Chapter Text
Katsuki Bakugou was filthy — that was his maxim. A disparaging one at that, but a belief fixed fast to his explosive heart, clinging with an inextricable grip. Izuku Midoriya was pure, navigating his way through life with a stupidly handsome smile and emerald gaze; Katsuki had memorised every part of the nerd’s body. He knew every scar on Izuku’s hands, every freckle that stretched over warm skin, every crooked callus, he knew it all like a musician knows their own lyrics. He memorised the curve of his shoulders, the stubborn line of his spine, burning it into his mind from a thousand sparring sessions, years of acquaintanceship, and scrutiny of that deadly crimson eyed gaze.
Katsuki Bakugou was in love with Izuku Midoriya.
His Deku.
But Katsuki is a boy.
And so is Izuku.
Katsuki failed to fathom why he despised his sexuality. He’d never belittle someone for being attracted to the same gender – all romance to him was gross, same sex or not. So why were his knuckles shoved up to his teeth after every sparring session with the green-haired boy? Why did the skin stretched over his joints mottle into yellow and purple?
Why did he feel the need to purge these sickening feelings physically, spewing them out into the bowl of porcelain?
Katsuki dragged the back of his scarred hand over parted lips, clearing spit with it. His insides scorched with an obnoxious pain, screaming at him to stop punishing his overworked body by forcing his food up – Katsuki didn’t feel cleansed unless it hurt. In the same way he refused to accept a ‘half-assed’ victory, he refused to leave the cubicle until his oesophagus was scarred from top to bottom. The burning sensation spoke to him internally, whispering: “You’ve burnt that filth out of you.” This was his routine, an unhealthy ritual that allowed him to feel both pleasure and pain. He’d spar with Izuku, masking an obsessive desire to touch the green-haired boy with cruel, bare-knuckle brawling. In doing so, he eased the voice that egged him on, the devil on his shoulder that pushed him to just lay a calloused paw on Izuku’s scarred yet smooth skin. Then, after Katsuki had his fill of Izuku, he’d stalk to the bathroom to expel his dirty cravings.
That was how Katsuki coped, and for now, it helped.
But now, another burden landed heavy on his shoulders. This one took form in a petite, chestnut-haired girl, all warmth and sweetness.
It was disgusting.
“Deku!” She called, every note thick with the sweetness of honey – the same honey she dripped into Deku’s mouth, right under Katsuki’s fucking nose. Katsuki knew she wasn’t evoking his jealousy on purpose, Uraraka was a sweetheart. Hell, she was everything Katsuki wanted to be. But even so–
Katsuki despised sweet things; food, scents, drinks…her.
“Oh, Ochako!” Izuku beamed in response, a gentle pink hue creeping beneath his freckles as he scrambled his hands around his face nervously.
Ochako? They’re on fucking first name basis now?
“Tch.” Katsuki spat out under his breath, collapsing into the dip of a nearby couch. Even with his back turned to the pair, his ears pricked up attentively at every word that spilled from either of their lips. He could practically smell the affection emanating off of their skin every time they conversed.
His stomach turned uncomfortably at the sound of her shrill voice every time those 4 letters escaped her plush lips, spoken like a sin.
“Deku.”
The nickname Katsuki had assigned Izuku that dated back to being little boys. It didn’t matter that it was given in an attempt to belittle Izuku. What mattered was that it was Katsuki’s. He created it, he owned it.
That made it special.
It was special until Uraraka plucked it from the lips of Katsuki, warping it into her own with her dainty fingers adorned with those stupid finger pads Izuku loved so much – reclaiming it, ‘fixing’ it.
“I like Deku!” She said years ago, claiming it sounded like the word for, “You can do it.”
That was the dawn of his bitterness towards Ochako Uraraka.
The pads of his fingers twitched against flexed muscle as he drank in their conversation. His heart both ached and raged at the sound of Izuku’s nervous muttering, even a fool could recognise how head over heels Izuku was for her.
It ached even more with the weight of the past. Before her, Izuku fretted nervously at Katsuki’s presence. He dwarfed him in confidence, which led to Izuku worshipping Katsuki like a God; knees bruised and battered beneath the blond's taller frame just to kneel beneath him. But now, a few months into their third year, both at 18 years old, Izuku seemed to have grown a spine.
And she was partly to blame.
