Work Text:
-
It started with silk.
“Kacchan?” Izuku yawns, doe eyes fluttering as he feels the warm kiss of his husband’s lips drag down from his neck to his collar, waking him from a dreamless sleep. He squirms sleepily when the blond does not reply, whining coaxed into light giggling when the kissing gets more insistent and bruising against the valley of his chest. “Get off me, you big oaf, it’s too early!”
“Well, if someone didn’t look so delectable, I wouldn’t be doing this.” It was accusatory and playful, mumbled against his right pec, and Izuku’s eyes slit open enough to find Katsuki laying his head on him, golden hair shiny in the sunlight.
Izuku gasps when a wet warmth swipes along his bare breast, goosebumps racing down his arms as he swats weakly at his husband’s advances.
“Behave,” he pouts, and the man rolls his eyes but complies, standing up after a few shuffling. Izuku rouses with him, silk sheets falling from delicate milky shoulders, unraveling and revealing him like a flower’s petals peeling away to showcase a beautiful center.
Katsuki’s breath is taken away for yet another hundredth time as he gazes down at his beautiful husband.
Said man was oblivious to his musings, yawning like a kitten as he stretched his arms over his head before leaning a cheek on Katsuki’s open palm. He sought warmth like a moth to a flame, vulnerable as he lets the blond man cup his cheek.
“Look at you, having no idea what the hell you do to me.” Katsuki shakes his head, straightening up as he places a chaste kiss on Izuku’s cheek. “I need to run to the studio today. Secretary’s buggin’ me about the exhibition next month,” he grimaces, and Izuku, the sweetheart he is, cooes and nuzzles up to him like a bunny. “Inspiration’s been dog shit too..”
He trails off his scoff, eyes raking down Deku’s delicate figure enveloped in white sheets, looking like an angel in pre-raphaelite paintings. His lashes fanned, curls framing his cherub cheeks and—
“ Oh .” Katsuki exhales, weight lifting off of his shoulders as he feels the fire on his fingertips ignite, hands twitching minutely. Izuku looks up at him, tilting his head with curiosity as the blond cups his chin with newfound reverence .
“Why don’t you come with me to the studio, baby?”
-
Painting has always been a thing Katsuki had done.
It’s been a thing when he started finger painting chunky animals and trees as a four year old, when he used pastels to draw the sun in the corner of the paper at six, when he, at the age of ten, won two awards for best in art, jumbled along with his various actually academic prizes. It was a thing, especially when his mother who saw the spark and the special little something, hired private teachers from the best universities to help shape him and bought only the best materials she could get for her aspiring little boy.
Even then, it wasn’t a passive activity like his piano phase, or his soccer phase, or even his mathletics phase (middle school him was, while a dickhead, was a downright nerd to his core).
He held onto the talent even when his hands bled from his own nails, clawing his way up to the top. Spent countless nights in his studio, unmoving and unblinking to sketch that one jutt in a skull or that one delicate curve of a rose , working like an unhinged madman, possessed with the want— need to be the best.
Katsuki’s hands were more often than not covered in charcoal or oil paint that smeared on his clothes and gave his maids hell trying to get the stains out in his teen years when he got into Yueii, the finest school of arts in the world, qualifying by the skin of his teeth.
Expensive tuition, demanding courses. His alma mater birthed people like high profile actor Toshinori Yagi who was a blazing star in Hollywood and famous painter Aizawa Shouta, who has notably caused numerous political uprisings in the past with a paintbrush and canvas alone, works banned in whole countries due to this.
The lot of those who graduate are noticeably a slight bit mad, but what kind of artist isn’t? It’s impossible to have a stable mind in the world of arts, if Katsuki was honest, ever self-aware. Even he was a little off his rocker judging by the way his parents looked when they would watch him work, but they left him to do what he does even with the silent parental judgment— which he was grateful for.
Katsuki debuted immediately after he’d graduated.
