Chapter Text
Katsuki felt bad about all the keyboards he’d broken back at the Nest. Back then, the math had been simple, logical. Broken keyboard plus lots of hero commission money from kicking bad guys’ asses equaled a new keyboard. End of story. Now that he owned his own agency, he understood that the words “simple” and “logical” didn’t exist in bureaucracy.
Owning an agency sucked ass.
Day in and day out, Katsuki found himself stuck at his desk filling out forms or yelling at someone, sometimes in person, sometimes over the phone. He’d been making plans for his agency for six months and he still felt like he was “planning for” his agency six months after their grand opening. They didn’t tell him all this shit he’d have to learn!
He knew how to fill out reports. How to handle the media. How to set up collaborations. Check, check, check. He’d figured out what forms, insurance, and accreditation he needed. Hell, he’d gotten his mother—his fucking mother —to sit down with him one day and teach him how to use the bookkeeping and employee management software she used for the clothing business she ran with his dad.
And still everyday was another mini fire to put out (only sometimes literally). If Katsuki walked into his office and saw a big pile of shit on his desk, he’d be less pissed than if he walked in and saw a new email flagged “HIGH IMPORTANCE” in his inbox.
The hero commission and their human resources management team used the high importance flag liberally. Maybe one of his heroes didn’t go to their monthly health check-ups. Maybe a side-kick went over the maximum overtime hours allotment. Maybe Katsuki forgot to sign someone’s report. Or, maybe, there was a huge bust of ChromoChangers happening tomorrow night and they needed all hands on deck. There was no way for Katsuki to know which it was until he clicked on the encrypted messages.
Six months in, and now Katsuki understood. A broken keyboard equaled an “update to the budget” form, complete with three of Katsuki’s initials, one signature, and an explanation of what the funds were going toward exactly and how that item would “improve” their ability to complete their hero work. Holy hell, one keyboard was not worth that much effort.
Katsuki had spent nearly every day of the last six months at his agency. His eyes burned from staring at the computer screen. His wrists and shoulders hurt worse from the repetitive typing than they ever hurt from his explosions. His throat went hoarse from yelling at the asshole media and at the dumbasses that believed in him enough to accept an offer of employment at his agency in its infancy.
And Katsuki wouldn’t trade it for anything.
Not for anyone.
A sudden knock hardly preceded the slamming of his office door as it swung open. The intruder stole his attention for a moment before Katsuki quickly buried his head behind his computer screen. Shit. Saiko.
Saiko was worse than a hundred red folders and a steaming pile of shit on his desk.
“We’re over budget,” the Beta stated simply as seated herself with the utmost care in one of the chairs in front of him. Katsuki barely glanced up at her, perched on the edge of her seat like it was filthy, before he had to look away.
Katsuki hadn’t known shit about Saiko before he hired her. Yaoyorozu threw her name out immediately when he said he needed someone to run the day-to-day management of his new agency after quickly realizing all the fucking red-tape he would have to deal with.
On paper, Saiko seemed great. Her IQ quirk made her a natural-born leader and highly adaptable. He was fucking surprised that she was not only available, but that she accepted his offer and the meager salary he could currently afford.
Then he met the bitch.
Saiko sipped what Katsuki knew to be tea from one of her many porcelain teacups she kept locked away in a special cabinet she brought from home. “We should fire a minimum of two side-kicks.
“Or I could fire your ass.”
“Certainly, if you would like to see this place go up in smoke.” Saiko sighed. From between her thin legs, she produced two large accordion binders on his desk. “I anticipated you not wishing to let anyone go, therefore I’ve drafted two separate plans for cutting costs in other areas of the agency. ...But I highly suggest we fire someone.”
“Get the fuck out of my office.”
With a huff, Saiko stood. Then she paused.
“Has anyone told you that you have a bad attitude?”
Katsuki let out a bark of a laugh. “Who fucking hasn’t?”
