boy?” Kacchan asks, voice soft, barely a whisper. Izuku nods, mouth dripping with saliva around the spit-soaked, hidden cock in his mouth. Kacchan shines, outlined by the ambient lighting of their room, shadows creating the explosion god Kacchan so loves to embody. 

“Then suck my dick like one.” 

Izuku moves quickly, ripping Kacchan out of his shorts. He doesn’t even go for the waistband, simply shredding the fabric until it’s unrecognizable, but Izuku doesn’t have time to care. He licks a stripe up Kacchan’s long and thick cock, and Kacchan digs his hands into his hair. He pushes his face up, nose brushing against the pulsing vein that sends blood to the engorged cockhead. Izuku nips at the foreskin before dragging his tongue along the slit, right where the ichor of the gods pours from. 

“ Fuck—“ Kacchan moans, hip thrusting uselessly. Izuku brings his hand up, holding Kacchan’s burning member at the base while his mouth entraps the head in his mouth, suckling at the precum as it leaks. Izuku groans at the taste, at the texture, at the consistency. It slides down his tongue, only to be replaced with more. 

“ G—good boy—“ Kacchan stutters. Izuku flicks his eyes up at Kacchan, watching his fluttering chest, his fascinating blush. It reaches from the tips of his ears all the way down to his neck, before it disappears underneath his shirt. Izuku sinks his mouth lower on Kacchan’s cock as he furrows his eyebrows. He wants Kacchan naked.

Izuku decides now is as best a time as ever. Kacchan’s just barely closed his eyes and unlatched his jaw, succumbing to the pleasure when Izuku attacks him. 

He sucks Kacchan down to the root, all 25 centimeters of him. Kacchan yelps, eyes snapping open and getting met with buzzing Blackwhip strands. 

“ H—huh?” Kacchan chokes out, looking down, and Izuku merely shrugs, rooting around in Kacchan’s pale blonde bushy pubes as Blackwhip descends upon its mark, ripping up the shirt just like Izuku had done to the shorts. Blackwhip remains, sliding around Kacchan’s skin, sending pleasurable sparks across his body that has Kacchan twitching. 

Izuku swallows, enjoying how full he feels with Kacchan in his mouth, feeling the thrumming cock jump as sensations bully Kacchan into a heaving, drooling mess. 

Izuku pulls back, shivering as Kacchan’s dick pulls back from his esophagus and out of his throat until it reaches his lips again. Izuku jerks him off while he kisses and licks at his foreskin, watching Kacchan writhe in pleasure. He looks divine with Blackwhip wrapping around his arms, his chest, Izuku’s possessive nature driving it to tie Kacchan up, bind him. 

Izuku moves his other hand lower, lower and lower , pulling and groping Kacchan’s balls, twisting the sac in a way that has Kacchan gasping for breath. He continues his oral ministration as he wanders down the valley, two fingers searching for the hole his mind is already envisioning. Tight and dry, ready for Izuku’s careful ministrations to let him in. He wants to devour him. 

And then—and then—and then—his fingers slip into the sloppiest hole imaginable, fucked open and loose, the rim stretched. Izuku feels feral rage strike down straight through him. Blackwhip responds immediately, the gentle caresses and loving entanglements turning into tight and unbreakable binds. Kacchan’s eyes look at him, lost in the pleasure, hazy, fuckdrunk. 

Izuku gets up off his knees, moving to settle one knee on the bed, pushing his body to loom over Kacchan. Blackwhip pushes the other man into a laying position. Sick jealousy clouds Izuku’s mind. He pushes Kacchan’s thighs up, and Kacchan moans weakly when his hole is exposed to the open air. 

“Fuck, go back, Izuku, please. I was almost there—“ 

Kacchan doesn’t seem to realize what kind of trouble he is in, the way Izuku’s mood has darkened, turned ferocious, cruel and vicious. He sends a strand of Blackwhip down, thin, exploratory. He lets it caress the ruined rim, where it gapes, ready for more. Slutty fucking hole. 