His works were all mysterious, drags of paint on the canvas, drawing from renaissance, to baroque, to raphaelite, known for his specialty in draperies, the ability to make fabric so incredibly transparent on paper.
The token detail in his work, however, were the remnants of a concealed, pale figure that possessed all of his art like a ghost.
Whether it be in the background hidden by tall trees, or the subject, face always covered in a delicate gossamer veil, the figure of a feminine man with blurry green eyes never absent from any of his art.
Speculation from nerds and critics alike poured in like a steady river, back when Katsuki kept his private life a secret, when he’d learned how to smile and shut his lips whenever he was asked in interviews on what or who the subject was.
It was eaten up by his fans, but he couldn't care less.
Above all the praise, the awards— the crowds of people, who paid an excruciating amount of money for his works— stood one Midoriya Izuku.
His childhood friend, then his boyfriend, now his husband.
Izuku was there, always there. Even with the secrecy it was obvious to those who knew Katsuki before the fame.
His otherwise desolate art studio with a single stool and canvas prop in the middle had a tiny, worn comfy couch just by it, the cushions well-loved with the little dip in the middle. Katsuki never rested when he was on his little maniacal streaks, so the strewn comforters were subject to a lot of side-glances and curious eyes whenever friends visited.
What they didn’t know is that Izuku was the one there, content and snoozing, whenever he’d missed his then-boyfriend. Out of everyone, he understood the most when it came to Katsuki’s moods, happy to hold Katsuki’s free left hand as the blond painted away.
It was the only reason the artist would ever stop, because sometimes Izuku would whine and shift, eyes fluttering open as he’d wordlessly lace their hands together. He’d bat his lashes for kisses, chirping happily when Katsuki pauses and turns to his lover to cup his head in his hands— or when he’s extremely needy, direct his attention to the mound between Izuku’s soft thighs.
He’d eat Izuku up like a man starved, tinny, pitched moans bouncing off of the studio’s walls like a symphony of lewdness until wetness floods his mouth and he’d pull back satisfied with a knowing smirk before going back to his canvas.
Meanwhile, his cute husband would have a heaving chest, face a muted pink as he lays with his legs spread and head thrown back.
It’s why some of his art had always been bordering on erotic, a play with fabrics, always concealing the face of his subject and yet barely there as pale skin shines through, barely hiding areas considered intimate.
It was like he was teasing them, really— and it gives him a sense of power because that’s all they’re ever going to get,because he’s the only one who has ever seen under the veil.
Izuku had always been shy about it, though never opposed. In fact, it got him turned on, seeing Katsuki so damn obsessed with his body, painting it in positions that they’ve been in (only without the blond), putting the canvas on display for the whole world to see.
Katsuki laughs at those who think of anything deeper, trying to figure out: what the hell is the inspiration of one of the greatest artists in the new generation? Was it his misery? His depression? Maybe it was his internal demons, somehow translating to his works. They compared his mad nature to that of Van Gogh, comparing his stints to Edgar Allen trying to justify his illustrations and connect the delicate erotic paintings with his broody behavior.
They make silly theories how, get this, his paintings symbolized some hidden inner turmoil and how they’re riddled with insecurities and darkness blah blah blah: because apparently, it was impossible for a man with Katsuki’s obsessive artist nature to create something that didn’t drift from the realm of gloom.
What they don’t know is the simple answer: he’s just so incredibly, outrageously, disgustingly in love.
Doesn’t help that his cute husband was a little horny monster and an absolute delight to paint.
-
“Make yourself comfortable,” Katsuki hums listlessly as Izuku smiles up at him, cheeks tinted as he nods and steps over the various buckets of paint and oil tubes, bare feet cold on the floorboards covered in a plastic wrappings to prevent the stain of colors from bleeding into the wood.
Katsuki watches in the dim of his room as Izuku sheds his coat leisurely, slowly working it off his shoulders, down his elbows.
Black was a striking color against milky white skin, and he felt a familiar twitch and heat as the coat finally slipped off completely to reveal the lacy waist snatcher that blended with the delicate thong on his hips.