She waved her hand in the air. “Not your hero persona or your temperament,” she said with a sneer. “Rather, I mean that your posturing doesn’t suit you in this role.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
The Beta took another sip of tea before turning to leave.
“You espouse this role of an agency head, directly after turning down the same exact position at a highly esteemed and established agency. You explicate that you want to ‘start something of your own.’ While our meetings tend to be aggravating in the best of circumstances, you obviously put the well-being of the heroes in the agency over the agency’s own health.”
“And?”
“And yet, you don’t speak to anyone outside of reports.”
An invisible wave of discomfort swallowed Katsuki as her words seeped into his skin.
When Saiko joined the agency, she’d made her intentions clear the minute she began. “I want to work on my EQ. I’ve been told by many a supervisor that this is my Achilles’ heel and I’d like to correct this.”
“Low emotional capacity,” Katsuki’s ass. Saiko may have been blunt, but she was always on point when it came to understanding others’ motivations and inner turmoil.
And Katsuki hated her for it.
“Just get the fuck out.”
Without another word, Saiko did, leaving Katsuki to sit in his silent office. Alone. With his dumb fucking thoughts.
Katsuki turned on the nearby television to the news, allowing white noise to fill the room.
Of course, the Beta wasn’t wrong. Katsuki kept all his interactions with his employees to a minimum. After...after Chicago, the Alpha learned he couldn’t let his guard down so easily. He’d made himself too vulnerable over the last year and now had the emotional scars to show for it.
That was a mistake Katsuki wouldn’t repeat. He’d hired his employees based on skill alone, turning down several of his friends' offers to join him even if it meant taking a huge pay cut. Luckily, Katsuki had staved them off with the promise that they could join when the agency could pay them what they were worth.
In reality, he didn’t want them here.
He didn’t want Shitty Hair and Raccoon eyes fretting over his health or Scotch Tape and Electrodolt making eyes at each across the room. He didn’t want their attention. He didn’t want their questions. Katsuki wanted to be alone. And alone he was.
“Did ya read itttt?”
Katsuki nearly blew Camie’s head off with an explosion to the face. “What the fuck!”
The Omega waddled backwards on her knees to put a small amount of space between the two of them but didn’t comment on why she’d waltzed in and put herself right at Katsuki’s elbow without announcing her presence. Katsuki hadn't been that deep in thought for him not to have noticed her arrival. Camie's sneaking skills were reaching concerningly levels of perfection.
“Well, have you?”
Before Katsuki could actually answer, Camie stood up to her feet with a long sigh. She jumped up to sit on his desk and began swinging her feet. “I’ll take that as a no then.”
“Don’t you get fucking tired of asking?” Katsuki snarled as he shoved her off her desk.
Somehow, Katsuki had managed to get out of letting any of his friends join his new agency.
He should have fought harder to make sure Camie hadn’t either.
“Uh, no. The suspense is KILLING me, Kats. Kill. Ing. Me. What did Izuku’s text say?”
Katsuki didn’t answer her. He was used to this dance. Every day after her patrols, Camie would sneak her way into his office and beg him to read that damn fucking text. She’d been there when he’d received it, after all. She’d been decent enough to not ask about it on that long flight home, nor did she share what had happened with anyone else they knew. That did nothing to curb her obnoxious need to know the “tea.”
“Didn’t read it, so how the fuck would I know?”
“I hear you,” the Beta said with her hands out in front of her as if she were placating a small child. “So, what if, say, I read the text for you, and then you would never have—”
“No.”
“Alright, but you don’t know what you’re missing! What if he said he would be late? Or that he’d come later? Maybe if you just glance at—”
“No.”
“Kats!” Camie stomped her feet. Apparently she was now the small child. “Read it!”
After months of hearing those very same words, something finally cracked. Katsuki sprung from his chair, sending it flying backward where it hit the office wall with a smack.