“You fucked someone, is that it?” Izuku asks lowly, mind mad, unraveling at even the thought. “You left, and you fucked someone else. You let someone else inside you—“ 

Confusion spirals around Kacchan’s soul, and Izuku’s words falter in his mouth as he feels it overcome Kacchan’s lust. He watches as the other man blinks, tensing, thighs shaking where Izuku keeps them up and out. 

“What are you talking about, Izuku? I haven’t—why the fuck would you even think that?” 

The confusion devolves into agitation and annoyance , and Izuku’s sudden and abrupt brutishness drains out of him along with the blood in his face. All his negative thoughts dissipate into smoke at the incensed look on Kacchan’s face. He’s put his foot in his mouth. 

“I’m—uhm—well…your…uh—ass…” Izuku trails off, Blackwhip disappearing as Kacchan’s unimpressed gaze burns through him. Panic sits in his chest, and he realizes he’s fucked up, bad . He implied that Kacchan would cheat on, would leave Izuku in the dust and find someone else. Not only that, but the insinuation that Izuku believes there’s even a possibility— Izuku wants to throw up. He’s destroyed all of this. 

“I’m—I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean that. I just—I was expecting to open you up myself, make you feel good—but you were already so—“ 

Kacchan’s face flames when he feels Izuku’s thumb pressing into the loose ring of muscle. 

“I didn’t cheat on your for fuck’s sake. I missed you, dipshit! God knows why. I was—I had a lot of time on my hands. And a dildo. Jesus, I shouldn’t have to explain myself to you.” 

Izuku’s brain stops working. He lets out an unintelligible sound, a guff— and tries to process the vision. 

“Th-that’s—that’s— oh —Kacchan pleasuring himself, fucking himself with a dildo, thinking of me, trying to replicate our— oh!” Izuku whimpers. He looks at Kacchan, eyes bright, “You’ll never need it again.” 

Kacchan rolls his eyes then yelps when Izuku pulls his thighs up, slinging them over his  shoulders so his ass and core are in the air. Izuku’s hands support Kacchan’s lower back. He has a face full of balls and ass, and my god , the rim is puffy and pink, stretched and unfurled. Waiting for him. Begging for him to bring him and Kacchan together. 

“Hold on—“ 

“Imma be a good boy from now on Kacchan, I promise,” Izuku says, shifting his head to one side so that he can look at Kacchan’s expression. He wants to make Kacchan feel so fucking good. He’ll just have to make up for his rude comments. 

He doesn’t wait for permission. He dives right in, kissing the hole, the pucker searing on his lips, a warm welcome. He laves at it, tongue moving across the stretched hole as Kacchan whines, low and heady, straight from the chest as Izuku makes out with his hole. He kisses and licks and spits. 

With both hands occupied, he calls to Blackwhip again, feeling it occupy his tongue and mouth this time. Perfect. He lets it shoot from his mouth, small wisps that push his ass further apart, making the rim stretch even more, turning white under the tension. 

“ Hnggh—“ 

Izuku laps into Kacchan’s ass, Blackwhip parting from his mouth and thrusting shallowly into Kacchan, and the man groans at the sudden intrusion. Izuku pulls him closer as he eats Kacchan out completely. He sends more power to the Blackwhip strand letting it thicken up inside Kacchan, gradually, as it thrusts back and forth in his tight channel. 

“ Ough-hhah—Izuku—I can’t—what’s—“ Kacchan’s broken words dissolve into a dripping mess as Blackwhip brushes up against his prostate, finding the spongy spot that makes Kacchan flinch in his arms, his legs tightening around Izuku’s head, his thighs against his ears. 

Izuku sends another Blackwhip to wind along Kacchan’s body and he lets out a stuttered ‘ o-oh’. Izuku fucks him, slow and shallowly with the Blackwhip strand, making sure to return Kacchan into that lustful, half-crazed state, whining and whimpering. Then, he lets the strand dissolve. He coats his rim with one last, thick glob of saliva, making sure it doesn’t slip away, before settling Kacchan’s body back onto the bed. 