“I can’t listen to this shit.” Katsuki muttered gruffly under his breath, pushing himself off the olive green furniture with a swift motion, eager to be anywhere but here.
“Hm?” The shark toothed boy slumped beside him questioned, straightening his posture in confusion.
“Can’t listen to Deku and Round Face drool over each other, it’s fucking gross,” Katsuki began lowly.
“Oi! Get a fucking room!” He snapped his head towards the two, his signature scowl plastered onto his striking features, furrowing creases into the middle of his blond brows.
“Eh?” The noise forced itself out of Izuku’s throat as he jerked his head toward the explosive blond.
“Oh, um,” Izuku’s head whipped back to Uraraka, then back to Katsuki.
“We- I- we aren’t…That’s not what’s happening Kacchan.” Izuku retorted nervously, words slipping out of his mouth frantically. Uraraka just laughed softly at Izuku’s rambling, that simple act made Katsuki clench his molars together with such force they could’ve fractured.
“Shut it, Deku.” Katsuki snapped back, his crimson gaze flicking to Uraraka as he shoved emphasis on that last word, initiating a silent challenge. But, of course, she wasn’t even looking at Katsuki – her glistening doe eyes were glued to Izuku.
Without another word, because what use would words do, Katsuki fell into a harsh step, shoving Izuku hard in the shoulder as he stalked towards the stairs. Izuku’s natural body smell wafted with Katsuki’s movement, floating into Katsuki’s nose. He inhaled it like a drug, until it was bombarded with Uraraka’s sweet, candy scented body spray. He breathed out harder than needed, quickening his movements.
She was everywhere. Even when she wasn’t with Izuku, a part of her lingered on his skin. Always.
Katsuki slammed the wooden door shut with such power it rattled on its rusted hinges, shaking the door frame with acute force. The ash-blonde collapsed stomach first onto his single bed, blankets twisted, knotted in representation of his restless thoughts.
Katsuki had always been a pretty boy, his features were classified as notably handsome. The first-year girls fawned over him, so much so he'd resort to hiding behind that four eyed bastard Iida to escape the mosh of squealing 15-year-old girls. They adored him, all but a certain plain looking boy.
“It’s a damn shame he ain’t a fag.” Katsuki muttered under his breath, voice muffled as he shoved himself face down, forearms curled under his lonely memory foam pillow.
“...And it’s a fucking shame I am.”
The next morning rose softly, sunlight spewing through the cracks of his half-shut blinds, gliding a nurturing warmth over Katsuki’s scarred skin. The boy fluttered his eyes open, adjusting to the shift in light as a gruff groan escaped his throat. Light chatter had already crept under the gap beneath his door, early morning risers like himself taking advantage of the calm morning, before extroverts like Ashido and Kirishima infiltrated the quiet.
His right hand reluctantly smacked on top of his phone that sat on his bedside table, dragging it with the pull of his palm before eying the time.
7:22AM.
Katsuki shifted himself up, adjusting the back of his head onto the solid edge of the wooden headboard with a dejected sigh.
Izuku.
That was his first thought, it always was.
Is Izuku up? Is he still in bed? Is he training? Is he with Uraraka?
He sure knew how to be cruel, that green-haired boy. Obliviously taking up every corner of remaining space in Katsuki’s rapid thoughts.
Katsuki’s morning routine played out on autopilot with little to no flaws. He brushed his teeth aggressively until every speck of plaque was practically scorched off, washed the clear skin of his scowling face, and tidied his spiky locks ridden with bed hair. His morning regime was a rhythm that became muscle memory for Katsuki, every day was the same.
He dried his calloused hands, patting the towel around his palms while scowling at his reflection. The noise from the common room bled through the walls, much louder than it had been 10 minutes prior — laughter, shouting, the scrape of chairs. He lingered a moment longer, jaw tight, before muttering a curse under his breath. He shoved his hands into his pockets before stalking toward the door, his signature scowl plastered onto his face with furrowed eyebrows.
“Yo! Bakugou!” Kirishima called from the group of male classmates lounging in casual wear amongst the cushioned seats. Half of them had terrible bed head due to the lazy weekend morning, sleep-tousled and defiant.
Katsuki didn’t answer, rolling his eyes defiantly in response.