“I already did, all right?!! I already read the fucking text! I read the damn thing the moment we got back, and you want to know what it said, hah? You want to know what the fucking thing said?” Katsuki pulled his cellphone out of his pocket and slammed it on the desk in front of him. Despite not turning on the screen, he recited the text word for word.
“‘I’m sorry, I can’t come with you, Kacchan. I don’t know if this is what I want.’ That’s it! That’s all he fucking said! He wasn’t coming because he didn’t know if he wanted to fucking be with me. After everything he said, after everything I fucking said, he didn’t—”
Katsuki couldn’t finish. He couldn’t finish because he couldn’t swallow the all-consuming sense of rejection he’d failed to bury for six whole months.
He was angry, so fucking angry. Angry at Camie for pushing and pushing. Angry at Deku for leading him on yet again, only to leave him in a completely different way. But most of all, Katsuki was angry at himself for letting it happen. And for caring so much.
“Ouch,” Camie eventually said after a long delay.
For some reason, that one word helped Katsuki swallow again. Camie was annoying, for sure, but she had and probably always would be more in-tune with the feelings of those around her than she let on. She didn’t fucking apologize or pity him after being abandoned a second time. She didn’t bad-mouth Deku or even Katsuki for not telling her all this time. All she said was, “ouch.”
When shit got real, Camie always knew the right thing to say.
Katsuki’s chest began to rise and fall more steadily now. He hadn’t realized that in addition to being speechless, he’d become breathless after all his yelling. The Alpha half-expected to feel exhausted, but he felt oddly neutral. Not numb, per se. For the first time since he’d read that message, rather he felt indifferent
With a sigh, Katsuki turned to grab his chair and dragged it toward him. He took a seat slowly as he growled, “Well, you got what you wanted. You can leave now.”
Camie pouted, the edges of her plump lips pulled down in a frown. “You’re already trying to get rid of me?”
“I have a fucking agency to run. Unless you have something to say about your patrol, I’ve got other shit to do.”
“Ah, right, about that.” Camie popped her lips and pointed up to the television screen.
As if perfectly timed, Camie’s face filled the screen. She’d changed her hero outfit since joining the new agency. Her signature black cat-suit remained intact, mostly. It now was open from shoulder to shoulder. She’d ditched her black cap and the large collar she used to wear, and now wore her longer fawn colored hair in a high ponytail. These changes together meant that her entire neck, shoulders, and somehow even more cleavage was showing.
Needless to say, reporters always picked Camie to speak with, no matter who defeated the villain in question.
“Glamour, what can you tell me about this recent attack?” The closest reporter with tentacles for arms reached over the caution tape and shoved a microphone in Camie’s face.
Camie didn’t so much as flinch, even when the microphone nearly hit her in the eye. With a smile, she dutifully responded, “The Dynamight Agency’s own side-kick Spike was able to take out the villain in just one volley! But then again, she’s always here to serve.”
“Yes, but about the villain—”
“Look, I love gossip as much as the next girl, but I can’t tell you what I don’t know, silly!” Camie laughed the question off, but her smile seemed strained. The reporter still hadn’t caught her gist.
“Was it another case of a ChromoChanger abuser?” The reporter pulled back their mic to speak directly to the camera. “That would be the fifth case this month. After what was dubbed as the Chicago Incident caught world-wide attention, the street drug ChromoChanger, often referred to as CC’s, have only become more commonplace here in Japan and across the world. These drugs allow any villain to produce pheromones of another Secondary Gender.
“Some companies have begun to produce special masks that filter pheromones from the air to protect oneself. Others are convinced that these drugs do not exist and are a government conspiracy to stop the recent legislation that seeks to mandate all Omega wear collars for their own protection as numbers of Claim-based and Order-based crimes continue to increase especially among Omegan heroes—”
“Our own protection?” Camie appeared again in frame, having leaned over the reporter’s shoulder. “Conspiracy theories?”
