The door clicked shut, sealing them in the familiar dark of Izuku’s childhood room. The scent of Katsuki—sweat, guilt, and that dark cologne—filled the space, heavier than the silence. Izuku’s hands fisted in his uncle’s shirt again, not in desperation, but in possession. His knuckles were white against the black cotton.
Katsuki didn’t move. He stood, a solid wall of heat in the shadows, his breath a ragged thing against Izuku’s temple. “Well?” he finally ground out, the word scraped raw. “Go on. Say it.”
“Say what?” Izuku’s voice was quiet, muffled against Katsuki’s chest.
“That I ruined you.” Katsuki’s hand came up, not to push him away, but to grip the back of Izuku’s neck. His thumb pressed into the knob of his spine. “That I’m a fucking sickness. That’s what they all think. They’re right.”
Izuku pulled back just enough to look up into Katsuki’s shadowed face. His voice was quiet, but it didn’t waver. “You’re not a sickness. You’re mine.”
Katsuki’s breath hitched. A full-body flinch. “Don’t.”
“It’s the truth.” Izuku’s thumbs stroked over the hard plane of Katsuki’s stomach, feeling the muscles jump. “You’re mine. I’m yours.”
“We’re not ruined,” Izuku said, his voice steady in the dark. He kept his hands flat on Katsuki’s trembling stomach. “We just love each other. They’ll have to learn to accept that. They don’t have to like it, but they have to accept it.”
Katsuki let out a shattered sound, half-laugh, half-sob. “You really believe that, nerd?”
“It’s the only thing I do believe right now.” Izuku rose onto his toes and pressed his lips to Katsuki’s. It wasn’t hungry or desperate. It was slow. A seal. A promise. He felt Katsuki’s mouth soften under his, the fight bleeding out of him.
“I love you,” Izuku whispered against his lips. “Say it.”
Katsuki’s arms tightened around him, crushing him close. His voice was a wreck. “I love you. God, I love you. It’s the worst thing I’ve ever done.”
“It’s the best thing,” Izuku corrected softly. He slid his hands up Katsuki’s bare back, feeling the hard ridges of muscle, the scar from some long-ago accident. He committed the landscape of him to memory. “The only real thing.”
Katsuki buried his face in Izuku’s hair, his breath hot and damp. “They’ll never see it that way.”
“I don’t care.” Izuku pulled back, his green eyes catching the faint streetlight glow. They were fierce. “Do you? Do you care more about what they see than what we are?”
For a long moment, Katsuki just looked at him. His crimson eyes searched Izuku’s face, tracing every freckle. His thumb came up to brush Izuku’s swollen lower lip. “No,” he breathed, the word final. “Fuck no.”
This kiss was different. It was acceptance. Katsuki’s mouth moved over his with a devastating tenderness, his tongue tracing the seam of Izuku’s lips until they opened. The taste was familiar now—spearmint toothpaste and something uniquely, inherently Katsuki. Izuku sank into it, letting the world outside the door dissolve.
Katsuki’s hands slid down, palming the swell of Izuku’s ass through his jeans, pulling their hips flush. The hard line of Katsuki’s cock, still trapped in his own pants, pressed insistently against Izuku’s stomach. Izuku gasped into the kiss, his own body responding instantly, a slick heat gathering between his legs.
“I can feel you,” Katsuki murmured, rocking against him once, a slow, deliberate grind. “Getting wet for me already.”
“Always for you,” Izuku admitted, his voice shaking. He fumbled against his waistband of his sweats with his feverish fingers. “Only for you.”
Izuku sank to his knees on the worn floorboards, his hands already pulling down his sweats. He looked up, his green eyes huge in the streetlamp’s glow. “I need it,” he said, his voice stripped bare. “I need my uncle’s cock.”
Katsuki made a wounded sound, his hands coming to cradle Izuku’s face. His thumbs stroked over the freckled cheeks. “Fuck, Izuku.”
“Don’t,” Izuku whispered. The thick shape of Katsuki’s erection strained against his boxers. “Don’t tell me no. Not now.”
“Wasn’t gonna.” Katsuki’s voice was gravel. He helped shove his sweats and boxers down his thighs, his cock springing free. It was thick and heavy, uncut and already leaking at the tip, a dark ruddy promise in the dim light.