“Turn around.”
A command, one Izuku couldn’t refuse.
He felt like a piece on display, just for his husband. The floral black shoulderless brassier was pretty on his body, a ‘V’ that left his sides exposed, a sensual amount of cleavage cupped by the heart bust. The most teasing part, however, was the exquisite slip that brushed his upper thighs and made him look absolutely delectable.
“Beautiful, my little Aphrodite.” Katsuki crosses the distance between them with only a few steps, stealing Izuku’s soul with a kiss that made his tummy tumble before the blond pulls away before he overdoes it and ends up fucking him over that tiny couch. “Just sit there,” he gestures to the prop bed that was wheeled in and perched in the middle of the room, “and look pretty for me.”
“Don’t I always?” Izuku pouts, and Katsuki chuckles and rolls his eyes, slapping his husband’s ass and relishing the shriek he receives.
“Go now, before I actually do fuck you and we will end up with nothing done.”
-
“If you stare any harder at my rump you’re going to develop a headache.”
“It’s a good rump.”
“.. It is a good rump,” Izuku concedes, giggling as he throws a glance over his shoulder, legs crossed and facing the opposite way. The red Louboutin heels a sharp contrast against the sleek black, the man’s hips shimmying a bit from discomfort from being still for so long. “Are you done yet baby?”
Admittedly, he was a bit impatient, and Katsuki had been wordless through the whole ordeal.
Meanwhile on Katsuki’s side, lust still a prevalent feeling (how could he not feel that— this was his gorgeous husband!) but never reaching a fever pitch. Instead, it boiled lowly in his gut as he used the edges of his brush to trace the delicate cinch of that waist and the gentle slope of his thighs and ass.
He leans to his right, looking from behind the canvas to trace the obscene figure of Izuku, the muscles on his stomach flexing and relaxing as he feels the familiar arousal like a gun to his head and threatening to take over his actions.
Katsuki catches green eyes at half mast, head laid idly on top of crossed arms, stretched out shamelessly. His body sank into the soft silken sheets, tresses of the babydoll rumpled up that plush butt that hung out of that little thong— and the blond had to sharply look back at his canvas before he could feel his patience splinter like wood.
“ Kacchan ,”
A siren’s call. Katsuki knew better than to look, and yet he still does, breath hitching as he finds Izuku squirming on the mattress— just enough to not disturb the pose for the painting, but enough to tease. The lighting hits just right once and makes the damp patch on that pretty hidden pussy obvious and so fucking enticing.
“Take a break, please, sweetie? For me,” Izuku bites his lower lip, like the damn minx he was, and Katsuki felt his resolve chip away like a chunk of rock, giving away to a heavy chisel. “You’re going to keep me waiting—“
“Alright alright, you little shit.” Katsuki wipes his hands down his pants uncaringly, rolling his eyes at the smug little smile Izuku gives him, triumphant in making the blond riled up. “Spread your damn legs, you know the drill.”
“Yessir!” The man chirps, flipping over and bouncing lightly on the bed, thighs flopping to the side without hesitation. Katsuki chuckles as he plants a knee by his side, gathered up by grabby hands as his white oil-paint stained button up is discarded by reedy little fingers.
Katsuki’s, not wanting to disturb the lingerie too much, hooks a finger around the crotch of the panties, feeling the soft lips and utter wetness against his hand before pushing it aside. “Pretty fucking pussy,” he groans, lurching forward like a man possessed while simultaneously yanking his husband down before shamelessly staring at that perfect pink freshly shaven mound, licking his lips like a pleased feline. “This all for me, sweetheart?”
“Stop staring at it, pervert,” Izuku whines, his cunt pulsing under the scrutiny, brows furrowed and flushing down to his collarbones as his husband’s nose barely brushes against his wet folds. Interestingly enough, he doesn’t pull away despite the whining. “Need your mouth on me, please.”