The camera zoomed out showing Camie in her entirety as she folded her arms across her breast. She was still smiling but her blue eyes were cold as ice.
Well, fuck. Katsuki recognized that look. He tilted his head away from the screen to send Camie a glare.
“Camie…”
The Omega began to whistle to the ceiling. But Camera Camie continued to speak.
After she grabbed the microphone right out of the man’s tentacle.
“Collars, huh? What’s next? You gonna make us all be on suppressants? Gonna ban us from being heroes at all? Bet ya think we all belong at home, taking care of the pups like good bitches. NEWS FLASH. I may be a bitch, but I’m also a Hero. An Omegan Hero. How ‘bout instead of spreading these conspiracy theories by giving them air time, you thank us heroes who are working day and night to get these drugs off the street? And, I don’t know, blame those Alpha dicks who are attacking innocent bystanders. Camie out!”
On national television, Camie dropped the reporter’s microphone and the man couldn’t catch it before it hit the ground. With a kiss to the camera, Camie turned away as cameras flashed in every direction.
Well that was going to make tomorrow's front cover. Which also meant the hero commission would be sending the agency a sanction for ‘inappropriate heroic behavior’.
Again.
Saiko was going to lose her shit when she saw the fine.
As if reading his mind, Camie pressed her hands together in front of her as if in prayer and bowed her head. “Sorry, Beau. But—”
“Ah, shut it,” Katsuki growled with a wave of his hand. “I would have said the same thing.”
Camie smiled. “That’s why we don’t let you outside. No cap, when was the last time you went home and stayed home? Actually, when was the last time you rubbed one out?”
“Fuck you. I’ll go home when you leave me the fuck alone.”
“Bet.”
Camie turned on her heels and left the office. Only to pop her head back into the doorway a few seconds later.
“No, but seriously. Go home. I’ll make sure someone fills out the rest of today’s paperwork. It’s basically your bedtime anyway. ‘S nearly sundown.”
She dodged the stapler chucked her way before closing the office door and disappearing for real.
Katsuki rubbed his palms against his pants legs then rubbed his eyes in an attempt to stop the blossoming migraine. Except his attempts were futile as, when he lowered his hands, the news was once again discussing the validity of gender-based legislation and whether more precautions should be put in place to keep villains and heroes alike in check.
He turned the shit off as he stood up.
Unfortunately, Camie was right. The words on his computer screen had blended into one another several hours ago. He needed sleep.
Against his better judgement, he left the remainder of his paperwork for tomorrow with the lie that he could finish it then. He didn’t even bother changing out of his hero outfit as he walked straight to the elevators and clicked the button for the lobby.
Still in a stupor, he walked out the front doors and past the flurry of reporters begging for a statement.
“Ground Zero, Ground Zero! Do you have a comment on your hero Glamour’s actions?”
“Does the Dynamight Agency endorse her statements?”
“Is she being reprimanded for the damage she caused authorized media personnel?”
“How does the Dynamight Agency plan to keep her and other Omegan Heroes in their place?”
“What the fuck did you just say to me?” Katsuki snarled and spun on the last reporter all at once. “Say that again to my fucking face.”
“I-I meant—”
“I know what you fucking meant. I know exactly what all of you are trying to get at, so let me set the record straight right now. Dynamight Agency supports all our fucking heroes and side-kicks. Fuck yeah do we endorse her statements because she can kick not only hentai dude’s tentacle fucked ass, but all of yours, too. I would fucking do it myself but she doesn’t need me to fight her battles for her.
“Get it through y’alls thick skulls. Anyone, and I mean anyone, can be a victim if some evil fucker put their mind to it. ChromoChangers exist, that’s a damn fact. I know because the bitch who made them almost had me hurt a lot of people because of them. But it wasn’t because I was a damn Alpha and it sure as hell wasn’t because I was weak. Bad people will do bad shit one way or another, and it was only because of another hero, an Omegan Hero, that those people were saved.”
