From the buzz of One for All lingering within him, to the sweetness of Katsuki’s mouth on his own, to the glimmering light of the breaking dawn flickering over his skin, everything is heavenly. Everything is pure and utter bliss. He’s done it. Somehow, he managed to harness One for All, escape his bindings, rescue Kacchan from his drop, and stop Takahashi from taking over the kingdom. Gods, it’s a bone-quaking, breath-stealing relief. Izuku is smiling so wide it makes it difficult to keep kissing his alpha.
“You’re amazing,” Katsuki murmurs against his mouth. Izuku’s giggle is half a sob, too overwhelmed to respond. “Gods, I’m so glad you’re alright.”
Izuku takes his face in his hands, whimpering and licking into his mouth insistently. He can’t help it; he just can’t get enough. Some secret part of him has wanted this for so long and now that he can have it, he just can’t resist. Thankfully Kacchan seems to be on the same page. Strong arms lock around his waist, teeth rake over Izuku’s bottom lip, and gods. Izuku is so lost to their kissing that he almost doesn’t notice the gentle tugging on his elbow.
“Your grace,” Mako says. There’s the wet smack of lips as he and Katsuki part and Izuku’s brow quirks as he turns toward her. She bows to him reverently. “Forgive me, you’re bleeding.”
What? Izuku glances down at the makeshift bandage on his arm and—oh. Right. Holy shit, he totally forgot about that. The torn silk is crusted with old blood and gnarly looking, and—Izuku winces. Ugh, now that he’s looking at it, pain rears its ugly head.
“Let us treat you, your grace!” another apothecary chimes in, hands clasped together in a pleading motion. A third apothecary comes and begins to push them forward.
Akaashi Keiji can’t be sure, but he thinks he might have a date tonight.
The uncertainty is killing him truthfully. He desperately hopes it is a date, and also doesn’t. And also does? Ugh, how is Akaashi supposed to know? At least if it isn’t a date, then Akaashi doesn’t have to worry about how his hair looks or if his teeth are white enough or if his breath smells nice.
But if it is.
Oh, but if it is.
Ice strikes through his veins cold and sharp. If it is , then Akaashi Keiji has somehow scored a date with Bokuto Koutarou, the man he’s been in love with since he was fourteen and the sole holder of his heart ever since. And Bokuto might want to date him . Which is… something. Akaashi is sick with riotous butterflies.
He arrives at the agreed-upon bar a half-hour early. He’s dressed nice, but not too nice. Shapely jeans, a subtly glittery top that compliments the deep color of his eyes, a smudge of shimmery eyeliner, and some of the fancy cologne he only busts out for special occasions. Because what could be a more special occasion than this? A maybe-date with the man he’s loved since he was a starry-eyed teen? Akaashi sits himself at the bar top and promptly orders two rounds of shots.
His neurotic mind runs over again the conversion that led to this perhaps-a-date situation.
You liked to watch him from afar, across the classroom napping during a lecture, vigorously taking notes, or flipping lazily through his book. You liked to watch him stand in front of the class and present, stuttering every couple of words, and watching his cheekbones bulge as he tried not to smile. It was at this time of day you found yourself walking to your literature class, staring at the back of his head as he turned into the classroom a few steps ahead of you. He took his seat in the corner and began to fish through his bag for his notebook as you walked in. Noting your presence emerge in his peripheral vision, he paused his search and slowly looked up.
As you make your way to the opposite side of the room, you could feel his dark eyes on you, and you were glad. After sitting down in your chair, you looked over and met his eyes. He smiled lightly and turned away, beginning to search again for his notebook.
“Just say ‘hi’ to me,” you mumbled under your breath. You turned your head and looked out the window.
‘Mark Lee,’ you furrowed your brows, ‘hmm’
Turning back towards him, you watched as he talked to the kid in front of him. You smiled softly as he laughed loudly and joked around with the boy. You almost inserted yourself as a third member of the conversation. You wanted to join in. You wanted him to talk to you.
‘Talk to me like that.’ you frowned and looked towards your desk, flipping open your notebook.
The class silenced themselves as your teacher, Mr. Darten, entered the room. He was young, fresh out of school, and full of passion for reading and writing. You liked him; he was a cool guy. Instead of his red mug he always had in hand, he carried a large box.