Izuku didn’t hesitate. He leaned forward, his pink, shiny lips parting, and ran them slowly up the length of the heated underside. He tasted salt and musk and pure Katsuki. A shiver wracked his own body, his small, hairless pussy clenching empty and wet inside his sweats.
“Look at you,” Katsuki breathed, his fingers tangling in the dark green curls. He didn’t push. He just held. “On your knees where you belong.”
“I belong right here,” Izuku agreed, his breath puffing against the wet trail he’d left. He flicked his tongue over the flushed head, catching the bead of pre-come. He moaned at the taste, deep and greedy. “Only here.”
He took the head into his mouth, letting his tongue swirl beneath the foreskin. He hollowed his cheeks and sank down, taking him deeper, his own throat relaxing in a practiced, eager way. His nose pressed into the coarse blond hair at the base.
Katsuki’s hips jerked. A tiny, aborted thrust. His grip tightened in Izuku’s hair. “God… fuck. So good. Your mouth is always so fucking good, nerd.”
Izuku pulled off with a wet pop, a string of saliva connecting his lips to the glistening crown. He was panting, his own need a throbbing, slick ache. “I want to taste you. All of you. I want you to come down my throat.”
“You’ll get what I give you,” Katsuki murmured, but it lacked its old bite. It was a plea wrapped in a command. He guided Izuku’s head back, the broad tip pressing against his lips once more. “Now suck. Like you mean it.”
Izuku obeyed, taking him deep again, his jaw stretching wide. He set a slow, relentless rhythm, one hand coming up to cradle the heavy weight of Katsuki’s balls. The other hand shoved frantically into his own sweats, his fingers finding his soaked, swollen clit. He moaned around the cock in his mouth, the vibration pulling a ragged groan from Katsuki.
“That’s it,” Katsuki chanted, his thighs beginning to tremble. “Use your tongue. Yeah. Just like that. Fuck, you were made for this.”
Izuku’s eyes fluttered shut, tears of overwhelm and bliss gathering in his lashes. The room smelled of them—of sex and sweat and this inevitable ruin. He sucked harder, his fingers working in frantic circles on himself, the coil in his gut winding impossibly tight. He was already close, just from this, just from serving him.
Katsuki’s breathing turned to sharp, punched-out gasps. “Izuku… I’m gonna—”
Izuku nodded, desperate, taking him as deep as he could. He wanted the burn. The claim.
The first pulse hit the back of his throat, hot and bitter. Izuku swallowed greedily, his own body convulsing in a silent, shaking climax. His pussy clenched around nothing, a fountain of release soaking his sweatpants as he sucked Katsuki through every last shuddering spasm, milking him dry until he was soft and sensitive in his mouth.
He finally pulled off, resting his forehead against Katsuki’s trembling stomach. They were both wrecked, panting in the dark.
Katsuki slowly, carefully, sank to his own knees. He gathered Izuku into his arms, ignoring the sticky wetness between them. He kissed his temple, his cheek, his salt-stained lips. “My nerd,” he whispered, the words shattered with awe. “My goddamn ruin.”
Katsuki’s arms, still trembling from his climax, tightened around Izuku’s back. He shifted his weight, planting one foot firmly on the floorboards before rising in a single, powerful motion, lifting Izuku with him as if he weighed nothing.
“Uncle Kacchan,” Izuku gasped, his legs instinctively wrapping around Katsuki’s waist, his arms locking around his neck.
“Shut up,” Katsuki murmured into his hair, his voice wrecked and tender. He carried him the few steps to the bed, lowering them both onto the familiar quilt in a tangle of spent limbs. Izuku landed on his back, Katsuki half covering him, their sticky sweats still tangled around their thighs.
For a long minute, they just breathed. The streetlamp light cut a pale blade across Katsuki’s shoulders, illuminating the sweat drying on his skin. Izuku traced the line of it with a fingertip.
“We’re a mess,” Izuku whispered, his voice hushed in the quiet room.
“Yeah.” Katsuki’s hand slid between them, his rough fingers finding the wet patch soaking the front of Izuku’s sweats. He pressed his palm there, a firm, possessive heat. “My mess.”
Izuku’s hips jerked at the contact, a fresh, oversensitive spark shooting through him. “Kacchan…”
“I know.” Katsuki pushed himself up on one elbow, looking down at him. His crimson eyes were dark, unguarded. “Let me clean you up.”