Katsuki turned to point his index finger at the camera. “You. All of you are scared, but that’s why we’re fucking here. We’re here to save y’alls asses even when you do nothing but bad-mouth the people who put their lives on the line for yours. It wouldn’t matter if I was an Alpha, Beta, or Omega, I will always protect my people and I will win, always. Because they have my back too.”
“Now,” Katsuki turned his searing glare back to the reporters who cowered under his stare. “Get the fuck away from my agency before I call the police on your asses for trespassing. You’re on my stoop!”
The crowd of reporters packed up their belongings immediately and scattered like the rats they were.
All except one.
A figure who had stood at the very back remained, head tucked to their chest and black hood drawn. They were obviously no reporter. Katsuki’s fingers cracked as he prepared for a fight.
Then the figure raised their head.
Eyes the green of fresh life and surreal as a dream stared at him.
“Hi, Kacchan.”
The warmth that filled Izuku’s chest when he stood back and heard Katsuki give his impassioned speech quickly dissipated when the other man turned around and walked away. For a second, Izuku was so hung up on the memory of Katsuki doing the same to save him from the paparazzi nearly a year ago that he forgot that they weren’t on nearly the same terms now.
“Kacchan, wait.”
“I quit waiting for you a long damn time ago, Deku.”
Izuku didn’t falter.
“You didn’t read my message, then.”
“Oh I read your fucking message,” Kacchan told the air rather than Izuku himself. Passersby turned to stare at them, curious and uncomfortable, but Izuku didn’t spare them a single glance.
“All of them?”
Katsuki stopped a few feet shy of the crosswalk, causing more than a couple of people to shoulder-check him accidentally as they scurried to make the light. Izuku stopped too, though not nearly as abruptly and waited.
“What do you mean by all of them?”
Izuku almost couldn’t recognize Katsuki’s condo. Honestly, if asked, Izuku would be certain that Kacchan didn’t live here.
The place was a mess.
Not his level of mess, but still. The multitude of files spread across the dining room table? The two bowls and cup left in the sink? The pair of shoes laying on their side behind the door instead of on the shoe stand? Izuku had an urge to go check if the bed was made to make sure this was really his Kacchan.
“Talk.”
Izuku stopped craning his head toward the bedroom to face Kacchan properly where he stood still in front of the front door.
“Do-do you want to sit down?”
“No.”
“R-right.” Izuku licked his lips.
Six months. It’d been six months since he last saw Kacchan. Six months since Izuku was pretty sure Kacchan blocked his number. Six months to plan the words he was going to say when the moment came. This moment.
And Izuku couldn’t remember what they were.
“If you’re just going to fucking stand there—”
“I’m sorry, Kacchan, but I’m not sorry that I didn’t meet you at the airport that day,” he blurted out. Izuku registered Katsuki closing his mouth but his eyes never left Katsuki’s.
“I couldn’t. I knew it would hurt you, I knew that it meant risking you moving on for good, that I may lose my last chance at being with you...but if I had gone that day, I knew it would only hurt you more. That we would have never made it together.”
He paused. Katsuki remained silent, waiting. Izuku hadn't expected to say anything (he sort of wished he wouldn't say anything until he was done, but this was Kacchan he was speaking to). The reason Izuku stopped was because he didn’t remember a single word of his prepared speech. He'd spent months and months planning what he'd say to Kacchan. How he'd convey the truths he'd finally accepted. Months of planning, all for this moment. To make sure he didn't mess it all up. Forever.
Only to not remember what he'd meant to say.
Except, it turned out he didn’t need to remember. To his surprise, the words flowed easily.
And Kacchan didn’t interrupt.
“I-I knew that I loved you, that I still love you, but I didn’t know anything else. I didn’t know if I wanted to come back. I didn’t know if the public would want me to come back. I-I didn’t know if I was worthy of coming back or if I’d just mess up your dream. I didn’t want to be a burden. I know that it wasn’t fair to not tell you then in person, but I didn’t think I’d be able to say no if you asked me to come with you again and that also wasn’t fair to you when I had all these doubts.