“Hm? Oh, morning Kacchan!” Izuku’s warm voice spoke up, shooting sparks through Katsuki’s clenched veins. Crimson eyes scanned the room; Uraraka sat with Tsuyu on a nearby wooden table, engaged in conversation and giggling sheepishly.
Safe.
“Aren’t you sposed’ to be in bed still, deadweight?” Katsuki shot back with a soft click of his tongue, plopping down onto the couch beside Izuku, crowding his space. To the cursory eye, Katsuki’s actions were simply ‘Bakugou’s delinquent behaviour’. However, to Katsuki, it was a slick disguise that allowed him to be in the freckled boy’s space, to brush his muscular thighs against his — to just touch him without guilt.
“It’s almost 8AM?” Izuku questioned with a hangdog expression – a defiant pout tugging at the corner of his lips.
“Usually you sleep til’ 10.” Katsuki reflected with a raspy, disinterested tone.
“And I’m the stalker.” Izuku mumbled under his breath, the usual ‘coward’ Izuku had grown a backbone after finally becoming an adult, but Katsuki didn’t exactly hate that.
Katsuki’s eyes widened from his softened slits, his head cocked slightly to the right as Izuku sat beside him, egging Katsuki on with that stupid, cheeky pout of his. The corners of Katsuki’s lips fought to form a smirk, but before they could twitch any longer, the blond clicked his tongue and ripped his gaze away.
How did he do that? How did his stupid, smart-ass retorts and fucking pout make Katsuki want to melt into him.
“Pull out that notebook of yours then, smart-ass,” Katsuki argued with a petty tone, “Then, we’ll–”
“Deku!” That familiar, feminine voice cut his sentence short, the disgustingly sweet scent of candy filled the air, announcing her arrival.
“Good morning Uraraka!” Izuku beamed, his teasing eyes widening into pure excitement at the sight of her, dressed in a baggy sweater adorned with triangle stitching.
Uraraka was approaching, bouncing the balls of her feet up and down as she neared, shoulder length hair shifting side to side with the air of her movement.
Katsuki’s heart ached, an uncomfortable coil in the pit of his stomach tugging like a hanging thread pulled tight, that irritating itch demanding to be scratched. Not by the crescents of his nails, but by Izuku.
Katsuki’s body shot up, blowing air into Izuku’s revoltingly cheerful face with the urgency of his movement. Within half a second, Katsuki’s broad frame towered over Izuku, stealing confused hums from the ‘O’-shaped mouths of extra’s. Katsuki’s fist balled into the collar of Izuku’s baby blue t-shirt, crumpling the fabric with frustrated force as he yanked the slumped boy out of his seat. He’d deliberately blocked Uraraka’s view, reclaiming what’s his covertly, all while demanding superiority over Izuku.
“We’re training, clusterfuck.” Katsuki spat as his gaze flicked to the left, eyeing Uraraka without landing his gaze on her, though he could feel her exasperating presence deep in his bones. He flicked his burning, red eyes back onto Izuku, the order going left eye, right eye, Izuku’s lips, then back up to his main view.
Too close.
He’d meant to shove him away, to bark something sharp to mask the desperation in his offer to hang out, likely along the lines of, “You’ll be my punching bag.” But, Izuku’s blushed lips parted, trembling with some half-formed protest, and Katsuki’s gaze—
—slipped.
Izuku wouldn’t notice, neither would the shocked classmates rounded around him.
But Katsuki wanted Izuku to notice, and with that came the overwhelming shame, the delusion, and the fear.
He froze, uncomfortable heat spiking through his chest as a fuse lit in the wrong direction. His throat went dry when he reluctantly let go, fingers snapping open of the balled fabric like they’d been lit on fire. He took a step back, breath unsteady, rage trying to fill the space where confusion pressed in.
Fuck, Don’t make it weird.
The air between them felt too heavy, like it knew Katsuki’s inner conflict, his ambivalence of holding Izuku against him, filling the air with every breath ragged. Izuku blinked, wide-eyed and oblivious, but Katsuki could barely look at him anymore.
Filthy.
“Ground beta in 10, don’t fucking piss around either, Deku.” Katsuki spat with malice laced with affection, the boy’s raging heart that pounded against his ribcage betraying his aggression as he stormed through the sighing common room and toward the exit — fleeing the forbidden embodiment of love that had taken shape in a childhood ‘friend.’
“Same old Bakugou, hey?” Kirishima rubbed the back of his neck and sighed.