Pervert was a light word to describe Katsuki when it came to his husband. Degenerate, however, is a more fitting term for the way he moaned deeply as he licked up the dip between his inner thigh and pussy, wetly sucking on the skin between Izuku’s cunt and ass. Izuku squeaked as he dipped even lower, bucking his hips when the blond grazed his twitchy tiny rose petal asshole, the slick dripping down there in rivulets and eagerly slobbered up by Katsuki.
Katsuki’s eyes fluttered shut, space between his brows creasing as his whole face was smothered by that cunt, clitty bumping his forehead as he sloppily rimmed his husband’s hole.
“M-My—!”
“Shut up,” Katsuki gasps hoarsely after a decent amount of time lacking oxygen as he’s forcefully detached by a particularly violent buck of hips, cock feeling like it’d burst from it’s confines any moment. “Stay still and let me eat your ass, shitty Deku.”
He grabs the plush thighs before squeezing and diving in for more, lapping at that pretty pussy like a dog in apology as he’s been neglecting it in favor of Izuku’s asshole. Izuku sobs at that, legs shaky as spit joins the mess, feeling the wet appendage dip in teasingly into his ass before lewdly slipping back out and flicking back and forth right on the rim.
He could feel Katsuki’s smirk against his skin, twitching minutely when a nibble on the cleft of his freckled cheek is the only warning he gets before that hot mouth envelops his poor, swollen, sensitive clit before it’s vacuum sealed and he whites out.
Meanwhile, Katsuki groans when Izuku’s eyes roll back and he squirts, mouth slipping down with lightning speed as he swallows as much as he can from that tiny, trembling hole.
Izuku’s babbling, toes curled as he’s folded in half, steaming pussy and ass on full display. His head felt fuzzy, cunt painfully sensitive as Katsuki ‘kissed it better’, lewd little sucks on his drenched crotch, swiveling his head side to side and digging into him like he was his last meal.
He uses his nose to nudge the throbbing nub, relieving the tension and making sparks of heat and overstimulation run up Izuku’s veins.
Izuku kicks up the fuss by squealing and sobbing, cheeks red and pearly tears running down his face, the pleasure getting a little bit—
“Kacchan, too much, toomuchh —!“
“Give me one more baby, you can take it, right? You can take it for your Kacchan.” Katsuki was practically rambling, drunk off of the sweet pussy slick he’d drank in mouthfuls, breathing heavily into his cunt like a dog after a bone. He slips in a single digit and ruggedly moans when he feels that tight wet heat swallow his finger, thinking about that being wrapped around his dick.
“K-Kay,” Izuku slurs mindlessly, small chest rising up and down quickly for oxygen as his eyes scrunch shut at the wet appendage rolling over his puffy clitty, bearing down on the finger, stuffing him thoroughly and scissoring him with expert jabs that make his ears ring. “For— for Kawchann..”
Katsuki kisses his cunt almost as tenderly as he would with his actual lips as a reward, trailing down to his inner thighs and moving his fingers with featherlight grace to offer a break from the rough tongue-fucking he’d given.
He waits until Izuku catches his breath, slumped back on the sheets and limbs haphazardly spread, head lolling back. Distantly, he realizes that he should really get back to painting, since the deadlines have been kicking his ass lately— but Izuku starts whimpering again and all he could think of is making his husband cry .
“Love you.” Katsuki murmurs, sucking loving bruises on his thigh and hip, shouldering a thigh before getting up close to that pussy as he shoves his fingers in before crooking them to hit that g-spot. Izuku practically flies off the sheets, mouth agape and wordless, gasping for air.
The blond starts a fast pace, teeth grazing his leg as he pumps Izuku’s cunt thoroughly. His arm felt fucking sore, but his husband is moaning and whining sweetly, legs straining— already recovered from his last orgasm and begging.
He watches with reverence only reserved for Izuku, eyes wide and unblinking as he tries to tattoo the image of his husband cumming his brains out, squirt spraying from his cunt and drenching Katsuki’s arm— which the blond licked up yet again with the hunger of a beast .