“What you said to me back then. In that alley, after the art theft. ‘You aren’t All Might, you never will be.’ Those words used to haunt me. I-I began to wonder if I’d been wrong my entire life. That it was wrong to have held onto this childish belief that I could be All Might and save everyone with a smile. I questioned that belief, not because I didn’t want to save everyone, but because I didn’t think I could . I kept seeing all those times I’d failed. All I could see were the times that I’d failed and—” He shook his head.
“Back then, you told me to figure out what I wanted, and I thought I knew. I thought I’d told you exactly what I wanted when I asked you to Claim me, when I’d asked you to fuck me, when I’d asked you to give me space. I thought I was being honest with you, but I wasn’t honest with myself. I wanted our baby, Kacchan. I wanted the life I thought we might have if we became a family. But I couldn’t tell you that. I thought I’d just be holding you back. After believing that I could never have a family as the holder of One-For-All, I didn’t think it was fair to even try."
Izuku averted his eyes for the first time since he began speaking, guilt welling up in the form of tears.
“So I ran. You were right, I ran away from my problems. I ran away from the ‘us’ I desperately wanted but didn’t believe could ever come true. I ran away to start anew." Izuku balled his fists and forced himself to meet Katsuki's steady state. "But I couldn’t. No one can. I was running away from something instead of running towards something.”
A small smile made the corners of Izuku's mouth twitch. “I'm guessing you blocked me if you never got my messages. The other texts after that first one said, ‘You don’t have to wait for me, but I’ll be back when I figure it out. When I know what I want, I’ll finally answer your question.’”
Then Izuku chuckled, the small smile from earlier finally sticking.
“I thought it wasn’t going to be easy, Kacchan, but it was. After all this time, the answer came to me so easily. Once I was honest." Izuku straightened his back. His eyes focused on Katsuki's, silently begging that he knew how sincere he was.
"I want to be a hero. I want to smile in the face of danger. I want to make people feel safe, let them know that it will be alright. But I don’t want to be All Might. I want to be Deku, the hero whose name sounds like ‘you can do it!’
“And I also want a family. I want two, maybe three kids, and maybe it’s selfish to want both. To be a hero and a father. Maybe it’s wrong to bring kids into a world full of danger, where they’ll have their own set of expectations and burdens to carry. But I can help them with that. I want to help them with that. I want to make them forget that we aren’t all created equal, to make them think that anyone can be anything. Because they can be. Quirkless, Omega, or whatever else they think may hold them back, I’ll make sure they realize that they’re the only one who can decide if it does. To help them learn the differences between insecurities and the truth. Hopefully, I’ll help them realize the difference sooner than I did."
Izuku took a risk. He reached across the space between him and Katsuki to grab his hand. When Kacchan didn't pull away, Izuku's eyes softened.
“But most importantly, I want you, Kacchan. I want all these things with you. I want to be by your side as you grow and spread your roots. I want to stop you when you can’t stop yourself and push you forward should you ever falter. I want to be everything you’ve ever been for me: a goal, a rival, a rock, a caretaker, a lover. I want to be everything you could ever want and never leave your side again.”
Izuku swallowed because here came the part he dreaded most.
“So I’m not coming back.”
Katsuki’s eyes, which had been perfectly still, momentarily dropped their guard. The Alpha’s pupils shrank to pinpoints and the barest hint of smoke filled the air.
“I can’t come back yet,” Izuku quickly continued. “It took me six months to come up with a plan to reach these goals, Kacchan, because I realized something very important. I don’t want to be like All Might, I never did really, you were always my idol. I wanted to run by your side, and to do that, I have to be able to reach the places you go.' Izuku squeezed Katsuki's hand.
“I’m going to become an international hero, Kacchan. I will get my international license so that I can go wherever you go, to take on whatever mission keeps me by your side. Then, together, we can help people all over feel safe."