“Dude, what’s in that?” someone yelled. The class was too comfortable with him, but Mr. Darten never yelled or scolded them for their informal behavior.
Mr. Darten smiled as he spoke. “I dug this out from the storage room,” he said, placing the large box on the table in front of the class. After wiping off the tiny layer of dust he opened it and spoke again, “This marking period will be centered on William Shakespeare.”
He sat on the table next to the box and reached an arm inside. As he pulled out a Macbeth book, the class groaned. Nobody likes Shakespeare.
“Mr. Darten are you serious? The whole marking period?” a girl behind you whined.
“Yes. Your first major project will be a book analysis. You can pick any Shakespeare novel in this box. There are about three copies of each. Those who pick the same book will be partners. You guys will work together on this and in a couple weeks we’ll have presentations.”
Mr. Darten came around with the box, each kid digging around to find the right book for them. Luckily, you were first to pick.
‘I need something easy…’ you thought as you sifted through the dusty paperbacks, before pulling out a small book with a purple ripped cover.
“Ah, Romeo and Juliet. Kind of basic y/n. You better really wow me with this. No surface level stuff,” Mr. Darten laughed.
He was right. You couldn’t have picked a more basic Shakespeare novel, but you didn’t care. It was easy. You flipped through the pages while you thought about the project, completely forgetting there was another copy to the book in your hand.
“Hey y/n,” you looked up to the sound of your name and saw the book cover in a familiar boy’s grasp, “Mr. Darten said you picked this book too.”
Your eyes widened as you stared at the glossy purple page. You felt your ears heat up slightly and bit the inside of your cheek, concealing your smile - you wondered if he noticed.
‘Finally!’
“Oh, hi Mark! Uh yeah, I picked this too. I guess we’re both basic huh?” you laughed as he sat in the desk beside you.
“No, I think we just both hate Shakespeare.”
“I think you're right.” you looked at him and smiled. He chuckled lightly and quickly looked away, his face blushing gently.
You began to flip through the book calmly as the inside of you was swarmed with butterflies. Though you’d always watched him from afar, all you really wanted to do was talk to him, but you felt he never shared that desire. Little did you know how wrong you were.
As you discussed how you guys were going to tackle the book and assignment, he zoned out. Mark stared into your face as you talked, noting the birthmark on your face and the way your eyes looked when the light hit them. He watched you flip your hair and squint as you attempted to read the words ahead of you. Your voice was like peaceful music playing in the back of his brain; its notes and inflections were strong, but the words didn’t register. He was lost in your glowing abyss, a place he’d encountered from afar, but up close was overwhelming.
“Does that sound good?” you asked once finishing laying out your ideas, “Mark?”
Your voice calling his name ripped him from his trance and he jumped slightly, “Yeah,” he lied, “Sounds great.”
~
He left school clutching the glossy paperback in his hands. As his fingers flipped the old pages, he thought of you and your pretty face. His stomach was still swinging from class and the thought of working alongside you.
“Okay. You have to do a good job on this. You gotta impress her.” he said quietly as he pulled open his car door. He placed his backpack and the small book in the passenger's seat and sank down into the leather seat. Exhaling deeply, he pressed the key into the ignition.
“Alright William, help me out here” he said aloud to no one in particular, not even the writer resting peacefully underground.
~
“For the next week, begin class sitting next to your partner and start working.” Mr. Darten went on, “You don’t have to wait for me to begin class.” He then nodded his head and raised his red mug to his mouth, taking a long sip of his black coffee.
You watched as Mark picked up his bag and walked towards you, taking a seat in the empty desk beside yours. You liked the placement of your desk; it was right next to the large window out-looking the courtyard. You often got distracted, finding yourself lost in the swaying trees or trapped in the muggy air during rainy afternoons. The window let a certain type of light spill into the classroom, one that filled it fully, but never made you squint. It was warm; you liked it.
This light reached Mark’s face as you began to discuss the first part of the book. It caramelized his brown eyes and highlighted his dark hair.
“So they hate each other?” Mark asked, his eyes glued to the page ahead of him.
“No. Their families do. Romeo and Juliet don’t know each other yet.”
“Right and Romeo’s depressed about Rosaline.”
“Mhm.”
“And Juliet’s supposed to marry that Paris guy.”
“Right.”