He practically launches himself up, fumbling with his belt and yanking his pants down, hooking his briefs below his balls. Izuku mewls at the sight of his throbbing cock, the fat wet tip dragging between his folds and catching on his loosened hole.
“Izuku.” Katsuki exhales harshly, face buried in Izuku’s neck. Izuku tenderly cups his nape, panting and semi-delirious, but still so pliant and willing for him, eyes glassy. “Gonna fuck you now.”
Izuku hums in compliance, limp as Katsuki arranged him properly, arms above his head, doe eyes unfocused as Katsuki grinds his cock between slick folds, the lewd squelch of his thick meat barely catching that loose hole drew out twin moans from them.
The blond had enough coherency to shove a pillow under Izuku’s lower back before he breathed heavily and slowly slid his engorged tip inside.
It breaches Izuku with a pop, slick pouring from Izuku. Meanwhile, Katsuki grunts and squeezes his eyes shut, nose buried in green curls and using the scent of vanilla shampoo to stop himself from cumming before he’s even all the way inside. Whimpers and sobs slip from Izuku’s lips as he slowly fucks his cock in, the wet warmth silk on his dick and lewd.
“K-Kah—“
“I’m in, baby.” Katsuki soothes the whining with a kiss on Izuku’s cheek, caging his husband in with his arms, torsos and lips slotting together like puzzle pieces as he experimentally thrusts— taking the startled cry and pleasured moan as a green light.
The blond pounds him with vigor, shallow pumps that has Izuku blubbering like a baby, squirming even more when his husband lets his hand drift down to caress the tight seal of where his cunt was stretched over his big, hot dick.
Izuku’s face was scrunched in complete ecstasy, tongue lolled out and eyes looking up at Katsuki in pure, sickening adoration. His boobs bounced up and down, pretty cherry top nubs untouched— and Katsuki bursts into action to remedy that, hunching down to take a pretty pink tit on his mouth, stifling his moans.
“ Kacchaaan !” Izuku hooks his legs around Katsuki’s waist, looking at his husband with heart eyes as the blond man laces their fingers together. He’s too fucked out to place kisses on his hands, so he smushes his lips against Izuku’s cheeks instead, desperately trying to get the message I Love You across.
“Need more please—!”
Katsuki, ever the one to deliver, grabs Izuku and suddenly sitting up. Izuku squeals, shivering as the older man’s cock accidentally slips out, flopping heavily on his inner thighs as he straddles Katsuki’s lap, arms around the painter’s neck. “W-What— ooohh —“
Izuku’s pretty red lips curve into an ‘o’ as Katsuki slides in again, large length making a home in his womb. Katsuki groans, before focusing on his objective— that tight petal pink hole, unoccupied yet still clenching over the stimulation in his cunt. The blond doesn’t hesitate, slipping a hand down and massaging that tight rim with his husband gasping, half-lidded eyes snapping open as Katsuki plays with his ass.
“ Fuck,” Katsuki grinds out, giving a particularly harsh thrust that has Izuku bucking down, tip of his finger accidentally shoving inside and the little shit’s mouth pops open to beg for more.
“P-Please, more please, I need your—“
“God, ‘zuku, you’re killing me here.” Katsuki bemoans, cock twitching inside him, almost at his limit. He pushes the rest of his middle finger in, feeling the clenchy heat bear down on his fingers— and Izuku shudders violently, stock still before warmth floods Katsuki’s dick and he realizes he’s cumming.
“Kacchan,” Izuku finally breathes out, blissed all the way up to heaven, eyes filled with such adoration and devotion and it makes Katsuki cum so fucking hard his vision whites out.
“Goddamn it.” The blond shivers, fucking his cock inside as if he wanted to reach Izuku’s guts. He secretly hopes his cum would knock his cute little husband up, chest tight and dick hard at the thought of Izuku rounded and carrying his kids. The thought haunts him as he pulls out his flaccid wet dick while Izuku collapses back, small chest rising and falling like a hummingbird’s.