It wasn’t a question. He hooked his fingers into the waistband of Izuku’s sweats and underwear, peeling the soaked fabric down his thighs and off completely, tossing them to the floor. The cool air hit Izuku’s wet skin, making him shiver. Katsuki’s gaze was a physical weight, traveling over his small, hairless pussy, still glistening and swollen from his own climax.
“Look at you,” Katsuki breathed, almost reverent. He leaned down, his breath hot, and pressed a slow, open-mouthed kiss to the inside of Izuku’s thigh. “Fountain’s still leaking, nerd.”
Izuku whimpered, his head falling back against the pillow. “It’s your fault.”
“Damn right it is.” Katsuki kissed a path upward, his tongue dipping briefly into the crease of his thigh.
Katsuki’s tongue licked a slow, firm stripe through Izuku’s wetness, from his entrance to his swollen clit.
Izuku cried out, a sharp, broken sound. His hips bucked off the mattress. “Oh god.”
“Taste like mine,” Katsuki growled against his skin, his breath hot. He didn’t dive back in. He held Izuku’s thighs apart, looking. “All slick and fucked out from my cum in your mouth.”
“Kacchan, please—”
“Please what?” Katsuki’s thumbs pressed into the soft flesh of Izuku’s inner thighs, spreading him wider. “Use your words, nerd.”
“Your mouth,” Izuku begged, his voice trembling. He fisted the quilt beneath him. “I need your mouth. On me. Now.”
Katsuki made a low, approving noise. Then he leaned in and sealed his mouth over Izuku’s entire pussy.
The sensation was devastating. Hot, wet, overwhelming pressure. Katsuki’s tongue was broad and relentless, lapping at his folds before zeroing in on his clit, sucking it gently between his lips.
“Yes,” Izuku sobbed, his back arching. “Right there, yes—”
Katsuki’s hands slid under Izuku’s ass, lifting him, angling him for a deeper feast. He ate him with a starving, single-minded focus, his tongue plunging inside, then circling out to flick and suck. The wet, filthy sounds filled the dark room.
“You’re dripping,” Katsuki muttered, pulling back just enough to speak, his lips shining. “Gushing for me. Every fucking time.”
“Only for you,” Izuku gasped, tears spilling from the corners of his eyes. “I can’t— I can’t help it, it’s just you—”
Katsuki answered by sinking two thick fingers into him, curling them up. Izuku screamed, his body bowing off the bed. “There! Uncle Kacchan, right there!”
“Gonna make you squirt all over my face,” Katsuki promised, his voice muffled against him. He pistoned his fingers, his mouth sucking hard on Izuku’s clit. “Gonna drink every drop. My ruin. My good boy.”
The coil in Izuku’s gut snapped. The orgasm hit him like a seizure, a blinding white wave. He shook apart, a fountain of release soaking Katsuki’s chin, his neck, the sheets beneath them. He couldn’t stop. It kept pulsing out of him in hot, helpless gushes as Katsuki worked him through it, gentling his mouth but never stopping.
When the last tremor subsided, Izuku went boneless, gasping for air. Katsuki finally lifted his head, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He looked wrecked, triumphant. Possessive.
“See?” Katsuki’s voice was raw. He crawled up Izuku’s body, caging him with his arms. “Not ruined. Made. You were made for this. For me.”
Izuku reached up, touching Katsuki’s wet chin. He brought his fingers to his own mouth, tasting them. “For you,” he whispered, agreeing. He pulled Katsuki down into a deep, messy kiss, sharing the taste of himself.
The door clicked open, flooding the dark room with harsh hallway light. Two silhouettes filled the doorway before stepping in and shutting it firmly behind them.
“For fuck’s sake,” Hitoshi’s dry, exhausted voice cut through the humid air. “Are you two actually five?”
Izuku jolted, scrambling to pull the twisted quilt over their nakedness. Katsuki didn’t move, just turned his head to them, his arm tightening around Izuku’s waist in a blatant, unapologetic claim.
Shota Aizawa leaned against the closed door, pinching the bridge of his nose. “The entire house heard. The crying, the shouting, the… subsequent activities. We gave you privacy to talk. Not to redecorate the room in bodily fluids.”
“We were talking,” Katsuki growled, his voice still hoarse. “This is part of the conversation.”
“It’s a very loud part,” Hitoshi said, flicking on Izuku’s desk lamp. The soft light illuminated the wreckage: discarded clothes, the damp patch on the sheets, Katsuki’s come still glistening on Izuku’s chin. Hitoshi’s purple eyes swept over them, unimpressed. “We’ve known for years how you two felt about each other.”