“Well, obviously none of it’s gonna work out. It’s conveniently set up for these ‘forbidden,’” He made air quotes with his fingers, “lovers to meet. Sooo sly of you William.” Mark put the book down and looked at you to smile.
You laughed, “Mark that was lovely. Great analysis” you said mockingly.
“Thank you.” He looked down quickly after you two made eye contact, cautious not to lose himself in a daze again.
Slowly your conversation digressed from Capulets and Montagues to you and him. It was a normal conversation, something you had been waiting for. You rested your head on your hand as you two talked. You began to notice his eyes shifting, and voice faltering every couple minutes. It was almost as if he would forget what he was saying mid sentence and have to begin again. It reminded you of when he would present in front of the class, the random stutters and slight blushing.
‘Is he nervous? No. There’s no way.’
~
It was Sunday morning. The road was empty, the sky was clear, and the air was cool. You were driving in your car on the way to Sunbelts, a small breakfast bar in your town center, when you noticed a light flash on your dashboard.
Fuel Level Low
“Shit, I need gas.” you mumbled.
You started to drive in the direction towards the gas station and pulled in. Opening the car door, you stepped out and let the cool morning air hit your face. You enjoyed getting out early on Sundays; it was peaceful to have time to yourself. As you pressed the gas pump in the car you looked up, noticing two other cars join you. You watched an old man slowly get out of his vehicle and slide on his glasses as he looked at the pin pad on the gas pump. You leaned against your car before turning your head at the sight of something familiar. On the opposite side of the old man was a slim figure wearing black joggers and a loose black tee. He had on specs and his hair was a bit messy, but he looked cute.
“Mark Lee?” you said loudly. You knew it was him, it wasn’t even a question, you just wanted to startle him.
The old man placed the gas pump in his car as Mark looked up quickly. He looked panicked, but he covered it up with a smile.
“Oh, hey.” Mark said back.
“Your hair looks great,” you laughed, pulling the gas pump out of your car.
He furrowed his brows and lifted a hand to his hair, feeling it defying gravity.
“Oh my god,” he started laughing, “I didn’t even know it looked like this.”
“Wait, I’m coming over to you.” you said jumping into your car.
“Is that your girlfriend?” the old man asked Mark as you slowly pulled around the lot, intending to park next to his car.
“Oh uh, no. Hah, she’s… she’s not.” his face reddened at the question.
The old man smiled and chuckled softly, “Not yet.” He lowered himself back into his car after paying and drove off, leaving Mark with a wink and a pondering thought.
You poked your head out of the car window. “Come with me to Sunbelts.”
Mark smiled, he noticed your messy hair too and lack of makeup. He liked it. He thought you looked perfect. He wanted to tell you that, but he couldn’t, so he just stared.
“Okay, sure.”
“Follow me.”
He nodded and got into his car, placing the key in the ignition and letting it start. As you pulled out of the gas station, he followed, tapping his wheel nervously, and smiling. As he drove behind you, your voice saying his name replayed in his head, like the sweetest song he’s ever heard. Your voice elicited some response within him, one of excitement, desire, and anxiety; it made his stomach burn and heart race. It was a feeling of discomfort, but encased in joy or dipped in gold rather. The feuding feelings coexisted.
‘Mark Lee?’
There was that song again. He exhaled and smiled again. Ah, how lovely.
If someone says it’s raining and another person says it’s dry, it’s not your job to quote them both. Your job is to look out the [*] window and find out which is true.
He can’t stop thinking about it. The mesh of their mouths, the soft rhythm of Katsuki’s breathing, the grip of his hands. It’s torturous. It’s the last thing he thinks about before drifting off to sleep, the first thing on his mind when he wakes up, and when he dreams, he dreams of Katsuki’s lips burning against his own.
It makes concentrating on the mission nearly impossible.
“Shit,” Katsuki says, the night after Hawks had finally gotten Juggernaut's case file sent over to them. He’s leaned back in his desk chair with a tablet held close to his face. “Juggernaut also runs a club. Not even three blocks away.”
Izuku has been staring at the printed-out version of the file while reclined on the couch, unable to actually read the words swirling before him. He is too busy replaying the way Katsuki had nibbled on his jawline like it gave him something to live for. How he can still feel where Katsuki had touched him like sparkling echoes of the real thing. But at Katsuki’s interjection, he jolts, nearly sending the papers flying out of his hands.