Izuku’s mouth dries at the sight of Kacchan, halfway turned as he suckles at the other strand of Blackwhip. His eyes are lidded and he’s panting. He looks so fucking good, twisting his hands into Blackwhip, holding onto it as he sucks it down, tongue laving at it. Izuku can see the outline in Kacchan’s throat and shivers. 

He wants to take a picture of this. The sudden thought reignites his passion for the hobby, and before he knows it, he’s got Blackwhip dropping the old, forgotten camera in his hands. He turns it on, watching Kacchan, lost in pleasure. Izuku got him to this state. It makes his cock ache in his pants. He wants to push Kacchan further, until he’s sobbing and broken, molded to Izuku’s cock and begging for more. 

He snaps the picture and Kacchan glances over at him, noticing him, finally. His eyes slide to the camera in Izuku’s hands, and then he cracks a smile, stretched wide around Blackwhip, debauched and pure sin. Izuku takes another picture, then drops the camera to the bed. He dives for Kacchan, letting Blackwhip disappear as he takes its place, making out with Kacchan, wrapping him in his arms. They lie side by side, holding each other, kissing hot and dirty. 

“Iz—Izuku—be a good puppy and fuck your owner, won’t you?” Kacchan commands against Izuku’s lips, smiling as Izuku’s body snaps to attention. He grabs Kacchan by the hips, twisting them so that Kacchan’s hands come to rest on his chest, his thighs splayed on either side of his torso. Izuku smiles, feeling his large canines bite into his bottom lip. Huh, that’s new. 

“Yes, Kacchan,” Izuku says, settling his hands on Kacchan’s waist, holding him delicately as Kacchan pushes himself off his stomach, settling himself until Izuku’s fat and leaking tip catches his hole. They both groan at the feeling and Izuku feels the energy inside him explode exponentially, Kacchan’s and his soul in sync, both wanting the same fucking thing: connection. 

Kacchan sinks on top of Izuku’s cock, held up by Izuku’s hands steadying him. Izuku makes sure he doesn’t hurt him. They both hiss as Izuku’s enveloped by Kacchan’s sweet heat, the hole stretched thing but accommodating, taking all of Izuku until Kacchan sits completely on his dick, until he can feel Kacchan’s gut rearranging to fit him entirely, until they both release twin sighs of contentment. 

Kacchan’s hands hold him at the shoulders. He looks down at Izuku, lips splitting into a hedonistic grin. 

“C’mon, make it better than the toy, pup.” 

Izuku snaps his hips up, manhandling Kacchan, fucking into him, using his ass, thrusting into him even as Kacchan’s insides scrape against him, begging him to remain inside him. Kacchan bounces, along for the ride, euphoric in his expression as his soul lights up with ecstasy.  

“ Hah— I’ve missed you so much! I missed your voice, and your face, and your eyes. I missed the way you looked at me, like I’m all that matters in the world. And—and when you came back, and that look became twisted and tarnished, I thought—thought I ruined everything. But— ahhhh— I should have known. I should have known you would have found a way out the darkness.” 

Izuku pushes himself up, holding Kacchan until they’re chest to chest, Kacchan sinking low to his pelvis, pulsing around his cock. They’re both crying. Izuku can feel it, that indescribable feeling, all of Kacchan’s deepest worries cracking as they remain connected, making love. 

“You were my shining beacon, Kacchan. Even when I forgot you, I knew you.” 

Kacchan hugs him tight, and he slows the pace, enjoying the heat, the feel of Kacchan all around him. They kiss, soft, messy things, open mouthed. Their tongues mash together, and Izuku shivers at the sensation. It feels nearly as intimate as his cock inside Kacchan, maybe even more so. They rock together, feeling each other, quiet thunderstorms forming inside both of them, the shocks of pleasure and the rumbling promise of more. 