“Years?” Izuku’s voice was small, muffled against Katsuki’s chest. He didn’t pull the quilt higher, just let it rest at his waist, his own nakedness a secondary concern to the confession hanging in the air.
“Since you were seventeen,” Shota confirmed, his arms crossed. His dark eyes held no judgment, just weary fact. “The way you looked at him. The way he watched you when he thought no one was looking. It wasn’t hard to put together.”
“And you didn’t stop it?” Katsuki’s arm was iron around Izuku, but his voice cracked.
Hitoshi let out a short, humorless laugh. “And do what, exactly? Chain you in the basement? You’re a grown man, Katsuki. A fucking idiot, but a grown one. We hoped it was a crush you’d outgrow. Then we hoped the distance of college would dull it. Obviously,” he said, gesturing at the bed, “we hoped wrong.”
“So what now?” Izuku asked. He found Katsuki’s hand under the quilt and laced their fingers together, a defiant anchor. “You’re going to tell us to stop?”
“Telling you to stop clearly doesn’t work,” Shota sighed. “You just shout your love declarations louder and fuck more enthusiastically. The cat is not only out of the bag, it’s shredded the bag, set it on fire, and is now yowling on the roof.”
“Then what’s the point of this?” Katsuki demanded, his defensiveness a raw edge. “Come to rub our noses in it?”
“The point,” Hitoshi said, his purple gaze sharpening, “is that the family isn’t calling the cops. They’re not throwing you out tonight. Eijiro is at a hotel. Shoto is with Eijiro. The dust is settling into something… ugly, but stable. They’ve accepted that forcibly separating you two might do more damage than letting this,” he waved a hand again, “run its course.”
“Run its course,” Katsuki repeated, the words hollow.
“You think this is a phase?” Izuku sat up a little, the quilt falling to his lap. The streetlamp light caught the tear-tracks on his cheeks, the set of his jaw. “It’s not. This is it.”
“We know,” Shota said quietly. “That’s what we’re saying. We know. And we’re not the only ones. The family is choosing, right now, to tolerate what they cannot understand, because the alternative is losing both of you.”
The silence that followed was thick, swollen with the implication. It wasn’t blessing. It was a grim, practical ceasefire.
Katsuki’s breathing hitched. He bent his head, his forehead pressing into Izuku’s temple. A shudder ran through his big frame. It wasn’t a sob. It was the collapse of a decade of paranoia, leaving something terrifyingly fragile in its place.
“So we just… live?” Izuku whispered, looking from Shota to Hitoshi.
“You just deal with the consequences you’ve made,” Hitoshi corrected, but his tone had lost its edge. He sounded tired. “You’ve burned your bridges with Shoto and Eijiro. You’ve traumatized your parents. Family dinners will be a warzone for the foreseeable future. That’s your life now. If you want it to be a life together, you have to build it in the wreckage. Carefully.”
Shota pushed off the door. “Clean up. Get some sleep. The talking isn’t over, but it’s over for tonight.” He looked at Katsuki, a long, unreadable look. “Don’t make us regret the quiet.”
They left, shutting the door with a softer click than before. The darkness felt different. Not hiding them. Holding them.
Katsuki didn’t move for a full minute. Then he slowly, carefully, laid Izuku back down onto the damp sheets. He didn’t reach for him. He just looked at him, his red eyes scanning every freckle, every glisten of sweat and spend on his skin, as if memorizing the contours of their ruin.
“They know,” Katsuki said, the words a rough scrape.
“They’ve always known,” Izuku corrected softly. He reached up, touching Katsuki’s cheek. “We weren't the only ones pretending.”
Katsuki turned his face into the touch, his eyes closing. A single, hot tear tracked through the mess on his cheek, cutting a clean line. Izuku caught it with his thumb.
“I’m sorry,” Katsuki breathed.
“Don’t,” Izuku said, pulling him down. He wrapped his arms around Katsuki’s neck, his legs around his waist, holding on with his whole body. “Don’t be sorry here. This is the only place we don’t have to be sorry.”
Katsuki buried his face in the crook of Izuku’s neck. His shoulders shook, once, twice, a silent quake of relief and grief. Then he stilled. His arms came around Izuku, crushing him close, their hearts hammering against each other in the dark.
They were seen. They were known. And they were, against all odds, still here.