“Ah, oh—” He shakes himself out of it quickly. Goddamn it focus. His brows furrow into a frown. “That can’t be a coincidence.”
All night he tosses and turns. He rearranges his nest this way and that. He brews chamomile tea, puts lavender oil in a soothing bath, and counts about a thousand sheep, but it’s no use. His mind won’t stop whirling, won’t stop replaying the week’s events now that his heat is over and his head is clear.
Katsuki had been… sweet. Beyond sweet, he’d been everything Izuku didn’t know he needed. From the way he’d held him, to the chaste kisses left on his forehead and cheeks, to the dozens of scented items and how diligently he guarded his tent all five days, Katsuki had been nothing less than a perfect gentleman.
Godstars, it makes Izuku’s heart flutter. Katsuki hadn’t just been kind, he’d been thoughtful. Attentive, and tender, and doting without crossing the line. Izuku’s toes curl thinking back on everything: the way Katsuki’s hot, solid body felt pressed against his own, how tantalizing the press of his lips were, how Katsuki’s desire was so evident, but so restrained. Any other alpha would have taken their claimed omega without question, and yet Katsuki made resisting Izuku look almost effortless.
“I’m never gonna hurt you,” Katsuki had said. “Ever. You got that?”
Izuku rolls over in his nest, biting back a happy omegan trill at the memory. And Katsuki had meant it, hadn’t he? He’d proven it; he’d resisted nature and his own biology just to make Izuku feel safe.
Katsuki will always remember the moment he set eyes on Izuku.
He was… perfect. Wild-eyed, his omegan fangs bared and make-shift weapon held high. He was strikingly beautiful. All soft emerald curls and creamy, freckled skin. Flushed with adrenaline and radiating danger as he stood between Katsuki and the pup, he was gorgeous, and ferocious, and fought like hell. Even when he was pinned, his omega spat in his face and defied him. Katsuki was enamored immediately.
But now his omega is testing his patience.
“He’s impossible,” Katsuki rages. “He doesn’t like anything!”
He paces around the command tent while Jirou, Mina, Kaminari, and Kirishima look on sympathetically. The command tent is the largest of the thousands his people carry along with them. Nearly large enough to house the great elephants from the Sunset Isles, it’s laden with finely woven rugs, pillows, and ornate cushions. A packnest for his packmates, his chosen Fang-riders. Currently, his Fang-riders are lounging around the nest as Katsuki paces around the large, circular table in the center used for counsel meetings.
“He has to like something,” Jirou drawls. She’s reclined out on one of the larger cushions, playing with one dangling earring lazily.
“Yeah!” Mina chimes in. Her curls spring as she sits up, eyes brightening. “Everyone likes something!”
“Oi, quit gettin’ ahead!” Katsuki snarls at him as they race toward their usual grove for sparring practice. Izuku only laughs.
“Quit being so slow!” he taunts and the king’s growl makes the back of his neck prickle pleasantly. Izuku leaps over a stream with impressive grace and heavy footfalls tell him that Katsuki is right on his heels.
“Dumbass,” Katsuki curses. They turn this way and that, weaving through the trees with practiced ease. Izuku reaches up, bending back a branch so it whips in Katsuki’s face. He doesn’t need to look back to know Katsuki ducked just in time. “Oi, Deku what the fuck?”
Izuku only cackles evilly. Now that the Fang-riders have taught Izuku how easy it is to tease Katsuki, he just can’t help himself. He shoots Katsuki a grin over his shoulder.
“Deal with it, alpha,” he goads, and Katsuki chokes, nearly tripping on a gnarled root in their path.
“Asshole,” Katsuki snarls, and Izuku’s laughter is pure delight.
Izuku ends up breaching the clearing first and he whoops in victory, punching the air with both fists. Katsuki comes charging after him with a snarl.
“You’re a fuckin’ cheater!” he snaps and Izuku huffs, putting his hands on his hips.
“You’re the one who said a real fighter takes every advantage,” Izuku shoots back and Katsuki growls in frustration.
“You little shit.”
And then Katsuki is lunging at him and Izuku is laughing as they roll through the snow. Hands find hands, legs tangle, chest presses against chest. Izuku’s head spins as he feels the hot puff of Katsuki’s breath on his throat, a tiny trill escaping him against his will.