He’s beautiful like this, still wearing the lingerie, tiny panties simply pushed aside. Like this, Izuku’s legs were spread, leaking pussy displayed tiny bralette shoved up to reveal small tits— and something in Katsuki’s stomach stirs.
“New sketch.” He says when Izuku shoots him a questioning look when he gets up like a man possessed, tucking his dick in— before his puzzlement leads to realization when he looks at himself— before, of course, landing on acceptance, too fucked out to care that his dumb husband was about to paint him like this, cum dripping out and everything.
“Just make me cute,” he yawns, rubbing his face like a sleepy cat, and Katsuki rolls his eyes, hurrying behind his canvas and tossing that old shit aside to finish for another day— before grabbing a new, fresh canvas from the side.
“You already are, shitty nerd.”
_
“Bakugou Katsuki! I must say, your latest piece is amazing,” one of his sponsors chirp, one hand handling a glass of red wine that probably had an absolutely disgusting price, swirling it as they both stood before a brightly lit canvas.
The whole studio was dim, only things possessing light being Katsuki’s artworks.
Other socialites roamed the halls, along with an occasional lucky journalist who gets to snap pictures (without flash of course) and blog about it, speculating about his artwork yet again. They don’t dare approach Katsuki though, knowing to not bother the man during viewings and hold their questions after the exhibition.
(Even then though, it’s hard to squeeze out any information from him.)
Katsuki hums, dark burning eyes tracing the piece before them. It was more intricate, wispy gossamer silk being his focus now— but more bold, more daring. It was depicted to be draped over a man, his subject all these years, his body more daringly unblurred than his years worth of past works.
Most of the cloth gathered and scrunched by the crotch, cleverly manipulated to cover his chest, eyes, the ins of his legs— and yet everyone can see the slight bruises on a delicate neck, the green eyes crystal clear and yet so hidden behind the material.
He lay on a very familiar bed, surroundings dark— and yet a single light was bright enough to show him lounging casually on the mattress.
The nameless sponsor’s rumination knocks his focus away from the painting of his husband.
“Is it a past lover?” He muses, dark eyes sliding to Katsuki’s still form, amusement clear in his voice. “Interesting choice of colors.. pure black for the shadows, something barely any artists do, and yet it still works. Did you lose anyone, Bakugou? This is the same man, yes?”
Katsuki almost wants to bark a laugh at his face, counting down the hours for when he’d be able to get home to his husband and fuck his brains out all over again.
“Everything is up to the viewer sir.” He manages to keep his facial expressions and voice in check, still thinking it was positively fucking entertaining how others still insist about a deeper meaning to his paintings. It should be obvious by now, considering the pouring attention he’d given these new paintings, particularly, of course, the subject within them. “You know how it is.”
“Of course,” his companion laughs, hearty and curious poking around alleviated when he realizes there's no point prodding a man whose tough hide refused to budge. “You’re quite the mysterious sorrowful guy, eh, Bakugou?”
Quite the opposite, really. Katsuki couldn’t stop himself from smirking, passing it off instead as a playful expression as if to say Who isn’t?
Why would he be? He’s got a pretty little thing at home, buried under numerous blankets, sleeping in after Katsuki dicked him down so fucking hard that his hips still hurt. The thought makes Katsuki lick his lips, and he decides right there and then he’s going to go fuck off an hour early.
It would be pretty shameful to go out to the press with a hard dick in his slacks— so his secretary would forgive him for this one mistake.
He glances at his phone when it vibrates in his hand, unnoticed by his chattering sponsor, busy trying to dissect a deeper meaning to his art.
[Izuku sent a photo]
Come home, please baby?
[Izuku sent a photo]
Need you inside..
Katsuki clears his throat, straightening his shoulders, face red— and he simply shakes his head when a lady asks if he was ill.
Fuck going home an hour early— he’s leaving now.
Imagine Izuku’s squeak of surprise and delight when his husband, who’s supposed to be at his own exhibition, slam open their doors with a hard cock pressing against his slacks and a hand already undoing his belt.