“More—more—more, Izuku. Give me more. C’mon, I can take it. Lemme see what I brought back to life, hmm? My zombie boy,” Kacchan says and Izuku growls, biting down his neck. He suckles blooming bruises and kisses hard. His sharp teeth nearly pierce skin, leaving divots as Izuku picks Kacchan up and throws him onto the bad. He slips out of him as an unfortunate consequence, but it’s not for long. 

Izuku pushes Kacchan’s thighs up, stuffing his cock back into Kacchan’s hole, slippery wet from Izuku’s spit, sweat and precum. Izuku shuffles, watching Kacchan’s shiny hole stretch around him, insatiable. It sucks Izuku in perfectly. He looks up to see Kacchan panting, hands twisted in the sheets, eyes hooded, watching Izuku, lips parted. 

Izuku grins, sharp. He lets Kacchan’s will take over. Something snapping and rough rises from the depths of his mind and soul, the jagged pieces that eldritch horror inside Izuku left him. He pushes Kacchan’s thighs to their limits, pressing him into the bedspread while he thrusts in, hard and brutal. He’s changed, alright. He’ll show Kacchan just what he brought back. 

Kacchan moans, head tilting up as Izuku’s body shifts and slips into something more primordial. Izuku’s vissage over Kacchan grows longer until he’s overshadowing the man completely. Kacchan watches him, breathing hard, wriggling in his claw tipped grasp. Izuku licks his lips as Kacchan’s scent grows more potent, their coupling thick and sour in the air. He leans in close, opening a maw filled with dagger sharp teeth. 

Something snaps underneath them. The mattress sinks. Neither care to notice. 

“Oh fuck— Izuku—I feel your— hnggghh!” Kacchan’s hands explode in a flurry of sparks, cock spurting uselessly where it’s stuck between their stomachs. 

Izuku realizes he’s sent down Blackwhip to the base of his cock, spreading down his shaft and thickening it up. Every thrust, it gets bigger and fatter, stretching that rim to the limit, but still Kacchan takes it all in stride. Drool dribbles down his lips, joining the tracks of tears and snot as he sobs and moans, broken in his pleasure, cum shooting up to his chest and underneath his chin. He shakes, shivering and teeth chattering as his body calms down from the overstimulation. 

Izuku finds he can’t talk in whatever form he’s taken, this giant hulking beast that lives inside him, so he speaks with his body. He slows his pace down as Kacchan’s soul inside him threatens to burst with the sensations. He slides his hands down his thighs, across the bedspread and takes Kacchan’s popping hands into his own. Kacchan’s foggy eyes try their best focus on Izuku, mouth opening, but nothing comes out except for incoherent noises. 

Izuku lets Kacchan’s soul guide him. Kacchan does not resist to his hands scooping him up, manhandling him as he lays them both down, Izuku wrapping his arm around Kacchan’s middle. They’re back to chest, Izuku lazily fucking back into Kacchan’s ass.

He drops his mouth to Kacchan’s sweaty neck, licking him down and sucking on the skin while he feels how far his cock reaches inside Kacchan, distending the lower quarter of his abdomen just so. He pushes against his cock, and Kacchan groans lowly, mewling and twisting in his grasp. 

“ Ple-ahh-se, Izuku,” Kacchan begs, and Izuku only growls, deep reverberations that travel from his chest and through Kacchan. Izuku feels his own pleasure teetering, the liquid heat in his gut traveling through to the rest of him, his mind buzzing as he joins Kacchan at the precipice. 

He jerks Kacchan off, his palm hot and dry, and Kacchan grabs him from the front, raising his arms to pull at Izuku’s hair. He turns his head, mouth coming to kiss at one of Izuku’s large canine teeth. Izuku lets out another warbling noise, satisfied that, even in this form, Kacchan does not run again. Izuku pushes at long and forked tongue past Kacchan’s lips, feeling the man suck on it as his lazy thrusts turn sporadic. He twists his big paw of a hand around Kacchan’s cock, his sharp claw teasing his tip. 