Izuku shook his head. “You don’t have to wait for me. I’ll-I’ll be gone for a while. My time in Chicago counts, of course, and I was able to get the ten months I spent in Canada on an extended mission to count toward my license too. That means four more countries. Then I’ll be back. For good. No more running away. I won’t ever leave us again. ...If you want there to be an ‘us.’”
His throat burned when he finished. That had been a lot, but saying it felt good. Stopping was what hurt. Because now he put the ball back in Kacchan’s court.
If Kacchan didn’t still love Izuku, he would still get his license. Izuku was doing this for himself first and foremost. He meant what he’d said at the bar in Chicago. He would be by Kacchan’s side, in whatever way Katsuki decided. Izuku had spent too long twisting and bending himself to fit the expectations others had for him. That he had set for himself. For months, he used Kacchan as a crutch and did the one thing Izuku had never wanted to do: hurt Katsuki in the process.
This time, Izuku knew exactly what he wanted. He’d done the work to figure out how to reach those goals. All he needed was some time. If Kacchan couldn’t wait any longer, Izuku understood, but this is what he needed to do.
Since Izuku was being honest though, he couldn’t imagine starting a family with someone else. Every future had pups with Christmas colorings and Kacchan by his side. If Kacchan didn’t want that? Well, then he’d have to revisit those plans (but he hope he wouldn’t have to because Kacchan would say—)
“It sounds like you have it all figured out.”
A jolt traveled through him, leaving his chest warm and heart beating faster than before. Kacchan’s voice always seemed to have that effect on him.
Izuku swallowed hard and nodded. “Yeah,” he croaked.
Katsuki pulled his hand out of Izuku’s hold to fold his arms across his chest. Izuku’s heart plummeted until Katsuki took a step forward. Towards him. When Katsuki’s elbow nearly touched Izuku’s chest, he caught his eyes again. Izuku tilted his chin up to see his own eyes reflected in Katsuki’s.
“Also sounds like you didn’t come here asking me if you could go.”
Slowly Izuku shook his head. “No.”
The word hardly left his tongue before Katsuki was kissing him. And Izuku didn’t hesitate in kissing back.
Six months of absence felt like nothing once their lips met. The gap in time and space disappeared as soon as the distance between them closed. Sensitive skin, slippery tongues, hot air, all shared. Izuku’s heart sped up entirely too fast as he felt Kacchan’s hands on his hips answering the question he’d most dreaded asking, so he hadn’t.
Kacchan still loved him.
Izuku wrapped his arms around Katsuki’s neck, pulling him closer. His scarred fingers brushed against the back of his neck, asking another question. Forever?
Katsuki broke their kiss.
They panted for air, their breaths soft and shallow. Izuku kept his eyes closed, wondering if Kacchan had understood his unsaid thoughts. He felt the sudden weight of Katsuki’s head on his forehead.
“Well, we waited this fucking long. You’re lucky I want you too.”
Just like that, Izuku’s eyes flew open. He pulled his head away so he could kiss his Alpha again. And again. And again.
They were making out on the couch, Kacchan’s shirt gone, when Izuku came to his senses. With only the strength of his conviction, he managed to pull away. Katsuki growled in disapproval, his hand already pulling Izuku closer to his chest by the thigh when Izuku put his arm between them.
“Kacchan, wait. There’s something else I want to ask you.”
“There’s fucking more?” Katsuki grunted. He bent forward so he could reach Izuku’s shoulder and began nipping playfully at his collarbone. “You can’t shut the fuck up today.”
Izuku ignored the half-heartedly insult. Focusing on what he needed to say when his horny Omega was also begging him to shut up was hard enough. Somehow, he managed to get the words out.
“Before I go, I want you to Claim Me.”
The nipping at his shoulder stopped. Katsuki's head snapped back so that they were face to face again.
"What the fuck?"