Kacchan breathes hard, moving his head back to stare deeply at Izuku. Izuku feels his cock jump and his body turn gooey with his second orgasm, his eyes a deep, loving black, the pupils blown wide with sexual bliss. 

“Come for me, Izuku.” 

Come for me, Izuku. 

Izuku’s hips drive his cock inside of Kacchan one last time, as deep as he can go, and then he gushes. White hot light behind his eyes, he cries out, a multilayered sound that doesn’t sound much like him at all. Kacchan holds him through it as his cock spurts. Izuku’s extremities go numb and when he opens his eyes, he knows he’s back to normal. Cum leaks through where Izuku plugs Kacchan’s messy hole up with his softening cock, Blackwhip dispersed halfway through his orgasm. 

Izuku snuggles into Kacchan. They’re both hot and sweaty, and Izuku wants nothing more than to carry Kacchan back to the bathroom and clean him up, massaging his swollen rim and taste himself on his tongue.

But for the moment, he just remains, feeling Kacchan’s heart beat, their souls swirling around each other in his own, still heart. 

He falls asleep, finally.

They decide to leave Japan. All Might’s been a bit more reminiscent about America lately, and well, Izuku and Kacchan have never been. The time never seemed to line up, but it’s perfect now. Especially because Izuku more or less ran their agency to the ground. 

Kacchan isn’t really upset. 

“Always hated that damn breakroom,” he’d said when Izuku admitted his less than savory practices while Kacchan had been away. They’ve remained in the apartment for a week straight by that point. Relearning each other, all over the damn place.

They’ve also moved the mattress to the floor, since Izuku’s broken the frame to pieces.

“We can always come back, and start again,” Izuku agrees, scratching lightly at Kacchan’s back, feeling the soft blonde hairs that populate the area. He traces his scars, the starburst skin. “We’ve got the experience.”  

Kacchan shrugs, turning into him, facing him. He hugs him loosely, letting their legs tangle together. 

“I wouldn’t be too upset if we never returned. We have each other. Isn’t that really all that matters?”
Izuku feels a lot, with that statement. He feels the genuinity of Kacchan’s words, his soul in harmonious peace, in his arms, head pressed into his chest.

“Uhm– yes– we have each other. Always. I love you so much, Kacchan.” 

Kacchan kisses his chest, before moving up and kissing him on the mouth. 

“I love you too nerd. I wanna stay by your side. Forever.” 

Until death and then for an infinity afterwards. Izuku’s never been more sure of anything else in his life.

It will be found by Izuku, all over again. 

They’re cleaning the apartment for the move, donating half of it, throwing out the other half. They can’t really take much with them, but Izuku’s already found a safe harbor for all his figurines, the All Might and Dynamight collectables. 

He opens one of the hallway drawers, ready to declutter it. On the top lies the paper, innocuous as anything else in the space. 

Izuku freezes, remembering what it’d made him feel months ago. But now, it barely sends a ringing in his ears. He looks away. Kacchan is in the kitchen, singing along to the music they’re playing from their portable speaker. Izuku hears his high note, and smiles.

He looks back at the paper. It’s turned over, so all he sees is the stark white blankness. But he knows, underneath, there are the words. The things he couldn’t read. He chews on his lip. The decision is easy, really. He scoops up the paper. It does not burn like acid this time. 

The texture of paper pulp in his mouth is disgusting, however, but he swallows down every bit of the paper, until nothing is left. It’s almost as if he can hear it, the old heartbeat, as it settles in his stomach to dissolve and disappear from existence. 

He forgets about the letter soon after, joining Kacchan in the kitchen. He holds him, spinning him in a circle as a slow song croons out the speaker. Kacchan’s inertia returns him to Izuku, grin on his face, eyes crinkled. They kiss, softly, in the kitchen, swaying to the music as the future peers down on them, gentle and lovely. 

No more mystery. No more pain.